Chapter 3
Chapter Three
My suspicions were correct; the injuries and overflow of patients were due to a car accident. I worked with the trauma team until my shift ended, and then for a few hours afterward. Basically, I worked until I was kicked out.
But now, since there was nothing more I could do, I was determined to leave the ups and downs and all-arounds of the day behind me: the devastation of the car accident, my shaming encounter with Dr. Botstein, the failed prank, and Megalomaniac Meg’s evil deeds.
Furthermore, I needed to tuck Nico Manganiello and all my memories of him, along with all the pain and regret, back into their hiding place.
It was Tuesday, and Tuesday was typically the highlight of my week because Tuesday night was knitting night.
I was forced to admit that the ladies of my Tuesday night knitting group had muscled their way inside my heart over the past two years.
At first, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with letting them all in at once; it made me feel like they were going to storm the castle and plunder the goods.
But all attempts at holding off the siege of care and mutual respect vanished with the consumption of bottles and bottles and bottles of red wine, tequila shots, dirty jokes, and bonding over worsted-weight Malabrigo yarn.
Under the weight of the day, I staggered into the apartment I shared with my best friend Janie—although, since Janie’s engagement, she was rarely at home—and flung my bag and coat and keys on the hall table.
I left my hand-knit gloves, scarf, and hat on.
I wanted to show off the finished matching set.
“Ai-oh!” Ashley bellowed at me from the living room, “Getcher butt in here, girl. Sandra said you finished the hat. I wanna see it.” An immediate smile claimed my features, and I walked a bit steadier down the hall.
Ashley was always extremely successful at cracking me up.
She was originally from Tennessee, and had explained to me once—over several strong margaritas—that she’d moved to Chicago so her parents couldn’t marry her off to “some redneck park ranger.” Luckily for me, she was also a pediatric nurse practitioner at Chicago General, so I got to see her for lunch sometimes. Those were good lunch days.
I attempted a dramatic entrance, poking my head around the corner, the aforementioned hat on my head at a jaunty angle. I wagged my eyebrows, and was met with whoops and hollers.
“I like that hat.” Marie leaned forward in her seat, placed her elbow on her crossed leg, and gave me an approving smile; her curly blonde hair fell forward around her shoulders.
Marie, out of our bunch of misfits, was the artistic one.
She was a freelance writer and illustrator and was extremely talented.
In addition, she was an excellent cook. My favorite knit nights were at Marie’s apartment because she always cooked instead of ordering takeout.
On those occasions, I usually slept over if I could manage it because she made amazeballs Belgian waffles for breakfast.
I pointed to my head and stepped around the corner. “You mean this hat?” If my grin were any wider, it would have split my face.
When Sandra saw the matching scarf and mittens, she stood up.
“Shut. Up. You. Knitting. Prodigy.” She pointed at me, her mouth open wide.
“I can’t believe how awesome that turned out.
Let me see—get your skinny bottom over here.
” Originally hailing from Texas, Sandra was by far the loudest and most opinionated among us.
Actually, at times, she and I tied for that title, but I liked to think she edged me out of the lead most of the time.
Like me, she was finishing her second year of residency at Chicago General, but she was a psychiatry resident.
I hopped into the room and wiggled my fingers, a somewhat lame attempt at jazz hands, and crossed to Sandra. She met me halfway, and immediately grabbed one end of my scarf for closer inspection.
“Is it Fair Isle? Where did you find the pattern?” Fiona turned in her seat, and motioned both Sandra and me over.
She placed her knitting to the side as I approached.
Fiona was five feet two and reminded Janie and me of a pixie.
Her hair was short, her lashes were long, and her wide dark eyes always seemed to sparkle with a knowing glow.
She was our unofficial den mother, and we all loved her.
“It’s based on the Mini Mochi Fair Isle Hat by Sandi Rosner. I just took the pattern and reworked it for the matching scarf and mitts.” I handed a glove to Fiona and watched her inspect it.
“I know that pattern.” Kat volunteered quietly.
She brushed a length of brown, wavy hair from her shoulder and reached for her margarita glass.
Janie met Kat at her previous job where Janie—although highly skilled as an architect—had been under employed as an accountant for an architecture firm.
Now, Janie worked for her fiancé’s company as a senior account manager, and Kat still worked as an executive secretary for the firm.
Kat was sweet, kind, sincere, and very, very quiet.
I didn’t know her as well as I would like, but I had firsthand knowledge of how wonderful she was.
Janie strolled out of the kitchen carrying margarita glasses. She was balancing on stilettos that made her barefoot six-foot frame a towering six feet four inches. Janie and I shared a weakness for fabulously impractical shoes.
When she saw me, she smiled and lifted a glass. “Do you want a margarita? I’m making them with limoncello and Patrón.”
“Yes. I will have margaritas.” I returned her smile. I was very happy to see her. I hadn’t seen her since last week’s meet-up, and I missed my best friend.
Janie was my college roommate, and I loved her like the sister I never had.
We’d bonded early over the fact that we’d both lost our mothers at a relatively young age, but there was our shared strangeness, too.
I was a sarcastic, caustic tomboy who’d skipped a grade in elementary school, and Janie was a walking calculator and encyclopedia.
We were a match made in heaven, and we both wore a size eight-and-a-half shoe.
“Ok, two more coming right up.” She nodded in my direction then passed one glass to Ashley and the other to Sandra.
She then wiped her hands on the Wonder Woman apron she was wearing.
A fire-engine-red curl had escaped her loose bun and fallen in her face.
She puffed it out of the way and returned to the kitchen.
Marie reached for Ashley’s glass, took a sip, and smacked her lips together. “Oh…that’s good. The limoncello adds something nice.”
Fiona handed me back my mitt. “You do beautiful work.” She smiled wistfully at my scarf. “I need more time to knit.”
“Fiona,” I said, leaning closer to her, “before I forget, I have something for Gracie and Jake in my room. Build-A-Bear Workshop was having a sale on the bear kits.”
Her eyebrows jumped and her eyes lit with surprised pleasure. “Thank you, Elizabeth. But you didn’t have to do that. You need to stop buying them toys.”
“What are you two talking about?” Sandra called from her place on the couch.
Before I could give Fiona the warning glance that screamed don’t tell them! she lifted her voice and announced to the group, “Elizabeth bought Gracie and Jake Build-A-Bear kits.”
I grimaced and waited for what I guessed would come next.
“Wait….” Ashley lowered her work and frowned at me. “Do you know anything about the kits that were dropped off at the pediatric unit yesterday? We can’t figure out who did it. There were like thirty of them.”
Yes, I’d dropped off the bears. They were on sale.
Kids love bears. Kids shouldn’t be in the hospital.
It was no big deal. I didn’t want to discuss it.
Sandra would likely call me Florence Nightingale, which would eventually lead to someone discussing my nurturing and/or maternal instincts, and then all sorts of biological clock jokes.
As a rule, I didn’t mind teasing about my bad behavior, but I hated being teased—or even admitting to—my good behavior.
When attention was drawn to an arguably good deed, I felt like a fraud.
I didn’t meet Ashley’s scrutinizing eye-squint. I changed the subject.
“Fiona—Fiona—” I motioned to my teeth. “You have something in your teeth—right here.” I pointed between my two front teeth.
Fiona did the standard lip-dance-frown-spit-swishing movement then picked at her teeth with her fingernail, “Well, thanks for nothing, everyone. Have I been sitting here this whole time with something in my teeth? Only Elizabeth has the decency to tell me.”
Sandra snorted into her margarita. “Pshaw. I didn’t notice a damn thing. And Elizabeth is OCD about that kind of stuff. I once spent the better part of a minute trying to remove a spec of pepper from my teeth. No one could see it except Ms. Microscope Eyes over there.”
I shrugged. “Fine. Next time I won’t tell you when you have a huge piece of parsley hanging like bunting between your incisors.”
“I have some news that has nothing to do with Fiona’s disgusting habit of storing food in her teeth.” Ashley—seemingly ignorant to my Build-A-Bear subterfuge—winked at Fiona; Fiona responded to the wink with a deadpan expression.
“Oh. Does it have anything to do with Elizabeth’s microscope eyes?” Sandra wagged her eyebrows at me. I considered sticking my tongue out but decided against it as Fiona had turned her attention back to my scarf.
“No, surprisingly, it doesn’t.” Ashley’s smile grew secretive and she paused, milking the dramatic silence. Finally, she said, “It has to do with a celebrity at the hospital today.”
My eyes met hers and a chill ran up my spine. I schooled my expression, and did an admirable job of not reacting.