The darkened room blurred in front of me, and I sighed in relief.
Notes and no glasses.
Maybe that’s how I would survive her from now on.
22
ADAIR
Ipropped my knee on the bench and watched the sunrise through the second-floor window.
This had quickly become my favorite refuge—the place I’d bandaged Ireland’s knee before knowing her name.
It was Friday morning, and I ached all over after finishing my second overnight shift at Zinnia House.
I’d spent countless nights working out of the fire stations back in Georgia, but I’d had a rhythm there. And two functional ankles.
This was different.
I’d taken to coming back to this bench during my short breaks. The second floor was a little quieter than the others, the residents here in later stages of disease and less mobile, which made their proximity to the ground floor, and therefore ambulances, more ideal.
It was a difficult truth, but a practical one.
Once the sun had fully risen, I took a few cleansing breaths, then grabbed an elevator down to the first floor.
Delly was walking in just as the elevator doors opened,looking about the same as I felt after our first few days of work.
Dog tired.
Thiswasnew to her. Delly was working as a caregiver, since she didn’t have a degree yet, and that was a taxing job too. The long shifts. Making decisions that could have major consequences. Not to mention that we were learning everyone’s—co-workers and patients alike—names, preferences, moods, and quirks.
It was a lot.
It was made roughly a thousand times worse by the fact that I hadn’t laid eyes on Ireland since that night on the couch. Since I’d kind of tried to kiss her. Or made it seem like it enough to alarm her.
And the frame just remained on the coffee table, empty.
Ugh.
I held my arm through the elevator opening and waited for Delly to come in. We hadn’t quite established any sort of routine yet, but there was an unspoken agreement between us to see Pops as often as possible.
The third-floor nurse on duty waved us on when we passed the circulation desk. A good omen, as was seeing the door to Apartment 3A propped open.
One of the caregivers was cleaning out the fridge, an open trash bag beside her. She eyed us kindly as we passed by to knock on Pops’s bedroom door.
It swung open shortly after I knocked, and he eyed us for a long moment, confusion in his gaze. My stomach squeezed in dread but relaxed when his eyes cleared, and he offered us a small, tired smile.
“Mornin’, Pops!” Delly said, blowing past the moment as she threw her arms around his waist.
He chuckled and pulled her in for a hug, meeting myeyes over her head. “Hey, kids. Y’all are lookin’ plum tuckered. Everything all right?”
“All good,” I assured him, and Delly pulled away from the hug and murmured her agreement.
“Breakfast would help,” Delly said. “We’ve about burned through our biddy supplies.”
Pops raised his bushy eyebrows at her, and I held back a snort at that description of the welcome baskets. Delly had been a rapt audience when I recapped their delivery and planned on paying Miss Lenny a visit this weekend to thank her.
Pops looked like he wanted to ask but then seemed to think better of it.
