Chapter Thirty-Six
“It’s not my fault,” my dad says, trailing behind me as I walk down Main Street, heading to the store. “I was at the blackjack table, winning big. Walking away would’ve been stupid.”
I feel nothing. No disappointment. No sadness for the relationship that never was.
“I expect nothing from you,” I say, not even glancing in his direction.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you really want to have this conversation?” I stop at a bench and sit down.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He stands there, arms crossed, like he’s challenging me.
“You’re unreliable,” I say flatly. “You always have been.”
“That sounds like something your mom would say.”
“It’s not.” I close my eyes and glance up at the sky, searching for calm. “You have no idea how much your absence hurt me growing up. It’s like you didn’t even care.”
“You don’t know how many times I sat on the couch, waiting for you. My birthday, holidays, or when you called out of the blue to make plans.”
“I was messed up, Beatrice,” he says, his voice almost pleading. “I was young and into bad things. Are you going to hold that against me forever?”
“But now you’re a grown-ass man,” I snap, my voice rising. “You promised me you’d be somewhere, and you didn’t show up.”
He nods slowly, like he’s trying to absorb my words. “I had a tough upbringing, Birdie. It messed me up.”
I sigh, the weight of his excuses pressing down on me. It’s always the same with him.
“You need to work on yourself,” I say quietly, “so you stop dumping your trauma on others.”
“Just like your mother,” he mutters under his breath.
“Thank gawd for that.” I stand up from the bench, refusing to look at him. “Bye.”
It’s been two weeks since the gala, and this is his first attempt at explaining why he wasn’t there. If only he realized—I don’t care anymore. I’ve compartmentalized so much in the past few weeks that I’m on autopilot, numb, just going through the motions. I wake up, go to work, stay too long, and then come home to sleep.
After bringing the groceries home, I head into work for my evening shift. I stop by my mom’s office as she’s packing up to leave for the night.
“We’ve been two ships passing in the night,” she says, looking up as I step inside. “All this extra staff is great, but now I feel like I need to hire an assistant administrator.”
“Can you afford that?” I drop into the chair, feeling the fatigue in my bones.
“Actually, I think I can.” My mom leans back against her desk, a smile tugging at her lips. “I can’t believe how much we raised at the gala. I feel like I need an assistant administrator and a donor relations person. Also, a new resident came today. He’s in Abigail’s old room. Be extra nice to him. He’s having a hard time adjusting.”
“Birdie girl,” she adds, “I may need your help with the new group of nursing home volunteers. Lucy filed the paperwork, and we’ve got five since the gala who’ve cleared the background checks and are ready to start contributing.”
“There’s plenty to do,” I say, my voice distant. “We need someone to run bingo regularly, and the ladies love getting their hair and nails done. Maybe one of the volunteers could organize and distribute donations? The supply room is a mess.”
“See?” My mom jumps up, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not just precious to me, but to this entire nursing home.”
“You should get out of here while the night’s still young,” I say, pushing a smile onto my face.
I head to the main nurse’s station and check my caseload for the night. Some of my favorites are on the list—Marilyn, Sunny, Sis, Joe—and a couple of new residents. We’ve grown by ten residents in the past month.
“Hi, Marilyn.” I open her door, finding her lying in bed. I organize her medicine and help her sit up. “How are you feeling?”
“It won’t be long now, Birdie,” she says, her voice soft. “I’ve been feeling a lot of peace about it lately. I’m ready.”
I sit at the edge of her bed, squeezing her hand. “You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
Marilyn smiles and takes her pills.
“We’re doing a movie at seven. A romance. Will you come?”
“I never miss a romance.” She pats the top of my hand, her smile warm.
I keep walking down the hallway and notice the light on in Abigail’s old room. It’s always hard to lose a resident and see someone else occupy the space. I step inside, and a man turns to me.
“You must be Bob,” I say. He stares at me, clearly unhappy with his current situation.
“And you are?”
“Birdie.” I point to myself. “I’m one of the RNs here. Welcome to Tranquil Waters Nursing Home . ”
“There’s nothing tranquil about it,” he grumbles.
It’s not unusual for new residents to come in here kicking and screaming. Despite all the improvements, it’s still a nursing home. I read through his chart: sixty-eight-year-old man, Type 1 Diabetes, double amputee below the knees.
“So, Bob,” I say, glancing up, “what do you like to do for fun?”
His gaze is sharp. “I’m a writer.”
“That’s great. What do you write?”
Bob folds his hands over his chest, eyeing me. “Do you really care? Aren’t you supposed to be asking how I feel?”
“I’ll get to that,” I say, my tone gentle. “But yes, I want to know what you write.”
“I’m Bob Coster,” he says, his voice tinged with pride. “Maybe you’ve read some of my supernatural fiction novels.”
Bob Coster. I try to contain my excitement. “I have. I love them. I actually love everything about ghosts and the dead. I’m not sure if you’re from around here, but I’m new to town and found out I’m living in the Hurst haunted house. You know, if you ever need fodder for future novels.”
His eyes light up for the first time since I stepped into the room, and he actually looks at me directly. “I’m not from here, but I’ve been doing research for my next book and became fascinated with the stories about your house.”
“Well”—I shrug—“if you’re ever up for a field trip, I’d love for you to see it.”
Bob seems too healthy for a nursing home. As if reading my mind, he says, “My husband died. He was my main caretaker. I’m hoping my time here is temporary until I can hire someone to live with me and take care of me.”
“I see.” I sit in the chair across from him, nodding. “This place isn’t so bad once you get used to it. Some of the residents are non-communicative, but others are here for similar reasons as you.”
I glance around at the stark, white walls. “I could help spruce this place up. You’ve got a beautiful view out the window, and the food’s gotten a lot better. Tonight we’re having Joe’s favorite—spaghetti and meatballs.”
Bob lets out a breath, and one corner of his lips turns up slightly. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed some reassurance tonight.”
“Hey,” I say as I get to my feet, “do you like romance movies?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Movie night starts at seven. You should come. We’re serving pie and ice cream.”
“Maybe,” Bob says as I continue my rounds.
Voices ring out from Sunny and Sis’s room, so I peek inside and freeze—the room is full. I make eye contact with Camilla and Robby, and a blond man has his back to me. My chest tightens with hope. I’d love to see Liam. Maybe I’d tell him I was scared and wrong, and he’d be open to talking. But when he turns toward me, my chest sinks. It’s not Liam. His eyes are a deep brown instead of blue, and his hair is a shade darker.
“This is our cousin, David,” Camilla says. “Liam’s younger brother.”
“He’s visiting from Florida,” Robby adds.
“You must be Birdie.” David stands and offers his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I study him closely. He and Liam share so many similarities—their height, the angularity of their jawlines, the same straight nose—but their eyes are entirely different.
“Yes.” I finally smile. “Sunny and Sis have told me a lot about you. You’re the artistic grandchild in Florida.”
David laughs. “That’s me. Liam tells me you’re new to town and that your mom is the proud new owner of the nursing home.”
Liam talked about me—to his younger brother. I wish I knew the context of that conversation. Was my name mentioned in passing, or did Liam go out of his way to bring me up?
“I’ll come back later,” I say, pulling my gaze away from David’s to look at Sunny. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
“We’re going out tonight,” Camilla says. “Are you free to join us?”
“I just started my shift,” I say, feeling a pang of regret. “I’m working overnight, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Bummer,” Robby says. “We’re meeting a lot of people at the pool hall.”
“Yes,” Sunny adds. “You kids have so much to celebrate.”
“Well,” I say, backing out of the room, “you guys have a good night.”
My disappointment at getting my hopes up, only to realize it’s not Liam, is overwhelming. I continue down the hallway, slip into an empty room, and slide down the wall until I’m sitting with my knees pulled up to my chest. I’m the one who told Liam it was over. I’m the one who hasn’t responded to his texts. I have no right to feel this much sadness that he’s exactly where he said he would be.
No matter how hard I try, my mind is consumed with thoughts of Liam. I don’t know how to navigate it because it’s never happened before. I’ve never longed for someone after they left. Not since I was a child, longing for my dad.
It’s been two weeks since that night in the parking lot with Liam—when he told me he loved me, and I told him it was over. Yet I still can’t sleep. Instead, I lie awake, wondering what he’s doing, who he’s with. There have been moments where I’ve wanted to pick up the phone and call him.
But I haven’t.
*****
Coming off a night shift feels like running a marathon with no sleep. My nights are spent organizing while the residents mostly sleep, and by daylight, a new energy fills the nursing home as the day staff takes over. I pull out my phone to check my reflection, noticing the dark circles under my eyes. I haven’t slept well in days.
I reach the door just as David is walking up the sidewalk. He smiles when he sees me.
“Hey, Birdie.”
David reminds me of a surfer—carefree, with longer hair than Liam’s and a day’s-old stubble.
“Coming to see your grandparents?”
“I am,” he says. “And my parents arrive tomorrow. We all decided to spend the long weekend out at the cottage.”
“Oh.” I bite my bottom lip, resisting the urge to ask if Liam will be here. Of course, he won’t be. He just got to New York. And it wouldn’t matter if he was coming. Band-Aids were always meant to be ripped off quickly.
“Have you talked to Liam?” David asks, holding the door open. The alarm starts going off, so he quickly shuts it.
“Why would I talk to Liam?”
David narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly. “Sorry. I thought…”
He smacks his lips together, cutting himself off.
“I’m going to say hi to my grandparents, but you have a great day, Birdie.”
“You too.”
David glances at me one last time before heading inside.