Chapter 4 Tasha
four
tasha
Metro General was quiet when I arrived, the calm before the inevitable storm of a Saturday morning. I was running just late enough to be annoying, but not late enough to get called out for it. The perfect sweet spot.
I pushed through the staff entrance, my travel mug of coffee clutched tightly in one hand, mentally preparing myself for another day of bodily fluids, entitled patients, and doctors who thought "nurse" was synonymous with "personal servant.
" At least my scrubs were fresh, and my coffee was strong enough to strip paint. Small victories.
The break room would be packed with the day shift getting their assignments, but I needed to refill my water bottle before facing humanity.
As I approached, the door burst open, and I nearly collided with Nathan Crawford—Metro General's most annoyingly punctual nurse—looking frazzled in a way I'd never seen before.
And he wasn't alone.
A girl of about eleven or twelve trailed behind him, clutching a backpack shaped like some cartoon character and a paperback book. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she had blue braces that flashed briefly when she nervously bit her lip.
Crawford's kid? Had to be. Same serious eyes, same way of standing, like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.
I stepped back, watching as Sophia immediately took control of the situation, ushering Crawford and his daughter into the charge office.
Through the glass, I could see Crawford's rigid posture, the tension in his shoulders.
The little girl looked small and out of place, clearly trying to be invisible.
"Babysitter drama," Maria muttered from beside me, appearing, like she always did, out of nowhere. "Poor Nate!"
I took a sip of my coffee, affecting nonchalance. "Not my circus, not my monkeys."
But I kept watching. The kid… Paige. That was her name. Was fidgeting with the book in her hands. The Giver. I remembered that book from school. Pretty heavy stuff for a tween, but Crawford's kid was probably as serious as he was.
Wait. I remembered now. A few weeks back, Crawford had been showing around a picture Paige had drawn for a science project.
Something about heart valves, way beyond what an eleven-year-old should be capable of.
He'd been so damn proud, practically bursting at the seams, even though he tried to play it cool.
"Just sharing some interesting anatomical information," he'd claimed, fooling absolutely no one.
I'd taken a look, more out of boredom than interest. The kid had included the interatrial septum in her analysis of heart valves. Most adults wouldn't catch that.
Through the glass, I could see Sophia's expression shift from stern to sympathetic. Crawford looked like he was drowning. The kid looked like she might cry any second. After a moment, they all disappeared from the break room, heading for the charge nurse’s office.
"What do you think will happen?" I asked Maria, keeping my tone disinterested.
Maria shrugged. "He'll probably have to call out. With the new attendance policy, that'll be rough." She lowered her voice. "HR's been on the warpath lately.”
I frowned. Crawford was a pain in the ass with his military precision and his constant "by the book" attitude, but he was also one of the few nurses who always had your back in a crisis, who never complained when shifts ran long, who took the difficult patients without whining.
And that kid. Something about her quiet determination to be brave, the way she clutched that book like it was a lifeline... it reminded me of my cousin Alexis at that age. Scared but trying so hard not to show it.
Before I could overthink it, I found myself walking toward the charge office. I knocked once, decisively.
Three faces turned toward me as I opened the door. Crawford looked shell-shocked, Sophia looked calculating, and Paige... Paige just looked lost.
Something twisted in my chest, unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
Damn it.
"Oh my God, hiiiii, is this your daughter?" I blurted, channeling my inner enthusiastic babysitter voice. "The one who drew that heart valves picture you showed everyone!?"
Paige looked up, clearly startled. "You showed my picture to people?"
Crawford's ears reddened. "It was exceptional work."
I leaned down slightly to Paige's level, surprising myself with how genuine my interest was. "I thought it was soooooo cool how you included the interatrial septum. Most people forget that's technically a fifth distinct area."
Paige brightened visibly, sitting up straighter. "Dad helped me build a model!"
The words tumbled out before I could stop them: "If you need someone to watch her, I could stay with her in the break room.
Just until you can sort something out." I shrugged, trying to look casual, like this wasn't completely out of character for me.
"I'm good with kids. Got a bunch of younger cousins. "
Crawford stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Sophia's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline.
"Are you sure, Tasha?" Sophia asked, her voice neutral but her eyes sharp. "You'd be responsible for her. I'd need to pull you from the floor."
"I can handle it," I replied, a defensive edge creeping into my voice. What, they thought I'd corrupt the kid? "For an hour or so. Give him time to make some calls."
Sophia made her decision quickly. "Okay, Tasha. Thank you. For one hour. Break room. I'll let Nathan and I handle Fast Track between us."
Crawford looked at me like I'd just thrown him a life preserver in a hurricane. "Tasha, I... thank you. Seriously. I owe you big time."
His sincerity was so unexpected it made me uncomfortable. "No worries, Crawford," I said, already turning to Paige, desperate to change the subject. I gestured to the book in her hands. "Is that 'The Giver'?"
Paige nodded, holding it up. "For school."
"That's one of my favorites," I said, genuinely excited now. "The ending still makes me mad, though."
Paige's eyes widened. "You've read it?"
"Dystopian literature is kind of my thing," I admitted, then caught Sophia's surprised look and felt instantly defensive. "What? I read!"
Sophia raised her hands in surrender. "Never doubted it."
Crawford hesitated, then unzipped his backpack and handed Paige a smaller bag. "Your lunch. Protein bar for midmorning. Water bottle's full. Remember your inhaler's in the side pocket if you need it."
"Dad," Paige muttered, embarrassed. "I know."
I bit back a smile. He was so painfully earnest. It was actually kind of... sweet? No, not sweet. Thorough. Professional. Something like that.
"Want a juice box, Paige?" I asked, already steering her toward the door. "We've got apple, orange, and prune... mmmmm, we should probably skip that last one."
Paige giggled, a quiet sound, but real. My heart did a weird little flip.
Once in the break room, I settled Paige at the corner table, away from the main traffic. "So, 'The Giver,' huh? How far are you?"
"Jonas just left the community," she said, touching the book cover. "With Gabriel."
"OooOOOoooh, the great escape," I nodded. "What do you think happens to them?"
Paige shrugged, but her eyes were alive with curiosity. "The book makes it seem like they find Elsewhere, where there's music and colors. But my friend Tyler thinks they just freeze to death."
I laughed. "Tyler sounds cheerful."
"He likes zombie movies," Paige explained solemnly.
"Of course he does," I said, grinning. "Want to know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think they make it. I think the memory of music becomes real music. I think they find people who remember how to feel things, how to see color." I leaned in conspiratorially. "And I think the sequel proves me right."
Paige's eyes widened. "There's a sequel?"
"There's four books total," I informed her. "I've got the whole set at home. Maybe I could lend them to you sometime."
Paige nodded eagerly, then hesitated. "My dad says I should only borrow books if I can return them within two weeks. He says it's respectful of other people's property."
Of course he did. "Well, maybe we can work something out," I said. "Your dad comes here pretty often, after all."
Paige smiled, a small, shy thing. "Okay."
We chatted about books for a while, and I was impressed by how articulate she was. Not just smart, but thoughtful. No wonder Crawford was so proud of her.
"Want to see a cool trick?" I asked suddenly, grabbing a tongue depressor from a supply drawer.
"Sure," Paige said, looking intrigued.
I rummaged through another drawer and found some medical tape. "When I was about your age, my mom worked night shifts at a hospital. Sometimes I'd have to hang out while she finished paperwork. One of the nurses taught me how to make these."
I folded the tongue depressor in half, securing it with tape, then cut small triangular notches on both sides. With a few more folds and twists, it resembled a butterfly. I added a few more details with a Sharpie, and voilà.
"A butterfly!" Paige exclaimed, delighted.
"Here," I said, handing it to her. "You can color it later if you want."
Just then, the break room door opened, and Crawford stuck his head in. He looked surprised to find us both smiling, Paige holding her new creation.
"Everything okay?" he asked, his eyes darting between us.
"We're good," I said, straightening up, suddenly self-conscious. "Just talking books and making butterflies. Regular stuff."
He nodded, a strange expression crossing his face. "I'm still trying to reach Mrs. Swanson. Thank you again, Tasha."
"No big deal," I said, waving him off. "Paige is cool. We're vibing."
Paige giggled at that, and Crawford's eyes softened as they landed on his daughter. For a brief moment, I glimpsed something in his expression—a fierce, protective love that was almost painful to witness.
Then he was gone, back to his calls and his patients.
"Your dad really loves you," I said without thinking.
Paige nodded, serious again. "He's the best dad ever. He tries really hard."
"I can tell," I said softly.
We spent the next half hour making more butterflies, talking about school, and comparing notes on our favorite books. When Crawford returned, announcing that Mrs. Swanson was on her way, I felt an odd pang of disappointment.
When the older woman arrived, Paige gathered her things. Then, to my complete surprise, she gave me a quick, shy hug.
I froze for a split second before awkwardly patting her shoulder. "See you around, kiddo," I managed. "Let me know what you think about the ending of that book, okay?"
As Paige left with her father and Mrs. Swanson, I found myself watching them go. Crawford's hand rested lightly on Paige's shoulder, guiding her, and she looked up at him with complete trust.
Something twisted in my chest again, that same unfamiliar feeling. It wasn't envy, exactly. Maybe... wistfulness? A strange sense of having glimpsed something precious and rare.
Then Maria appeared at my elbow, eyebrows raised suggestively. "Look at you, playing Mary Poppins."
"Shut up, Maria," I muttered, the spell broken. "The kid's not terrible. And Crawford owes me coffee for a month."
"Mmm-hmm," Maria hummed knowingly.
I grabbed my stethoscope, slinging it around my neck. "I'm going to get report. Some of us have actual work to do."
But as I headed for the nurses' station, I couldn't quite shake the image of Paige's smile when she'd held that paper butterfly, or the raw gratitude in Crawford's eyes when I'd offered to help.
It was just one weird morning, I told myself.
It didn't mean anything.