“Yes, I am. You were acting like a child in there. Iknow—”
“You don’t knowanything.” Her nostrils flare, cheeks burning. “I needed that money from the sale, Cassie, but of course, you wouldn’t have known that.”
“You’re not being fair.”
“And you were, when you left and let me deal with all our crap by myself?”
This is not the moment to let myself crack, even though everything in me wants to burst. She knew how it was for me here. How I was drowning in this town. For years, I would eat lunch in the janitor’s closet at school, so I could eat without fearing someone would throw chewing gum in my hair. Keira could drown out the noise and make friends anyway, but I was never that strong.
“I’m here now,” I say, forcing my voice to remain calm. “Let me help. Whatever you need.”
She crosses her arms over her belly.
“And I’m sorry,” I add, “about the money. Maybe there’s a way we can—”
“It’s fine. I’ll deal with it.” She licks her lips. “We’ll do this, and then you’ll be able to return to your great life far away from here.”
Her words are a knife to my stomach, twisting and tearing. If only she knew.
She turns toward her car, but I say, “One more thing.”
A long sigh leaves her lips, one I remember hearing when Mom would ask her to help clean up the kitchen. “What?”
“I want to organize something for Ruth.” The idea wasn’t fully formed in my head until the words leave my mouth.
“I told you, we already had her funeral.”
“Not a funeral. Something like… a life celebration.” She wanted us to do this, and if she asked for this request to be read when I was there, it means she wanted me to attend this event. “I’ll host. You just have to show up. Please.”
I wait for another sigh, but the only thing she says is, “Fine.”
Then, she’s gone.
Chapter 5
“So, what’s new back there?” I ask, shielding my eyes and my phone screen against the glare of the setting sun.
Emily is slumped on the break room couch, one we’ve had countless heart-to-hearts on.
“Not much. Mitsy is complaining about her extra shifts, as always, even though she picked up the least of them out of all of us.”
“I’m so sorry.” I slow my speed-walk, looking at all the gorgeous new builds that have appeared in the neighborhood in the past years. Whereas the view was always beautiful, the houses on Beachside Avenue used to be shabby at best, decrepit at worst. Now, it seems like Ruth’s and the Grants’ are the only ones that remain in their original condition. Most have likely been bought by millionaires looking for a second house by the ocean instead of people living here year-long. The properties are massive, with pristine greige or white shingles, and large stone chimneys erupting from their sides. Old-school cerulean bikes with their cute baskets hanging out front rest against the porches, along with surfboards and beach chairs. In between each house, a magical painting appears, a sand dune that opens into bluer-than-blue water.
“Stop that,” Emily tells me over the phone. “We’ve had staffing issues for the past, oh, I don’t know, century?”
“Still.” I hate the idea of letting down people who have given me a place to belong when I needed it most.
“Cassie. Shut up.” She engulfs a handful of Cheetos. As paradoxical as it can sound, you’ll never see a group eating as much trash as nurses, especially on evening or night shifts. It’s as if we need the encouragement from a box of donuts or a mix of candy to get through the following hours. “Oh, actually? There is one new thing. There’s this new anesthesiologist, and he’s very much giving Mark Sloan vibes.”
“Not a doctor, Em. Gotta resist those stereotypes at all costs.”
“What can I say?” She shrugs. “You know what a good scrub cap does to me.”
“What’s the definition of a good scrub cap?”
“I retract my statement. Any scrub cap does it.”
“Your standards are so very low,” I say with a grin.
