Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Declan
Our lunch ends abruptly when I get a call to meet a patient at Silverton Hospital.
Fortunately, we were nearly finished anyway, and thankfully, Evie had already shared her revelation. And she called me Dec while fully conscious and not at all febrile.
I held back. Maybe someday she’ll know how much I held back when I said I was glad she took the risk with me, even if her motive had far less to do with me and more to do with Charlie.
She said she wanted to be your friend.
The reminder echoes through me, but I can’t dwell on it. It’s far too easy to collect every kind word or smile or soft touch and build a picture that’s not there. I have to be careful.
I spend a few hours at the hospital with Gary Longbrow, one of my geriatric patients who really should be seeing a geriatrician considering he’s ninety-four.
His wife was there, too, but they needed some help navigating the hospital system, and the staff at Silverton Hospital know to call me if needed.
Gary and his wife still live in their tiny mountain cabin a few miles outside of Juniper View.
They’re hardy and “mountain-proved,” as Gary likes to say, but he’s had a few falls and it’s looking like they may need to make a change.
This is one side of my life even my family doesn’t know a whole lot about.
They know I volunteer for different on-call positions and I pop over to the Silverton Hospital or sometimes go all the way to Ogden or Salt Lake if someone in our tiny community is life-flighted that far, but in my year of being here, those incidents have been few.
What I mainly do is visit the older folks in the community who don’t have a perfect solution to what they need.
They want independent living, but they need easy, and sometimes instant access to physical and medical help.
From the outside, it might seem like the obvious choice would be to move to a senior living center or even a nursing home, but thus far, Gary and Martha haven’t needed nursing-level care save a few stints in skilled nursing facilities.
They can’t afford, nor are they likely to both get spots simultaneously, at Silverton Springs, the very nice senior living facility in town.
So they fall through the cracks. They stay home, they get stuck there if one of their kids or grandkids isn’t visiting to help with appointments and errands because we don’t have a consistent transport service available and they don’t qualify for any home health aid.
It’s unacceptable. We have no infrastructure to help them, and they make little enough money they can’t afford most quality options and too much money to get enough help to bridge the gap.
So one of my hobbies is checking on Gary and Martha and folks like them, and working on what Finn calls my side hustle. He doesn’t even know what it is, but eventually he will, and I think he’ll like it.
This is also one of the experiences that has pushed me to realize I do want more. Solitude is great and all, but their bond is incredible. And their kids are, too. They’ve solidified the resolve that began when I took care of Major Dale. Even this visit with them has me hoping…
I don’t allow myself to give that hope a name today, though.
This takes much of the rest of the day, and by the time I come home, I’m spent. I wouldn’t say I’m sick, but I’m feeling dragged down, so I fall asleep early and miss out on talking with Evie after she puts Charlie down.
Sunday, she and Charlie have plans with Sam and the girls, and when I wake up feeling like myself, I take a nice long run.
I work on the house so it’s clean for the week.
Then I tuck myself away outside in the yard to prune flowers and mow the lawn and finally replace the back gate hinge since it rusted over the winter.
This way, Evie and Charlie have some time for themselves at home if they want it.
Yes, it’s a bit of a cop-out.
In my defense, though, I’m not sure how I’ll do around her, especially without our cheery little buffer.
She didn’t exactly declare her undying love for me, but she did say she wants to know me more.
Such a statement could drive a man to his knees, were the man the kind who’d get on his knees for a woman.
Turns out, after she said it, it became instantly clear I am that man when it comes to her.
Not that I didn’t already know I had a weakness for her, based on where our interactions began in earnest a few weeks ago. But I didn’t realize it was quite so complete.
Somehow, between Charlie’s schedule and my own commitments through the week, we’ve mostly seen each other on the way to work and twice for dinner. We’ve kept our conversations light, but I’m still gathering up each piece of her she shares like a greedy little squirrel prepping for winter.
Though in this analogy, it means I’m preparing to be without her for a long period of time, and I don’t anticipate that. Not for a while.
Or so I hope.
No major developments in the custody case this week, though the date for our hearing is looming in exactly thirteen days. I don’t know if she has a similar mental countdown, but I suspect she does. She’s not irritable, but she seems tired and distracted when we’re together for very long.
Which is why tonight, I’ve made a plan. I’ve ordered in Naan King because it’s been months since I’ve had it and she’s mentioned she loves it. I’ve set up a makeshift table in the living room and I’m hoping she’ll accept my invitation to eat and watch a movie on the couch.
“Hey. He’s out.” She stands in the kitchen, watching as I set two glasses of ice water on the table. “What’s that?”
“It’s our dinner, if you haven’t eaten yet.” She didn’t get home until nearly six, then focused on feeding Charlie, then bathing him, reading to him, and getting him to bed. It’s seven-thirty now, and I’m glad I didn’t order until after she finished his bath.
Her face brightens. “I haven’t. I’m so hungry, and now that you say that I’m smelling it and—” She makes a sound that makes my stomach clench with longing. “Is that Naan King?”
“It is.”
“Oh my gosh. I’d marry you for this if you hadn’t already married me first.”
A strangled laugh trips out of me. “Good to know.”
The way to her heart may be through her stomach. It’s not that I haven’t noticed how much she enjoys a good meal, but I do worry that sometimes, her propensity to show gratitude is simply because she feels she owes me.
Her joke is a considerable step forward.
She washes her hands at the kitchen sink. “Need anything else from over here?”
I inspect the setup. “Maybe a few more napkins?”
I have some already, but there’s always room for reinforcements.
She’s grinning when she arrives, biting one lip and giving heart eyes to the containers of jeera rice, butter chicken, palak paneer, chicken tikka masala, and a basket of naan arranged on the squatty coffee table awaiting us.
I wave a hand for her to sit, and she plunks down, bouncing on the seat before settling and reaching for a plate.
“Seriously, this is amazing.”
“All I did was order. Mr. Khan cooked it and Jana delivered.”
She gives me an unimpressed look, which I accept with a grin.
We pile our plates with food and it’s as though we both have tunnel vision. We hardly speak until we’ve both taken our first bite. I look over and see her cheeks are bulging, they’re so stuffed with food.
She must catch my surprise, because she presses her hand to her mouth and I can see her furiously chewing. I silence the instinct to beg her to be careful after treating a patient who aspirated rice a few weeks ago. The woman knows how to chew and swallow.
Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes broadcast humor and, if I’m not misreading, delight.
She is so completely beautiful to me in this moment with her cheeks crammed full of food and her eyes bright.
Her hair is tied back away from her face so I see the slope of her neck and the T-shirt she threw on when she got home from work over the sweats she loves.
She’s relaxed, and not doing the thing some people do where they try to be dainty and proper when eating.
Not that she’s ever particularly been this way, but her comfort puts me at ease.
Not just that. It brings me pleasure to know she’s doing as she pleases here.
In another few seconds, she swallows and speaks. “Sorry. I don’t think I became so ravenous until I saw it all. This is a dream.”
You’re a dream.
“Did you have lunch?” I’ve tried not to smother her by being in the break room at lunch every day this week like a puppy too eager to see his new owner. But that restraint has made me bereft of the information I want—which is everything.
She tips her head side to side. “I forgot most of it in the fridge but enjoyed my apple a great deal.”
“You should let me help you with Charlie more. We can take turns doing things. Or I can pack your lunch for you. Tell me what you want and I’ll make it.”
She stops mid-bite.
“I can help.”
She finishes the food quickly. “Of course you can, but you shouldn’t have to take care of two more people at home and then go spend all day taking care of half the town at work.”
If there were ever any doubt about her soft, thoughtful heart, she has yet again let me see the proof of it.
I set down my fork and turn to her fully. We’re about two feet apart on the couch, and if I had my way, I’d close that distance. Every atom of it.
For now, I savor the connection between us. This quiet moment scented by delicious food and the simplicity of a still house holding a sleeping baby above and the two of us here. Her lovely blue eyes captive to me, I attempt to make some of what I feel clear.
“I’d like to help you, Evie, because I care about you and Charlie. And I suspect it’s been a long time since you let anyone take care of you. If you’ll let me, I’d like to be that person. At least for a while.”