She stares at my hand. Then at me. I lean forward until our fingers touch, and then I wrap her hand in mine for good.
We walk out of the studio into the cold March morning. I toss her suitcase in the back of the G-Wagon beside my gym bag and open her door. She climbs in, and the heated seat hums to life. She makes that sound, the tiny sigh, a pleased little groan I've been obsessed with since January.
I pull away from the curb with our fingers threaded together, the way they’ve been in the dark. But that was before. Now that I have her with me in broad daylight, I’m not letting go.
Chapter 23
Ella
Bernard drives me straight to Mercy Hospital after I confirm with Susan that I can come in now rather than before a shift.
He holds my hand, rubs my leg as I breathe through my anxiety. I can hoist myself into the air. I can sit across from someone and listen while they let me know my fate. I can do this.
I keep glancing at Bernard. His black eye deepened into a purple crescent, and I wonder briefly if he chipped an orbital bone again.
"Stop assessing me," he says.
"You should get that checked out.”
"I had other priorities last night." He squeezes my hand. “I’ll see the trainer tomorrow, okay?”
I nod and try the visualization exercises Bernard told me about before my boards. I imagine Susan telling me she’s proud of me, that I get to stay.
By the time Bernard pulls into the parking garage, I’m almost calm.
I unclip my seatbelt and sit there for a second, staring at the concrete wall. “Am I too sweaty and casual to talk to my boss about this?”
He cracks a crooked smile and shakes his head. “Would you feel more comfortable in bloody scrubs?”
I huff. “Honestly, maybe.”
Bernard cups my cheek and turns me to face him, his beautiful eyes warm and encouraging. “Whatever happens in there," he says, “know that you’re amazing. A piece of paper doesn’t define you or your ability.”
"I know."
"Do you?"
I look at him. "Yeah," I say. "I think I do."
I get out, cross the lot, and summon the elevator up to the admin offices. The hallway smells like floor wax and printer toner, a different universe from the ER's antiseptic chaos. My sneakers squeak on the tile.
Susan is waiting outside the nurse manager's office. She's in her usual scrubs, reading glasses pushed up on her head, and when she sees me, she smiles. She doesn’t seem upset and doesn’t appear to judge my outfit.
"There she is," Susan says, draping an arm around my shoulder. "Come on in."
I want to let myself feel relief, but the voice in my head whispers that Susan could be preparing to let me down with love.
The nurse manager's name is Monique. She's a Black woman in her mid-fifties with gray hair and reading glasses on a chain, the kind of woman who has framed diplomas on every wall and a candy dish on her desk that nobody touches because it feels like a trap.
I sit in the chair across from her, fold my hands in my lap, and brace for the word "unfortunately."
Monique opens a folder. "Ella, your NCLEX results came back."
I stop breathing.
"You nailed it, my dear.”
The room goes very still. Susan puts a hand on my shoulder. Monique nods, smiling. “You made our externship program look very good indeed. In a time where we really needed a win.” She opens a folder and gestures at the paperwork. “Combined with your clinical evaluations and the feedback from the ER attendings, you are quite the candidate for a permanent nursing position.”
