2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Walker
When my phone rings, the clock on my dashboard reads 1:47 p.m. The caller ID says Ridgeview Elementary.
Great.
I answer while pulling into a client's driveway, where I'm supposed to be installing a new security system in exactly thirteen minutes.
"Walker Ellison."
"Mr. Ellison, this is Mrs. Patel from the front office. Olivia had a fall at recess and—"
"Is she okay?" My grip tightens on the phone.
"Yes, just a scraped knee, but she's asking for you. Our policy requires—"
"I'll be there in ten." Hanging up, I reverse out of the driveway, mentally calculating how to reschedule the Johnson installation.
I'll have to call Kyle to cover.
A scraped knee. Jesus. When I was Olivia's age, I once broke my arm climbing a tree and walked myself to the nurse's office. Different times, different parenting. Still, the school calling me in for every bump and bruise is getting old. This is the third time this month.
I park in the visitor's spot seven minutes later and jog to the front entrance, signing in at the security desk with a nod to Frank, the retired cop who mans it.
"Another battle wound for the little warrior?" he asks with a knowing smile.
"Apparently, the playground is a war zone today," I mutter, accepting the visitor's badge.
Mrs. Patel, a small woman with perpetually concerned eyes, meets me in the hallway. "She's in the clinic. We have a new nurse until the end of the year, and she's wonderful with the children."
I grunt in acknowledgment, following her down the familiar corridor. The walls are plastered with construction paper art projects, autumn trees with tissue paper leaves. Olivia's is probably up there somewhere.
The clinic door is propped open.
Inside, I hear a soft laugh that doesn't belong to my daughter.
"... and then the octopus said, 'I need a hand!' But guess what? He already had eight!"
Olivia's giggle follows, bright and uninhibited.
It's a sound I don't hear often enough.
When I step through the doorway, I freeze.
Olivia sits on the exam table, her right knee sporting a large Band-Aid with cartoon characters.
She's swinging her legs, completely at ease. But it's the woman beside her that catches me off guard.
She's kneeling at eye level with Olivia, her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Even though she’s wearing simple scrubs, somehow makes them look like they were tailored specifically for her.
"Daddy!" Olivia spots me, her face lighting up. "I fell, but I didn't cry. And Nurse Hailey gave me the best Band-Aid. It has Bluey on it!"
The woman, Nurse Hailey, stands and turns toward me. Her eyes are a bright blue, intelligent and direct. She smiles, and something in my chest shifts uncomfortably.
"Mr. Ellison? I'm Hailey Bennett, the new school nurse." She extends her hand. "Olivia was very brave. Just a minor scrape, but I cleaned it thoroughly."
When I briefly take her hand, I notice the firm grip and the absence of rings. "Thanks. I appreciate it."
"I documented everything here." She hands me a slip of paper. "Just keep an eye on it tonight, and make sure it stays clean. She should be good as new by tomorrow."
There's something unsettlingly familiar about her.
I can't place it, but it makes me want to get out of here faster.
"Ready to go, Liv?" I ask, already reaching for her backpack.
"Can I stay with Nurse Hailey? She was going to show me her stethoscope."
"Another time, honey," Hailey says before I can respond. "Your dad probably needs to get back to work. But you can visit me anytime—even without a scrape." She winks at Olivia, who beams.
"Thanks again," I say stiffly, helping Olivia down. "Come on, kiddo."
"Bye, Nurse Hailey!" Olivia waves enthusiastically as I guide her toward the door.
"Goodbye, Olivia. Nice meeting you, Mr. Ellison."
I nod without meeting her eyes, feeling her gaze on my back as we leave.
In the hallway outside the clinic, I adjust my grip on Olivia's hand.
She's still chattering about Nurse Hailey's octopus joke, laughing at the punch line again as if she's just heard it. I force a polite smile, trying to ignore the strange feeling in my chest.
"Can we go back and visit her tomorrow?" Olivia asks, skipping alongside me despite her injured knee.
"You heard her. Only if you're hurt," I say, then immediately regret my tone when I see Olivia's face fall. I soften my voice. "Which I hope doesn't happen. Be more careful on the playground, okay?"
"I was being careful," she protests. "Joey was chasing me and I had to run really fast."
We reach the main entrance, and I sign us out while Olivia waves goodbye to Frank. The afternoon sun hits my face as we step outside, and I check my watch. The Johnson installation is completely shot now. I'll have to call and reschedule.
"Daddy, do you think Nurse Hailey would like my drawing? I made a really good cat yesterday."
I help her into her booster seat in the back of my truck. "I'm sure she would, but let's not bother her unless you need to, alright?"
Olivia buckles herself in, her small fingers working the clasp with practiced determination. "She said I could visit anytime. Even without a scrape."
"That's just something adults say to be nice," I tell her, closing her door.
As I slide into the driver's seat, my phone buzzes. It's Kyle.
"Hey, man, the Johnsons called. Everything okay?"
"Olivia had an accident at school. Minor, but they called me in." I start the engine. "Any chance you can cover the installation? I can swing by and drop off the equipment."
"No problem. I'm finishing up at the Miller place now. Meet you at their house in twenty?"
"Thanks. I owe you." I hang up and glance at Olivia in the rearview mirror. She's staring out the window, humming to herself, one hand absently touching her bandaged knee.
"We're going to drop some things off for Uncle Kyle, and then I'll take you to Mrs. Winters' for a bit while I finish work. Sound good?"
"Can we get ice cream after?"
I smile despite myself. "Nice try. Maybe this weekend."
As I pull out of the school parking lot, I catch a glimpse of movement by the entrance. A woman in blue scrubs steps outside, shielding her eyes against the sun. Nurse Hailey. She doesn't see us, but I find myself slowing down slightly, watching as she chats with another staff member.
Something about her is naggingly familiar, but I can't place it. Shaking my head, I press the gas, forcing my attention back to the road ahead.
"So it was just a scrape?" Olivia's babysitter, Mrs. Winters, asks when I drop Olivia off at her house after picking up my tools from the Johnson residence.
"Band-Aid sized," I confirm, checking my watch. "I'll be back by six."
"Daddy, can I have pizza for dinner?" Olivia asks, already pulling out Mrs. Winters' collection of well-worn picture books.
"We had pizza on Tuesday."
"But today is Friday. That's a whole different day."
I can't argue with that logic. "Fine. Pizza it is."
Mrs. Winters gives me a sympathetic smile. "She's got your number."
"Tell me about it." I ruffle Olivia's hair. "Be good, squirt."
As I drive to my next appointment, I can't shake the image of Nurse Hailey's smile. There was something about her that seemed to reach past all my carefully constructed barriers, making eye contact feel dangerous. It's been a long time since anyone has made me feel noticed.
Drowning out that thought, I turn up the radio and drive.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in a fog, going through the motions of installing security systems and explaining features to clients without fully engaging. My mind keeps drifting back to the school clinic, to that strange moment of recognition I can’t quite place.
By 5:45, I'm pulling up outside Mrs. Winters' house. Through the large living room window, I can see Olivia sprawled on the floor with colored pencils, completely absorbed in her artwork. The sight of her, so small, so focused, hits me in the chest like it sometimes does. A reminder of everything I have to lose.
Mrs. Winters opens the door before I can knock. "Right on time," she says with a smile. "She's been drawing cats for the last hour. Apparently, they're for someone special at school."
I suppress a groan. "Let me guess. The new nurse?"
"Got it in one." She lowers her voice. "Between us, I think someone has a little hero worship happening."
Great. Just what I need, Olivia fixating on a woman who'll probably be gone by next semester. That's how it works in small towns like ours. Eventually, the good ones always leave.
"Daddy!" Olivia spots me and jumps up, papers clutched in her hand. "Look what I made for Nurse Hailey!"
She thrusts three drawings at me: wobbly cats in various poses, each one meticulously colored with an impressive attention to detail I didn't know she possessed.
"These are really good, Liv," I say, genuinely impressed. "But maybe we should save them for a while?"
Her face falls. "But I want to give them to her tomorrow."
"Tomorrow's Saturday, honey. No school."
"Monday, then." She gathers the drawings carefully. "Mrs. Winters helped me write 'To Nurse Hailey' on all of them."
I shoot Mrs. Winters a betrayed look. Unrepentant, she just shrugs.
"We'll see," I say, which is parent code for probably not, but I don't want to argue right now. "Ready for pizza?"
Her eyes light up. "Can I get pineapple?"
"Absolutely not. That's a crime against pizza."
She giggles, tucking her drawings into her backpack. "You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
We say goodbye to Mrs. Winters and head to Gino's, the only decent pizza place in town. It's busy for a Friday, but we snag a booth by the window. Olivia colors the kids' menu while we wait, but I notice she's favoring her right leg, keeping the scraped knee from bumping against anything.
"How's the battle wound?" I ask, nodding toward her knee.
"It's okay. Nurse Hailey said it might feel tight, and that means the medicine is working."
I nod, though I'm pretty sure it's just the scab forming. "Did she give you any other medical advice?"
"She said I'm very brave and that brave people still need Band-Aids sometimes." Olivia looks up from her coloring. "She has a funny accent sometimes. Not like Miss Garcia's, but different."
"Different how?"
Olivia scrunches her face, thinking. "Like the way she says certain words. When I asked her she moved from, she said Savannah."
Savannah. Something clicks in my brain, but before I can follow the thought, our pizza arrives. Olivia dives in with the enthusiasm of someone who hasn't eaten in days, not hours. Before I can figure anything out, I'm distracted by the practical matters of cutting slices into manageable pieces and making sure she doesn't drip cheese on her clothes.
We eat mostly in silence, because Olivia’s too focused on her food to chatter. It's only when we're finishing up that she returns to her favorite subject.
"Nurse Hailey asked if you were my only parent." She says this casually, licking sauce from her fingers despite the napkin I pointedly push toward her.
I freeze mid-bite. "She did?"
"Uh-huh. I told her Mommy died when I was a baby and now it's just us. And she got a sad look and said she was sorry, and that she bet you were a really good dad." Olivia reaches for her chocolate milk. "I told her you were the best, even though you don't let me have pineapple on pizza."
I don't know how to respond to this. The idea that Nurse Hailey and my daughter discussed me and Riley makes me deeply uncomfortable.
"She shouldn't have asked you personal questions," I say finally.
Olivia shrugs. "She was just being nice. Like when she showed me pictures of her mom’s cat. His name is Pickle, and he has extra toes on his paws.
That's special," I say absently.
Then I signal for the check, as I’m suddenly eager to leave. "Finish your milk, kiddo. It's getting late."
On the drive home, with Olivia half-asleep in the back seat, I try to place why Nurse Hailey seemed familiar. Canada. Something about that tugs at my memory, but I can't quite grasp it. I knew a girl from Canada once, back in college, but that was—
The realization hits me so hard I nearly miss our turn.
Hailey. From Savannah. Blond hair, bright eyes, a laugh that used to make my whole day. Is she really the nurse who took care of me after I was injured on deployment? Even though the entire time I was in the hospital was a blur, something is pulling at me.
No. It has to be a coincidence. Hailey is a common name.
But those eyes. The way she spoke to Olivia. The gentle confidence.
I push the thought away. Even if by some astronomical coincidence it is the same Hailey, it doesn't matter. That chapter of my life closed long ago, sealed with returned letters and years of silence.
Still, as we pull into our driveway, I can't shake the feeling that something significant has shifted in my carefully ordered world. Like the arrival of a storm front, distant but unmistakable, promising change whether I want it or not.
"Can you read two stories tonight?"
I check the time. "One story. It's already past eight."
She pouts but accepts the compromise, selecting a worn copy of Where the Wild Things Are from her bookshelf.
I sit on the edge of her bed, and she curls against me as I read, her eyelids growing heavy by the final page.
"Daddy?" she murmurs as I tuck her in.
"Yeah?"
"Nurse Hailey is pretty. And she smells like cookies."
I swallow hard.
"Go to sleep, Liv."
"Do you think she's pretty?"
Kids and their directness. "I didn't notice. Goodnight."
Of course it's a lie. I definitely noticed.
After Olivia falls asleep, I grab a beer from the fridge and sink into my recliner, the only piece of furniture I splurged on when furnishing this house. The TV remains off. Instead, I stare at the closet door across the room, knowing what's inside.
Three beers later, I find myself standing in front of that closet, pulling down a shoebox from the top shelf.
I haven't looked at its contents in years. Haven't needed to.
Haven't wanted to.
The letters are bundled with a rubber band, all addressed in my handwriting, all stamped with the same red "RETURN TO SENDER" mark. Twelve letters. Twelve rejections. Or rather, twelve non-responses, which is somehow worse.
I don't open them.
I know what they say—earnest words from a younger version of myself.
A version that believed in second chances, in explaining myself, in grand gestures.
A version that died a little with each returned envelope.
I used to reread them constantly, searching for something I missed.
These came back unopened.
No explanation. No goodbye.
Just silence.
My phone buzzes, disrupting the moment.
A text from Jace.
Jace: Still on for poker tomorrow night?
I toss the shoebox back onto the shelf and close the closet door before replying.
Me: Yeah. 8 p.m. Bring beer.
It’s Saturday night, and my living room transforms into the closest thing I have to a social life.
The poker table, really just a folding table with a green felt cover, dominates the center of the room.
Chips are stacked, beer is flowing, and for once, I'm not thinking about work, bills, or the school nurse—
"Earth to Walker," Jace waves a hand in front of my face. "You gonna bet or what?"
I toss in two chips. "Call."
"Man, you're even more spaced out than usual," Tucker comments, studying his cards. "And that's saying something."
Tucker, Jace, and Brody have been my friends longer than I can remember. They're the only people besides Olivia who've stuck around through everything. They're also the only people who feel entitled to give me shit on a regular basis.
"Just tired," I mutter.
"Raise you ten."
"Bullshit," Brody says cheerfully, matching my bet.
"You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're overthinking something but pretending you're not."
I scowl. "I don't have a look."
All three of them laugh.
"Dude, you have the most transparent 'look' of anyone I know," Jace says.
"It's why you suck at poker."
"I'm up sixty bucks tonight," I point out.
"Temporary anomaly," Tucker dismisses.
"So what's going on? Work stuff?"
"Nothing's going on. Fold or bet."
They exchange glances, a silent communication that comes from decades of friendship.
"How's Olivia doing?" Tucker asks, changing tactics. "Ace mentioned she saw her at school yesterday with a scraped knee."
Even the kids are big gossips in a small town. I should have known this was coming.
"She's fine. Minor scrape."
"Ace said the new school nurse took good care of her," he continues, a hint of mischief in his voice.
"Apparently, she's a vast improvement over Mrs. Peterson."
"Wouldn't take much," I mutter, remembering the previous nurse, who had the bedside manner of a drill sergeant.
"Fold."
"Ace says she's single," Tucker adds casually.
I glare at him. "I didn't ask."
"You didn't have to. I'm providing a public service here."
Tucker snorts.
"The service of trying to get Walker laid?"
"The service of trying to get Walker to rejoin the land of the living," Brody corrects.
"When was the last time you went on a date?"
I take a long pull of my beer.
"Not interested in dating."
"Who said anything about dating?" Jace chimes in.
"Start with coffee. Or a conversation that lasts longer than three sentences."
"You guys are worse than Olivia," I grumble.
"She already informed me that Nurse Hailey is pretty and smells like cookies."
The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake.
Three pairs of eyes light up with predatory glee.
"Nurse Hailey, huh?" Tucker grins.
"On a first-name basis already?"
"That's what Olivia calls her," I say defensively. "Deal the cards, Jace."
"So you noticed she's pretty." Brody presses.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't deny it when Olivia said it."
"She's seven. I don't argue with seven-year-olds about their observations."
"Smart man," Tucker says.
"Kids see right through that shit, anyway."
Jace deals a new hand, but the conversation isn't over.
"You're allowed to live, you know," he says quietly, examining his cards. "It's been five years."
The familiar knot forms in my stomach. "Drop it."
"All I'm saying is—"
"I said drop it." My tone leaves no room for argument.
An uncomfortable silence falls over the table. I immediately regret my sharpness.
"Two cards," I say, softening my voice. "And I know you mean well."
Jace nods, dealing me two new cards. "Sometimes the ones who crack us open aren't the ones we expect," he says after a moment.
I stare at my new hand, a pair of jacks, no help at all. "Is that from one of your girl's self-help books?"
"Fortune cookie, actually," he admits. "But it stuck with me."
"Profound wisdom from processed sugar," Tucker muses. "Raise twenty."
The conversation shifts to Tucker's latest rodeo and Brody's kid's latest adventures. I participate enough to avoid further scrutiny, but part of my mind remains stuck on Jace's fortune cookie philosophy.
The ones who crack us open. As if I want to be cracked open. As if I haven't spent years carefully sealing every crack, reinforcing every weak point.
And yet, when I think of warm blue eyes and a smile that reached places I thought were long dead, I wonder if some barriers are meant to be temporary.
By midnight, I'm down thirty bucks and the guys are heading out. Brody lingers behind as the others load into Tucker's car.
"Sorry if we pushed too hard," he says. "We just worry."
"I know," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm fine, though."
"Sure you are." He doesn't bother hiding his skepticism. "But maybe 'fine' isn't all there is."
After they leave, I clean up the empty bottles and chip crumbs, then check on Olivia, who sleeps soundly clutching her stuffed elephant. Her Band-Aid is starting to peel at one edge. I should replace it tomorrow.
Back in the living room, I find myself at the closet again, staring at the shoebox on the shelf. But tonight, I leave it where it is.
Instead, I pull out my phone and look up the Ridgeview Elementary staff directory. It takes only seconds to find her: "Hailey Bennett, RN, Temporary School Nurse."
I close the browser before I can do anything stupid. But as I head to bed, the fortune cookie wisdom echoes: Sometimes the ones who crack us open aren't the ones we expect.
Maybe. But some things are better left sealed shut.