Chapter Thirty-Seven Everleigh
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Everleigh
“Hey, Mom,” I answer my phone on speaker after getting out of the shower.
“Hi, babe. I haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“Oh.” I remove the towel from my head and finger comb my hair. “Sorry. I’ve been busy with my barndo and distracted by other things. I should have called.”
“Well, I won’t keep you long. I know it’s your lunch time and you have lots of patients who need you more than I do.”
“Mom.” I laugh. “What’s up with the guilt trip today? You know I’m here for you. And I’m not working today. Since there’s a new doctor at the clinic, I took the week off to get things done.”
“Then I don’t want to keep you from—”
“Mom. I’m serious, stop this. I have time to talk. I’m bummed we’re not getting to spend Thanksgiving together, but I hope you get your top-secret commission project finished.”
“Ugh, I’m so uninspired,” she sighs.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine. If you’re busy cutting wood and stuff, I can call you later.”
“I have time for you. I’m actually not in Missoula. I’m in Somers visiting Will and his mom. They went to see his dad, so I headed to the nearest trail with steep hills. I just got out of the shower.”
“Everleigh, you’re visiting Will and his dying father?”
I swallow and smile as if she can see me. “I’m visiting Will and his mother. They are visiting his father.”
“Everleigh, are you”—she clears her throat—“okay with this?”
“I’m fine.” I pull on my underwear and jeans.
“I’m just worried about you. It’s been a while since we’ve discussed—”
“I’m not seventeen anymore with a crush on a firefighter who doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
“I think I forgot to mention I got offered a job at Johns Hopkins,” I say, desperate to change the subject.
I’m fine. She’ll see.
“What? That’s amazing! When?”
“Well, I have to decide soon.” I slide on a pink cashmere sweater.
“Decision? You make it sound like there’s a decision. It’s Johns Hopkins.”
“Yes. It’s a great offer with everything I could want, but I bought land, and I have an established practice in Missoula. I have patients who travel long distances just to see me. It’s not an easy decision to abandon them.”
“You’re not abandoning them. It’s not like someone won’t take over their care.”
“But it won’t be me.” I carry my phone into the bedroom and sit on the end of the bed to pull on my gray wool socks.
“Well,” she says with a deflated tone, “that’s true. There’s only one Dr. Everleigh Reichart.”
I grin.
“Still, please tell me you’re taking the job. Baltimore is a two-and-a-half-hour train ride from New York City.”
“I’m aware.” I plop back onto the bed, setting the phone beside me and then grabbing Will’s pillow to bury my face in it, in his familiar woodsy scent. The cotton is crisp like new sheets, a contrast to the soft cream sherpa comforter with a pine tree print.
“Let me guess, that’s one of the reasons you’re on the fence about taking the job?”
I chuckle, removing the pillow from my face. “It’s not the main reason, but it’s a reason.”
“Ugh! Everleigh, you know I’m a busy person. It’s not like I would take the train up there every weekend to see you.”
“No?”
“No. I’d just move there.”
“Stop.” I giggle, and so does she.
“I’m serious, sweetheart. Don’t pass up this opportunity because you’re worried I’ll suffocate you.
And don’t pass it up for Will or any other guy.
You deserve to be chased. Pursued. Respected.
Coveted. And Will is a very nice man. Handsome to the extreme.
But if he doesn’t want to chase you, then he’s not the one. ”
“What if he wants to chase me, but he doesn’t want to leave his mom after his dad dies?”
“Yes, you want the man who loves his mother, but who loves you just a little bit more.”
“Spoken like someone who has never been married.”
“I’m observant. That’s what gives me wisdom and the clarity to see other people’s mistakes. I’m not blinded by love.”
“I’m not blinded by love, either.”
“So you’re going to take the job?”
“Yes,” I say for the first time, and my heart immediately dies in my chest.
I’m taking the job.
The doctor I’ve become doesn’t care about the stupid, lovesick girl beneath the white coat and well-practiced facade.
I think of Austin, Emma, Bethany, Caleb, and the hundreds of other children I’ve helped.
It would be stupid to choose a man who doesn’t love me the way I love him.
And I’m not stupid. Well, starting today, I’m not stupid.
“Yes? Yesss!” Mom celebrates for both of us.
I smile through my tears.
I’m taking the job and leaving William Landry, hoping he’ll chase me. For the first time in my adult life, I’m thinking only about my career and the people whom I can help. Voltaire, Uncle Ben, and Will are right: With great power comes great responsibility.
“Okay. When? Do you need help moving? I can come help you pack your stuff and drive a moving truck as soon as I finish this commission piece. Whatever you need.”
Endless tears slide down the sides of my face as I stare at the ceiling. I took the job in Missoula because of William Landry. I bought ten acres overlooking the mountains. The barndominium was supposed to be a project Will and I worked on together. The Airstream. The trip here. It’s all for him.
The love I’ve had for this man feels like its own death as I prepare to leave everything behind.
“They’re paying all of my moving expenses.
Besides, since my house burned down, I don’t own much.
I’ll hire out the rest of the work on the barndominium and either rent it or sell it.
I’ll sell my Airstream. I’ll just . . .” I pinch the bridge of my nose and bite my quivering lower lip for a second. “I’ll let it all go.” I’ll let him go.
“Can we talk about Will’s dad for a second?” she asks.
I sit up and wipe my face. “There’s nothing to talk about. He’s dying. I’m moving to Baltimore.”
“Everleigh—”
“I’ll call you when I get back home at the end of the week or on Thanksgiving.”
“Everleigh—”
“Love you.” I end the call. With a heavy exhale, I stand, tip up my chin, and return to the bathroom to dry my hair and pick up the pieces of my carefully sorted emotions. As the hum of the dryer drowns out my inner psychiatrist, I put those pieces back where they belong: locked behind a vault.
Then, despite my amateur culinary skills, I find ingredients for minestrone soup and a recipe online. While it simmers, I listen to an audiobook under a heater on the porch, waiting for Will or his mom to return.
But they don’t.
I resist texting him, and instead eat a bowl of the soup before putting the rest of the pot in the fridge.
After a few minutes curled up on the sofa, staring at the barren fireplace, I decide to start a fire from the stack of wood and kindling next to the hearth.
The warmth and flickering flames soothe my nerves.
A little after eight, the front door opens. I pull out my AirPods and gauge Will’s expression before saying anything or even offering a smile.
He removes his boots, shoulders curled inward, and he has no expression of joy to offer. Just a shell of a man in faded denim jeans, a worn black-and-gray flannel shirt, and wayward hair that looks like it’s taken the brunt of his frustration.
“Hi,” I say, slowly standing and folding the red fleece throw blanket as the fire crackles behind me.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
When he glances up, I offer a sad smile. “What do you need?”
“A miracle,” he whispers as if the weight of the world is crushing his chest.
I can’t give him that, so I meet him halfway as he shrugs off his jacket. He melts when I snake my arms around his torso, cheek against his chest. We stand idle in our embrace for a long minute or two. I won’t let go. He can do it when he’s ready.
After a few more breaths, his hold on me relaxes, and he steps back, brushing his knuckles over my cheek.
“I made minestrone soup, and it’s not awful. That’s a miracle.”
“You’re the miracle.” Will’s lips replace his knuckles, and he kisses my cheek. “But I need you to leave because I don’t want you to see this.”
I hold my breath as he releases me, brushing past me toward the bedroom. All of my emotions hit at once. Even though I’ve decided to go to Baltimore, I’m not quite ready. My heart feels like it’s being shoved off a cliff instead of voluntarily jumping when it’s ready.
What doesn’t he want me to see?
I use the poker to break up and spread out the remaining embers in the fireplace, and cover them with ash. Then I pad my way along the hardwood floor to the bedroom, stopping in the doorway. Sitting on the end of the bed, Will has his head bowed, resting in his hands.
“I will feel infinitely weaker,” he murmurs.
My heart turns to dust, incinerated by his vulnerability. Does he have any idea how many times I’ve tried to get my patients to give me even a fraction of what he just did? Vulnerability is a gift. It’s the purest form of trust.
I open my mouth to tell him something I have never told anyone because, for the first time in a long time, I feel safe, like I can trust him with the thing that makes me feel “infinitely weak.” But the words don’t find air.
They get tangled in my heartstrings, tugging and tearing at the scars.
My grief won’t take away his. It might make him feel responsible for consoling me, and that’s just cruel.
Again, I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I cannot utter a single helpful word because my heart is too invested in this man. I don’t feel like a doctor or an expert.
No mental muscle memory.
No professional reflex.
Not a trace of helpful advice.
“Is your mom with him?” I ask, but I know the answer.
Will lifts his head from his hands, eyes closed, and he nods once. “He had a stro—” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard, jaw clenched.
“A stroke?”
“Yeah,” Will whispers, dropping his chin and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Um.” He clears his throat and opens his bloodshot eyes.
“She told me to come home because she knows I don’t want to witness his last breath.
” Again, he swallows hard. “Neither does she, but she won’t leave him.
But I don’t think he’s dying tonight,” he says like he’s trying to convince himself that it’s true.
“I’ll sleep and then get up early to relieve her. ”
I nod several times, hands folded in front of me. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
Will’s gaze lands on me. It’s filled with pain and conflict.
“This is a very personal time for your family, and I want to respect your wishes,” I say.
His shoulders sag a little more.
I step in front of him, pressing a hand to his cheek. He leans into my touch, and it feels like the weight of his anguish is suffocating my heart; the heaviness is almost unbearable.
“Are you going to Hopkins?” he murmurs.
I don’t want to leave until after his dad passes, until I know he’s going to be okay. But I can’t say that.
“Yes,” I reply without adding all the conditions I want to attach to my decision.
I’ll go if you’ll visit me.
If you’ll invite me back here to see you.
If it doesn’t mean you’re moving on without me.
“Do something amazing. Cure mental illness. Autism. Alzheimer’s. Win a Nobel Prize.”
I grin, tracing his cheekbone with the pad of my thumb. “And I thought my mom had high expectations.”
Will attempts a smile, but it doesn’t fit his face. The grief won’t accommodate it. “I bet your father has even higher ones. Have you told him you’re taking the job?”
I blink back my emotions. “Not yet. But I will,” I whisper with my heart lodged so tightly in my throat it feels like I could turn blue.
“He’s going to be proud of you.” Will’s calloused hand encircles my wrist, and he kisses my palm. “Moms are hardwired to be proud of their kids no matter what, but dads seem to insist on receipts before they puff out their chests and call you a chip off the old block.”
I laugh and quickly pull my hand away from him to wipe my tears before they escape. “I think you might be right.”
Will drops his gaze. “The doctor gave my dad a day, maybe two.”
“I’m sorry.” I wedge myself between his knees and pull his head to my chest, stroking his hair. “Is there anything I can do for you or your mom before I leave in the morning?”
Will pulls away. “Don’t . . .” He shakes his head. “Fuck. I don’t know what I’m doing. I want you to leave, and I want you to stay. I want my dad out of pain, but I don’t want him to fucking die. I’m just, I don’t know.” He swipes the heel of his hand along the corner of his eye.
It’s okay for him to cry in front of me, but I won’t say that. Instead, I squeeze his hand and whisper, “Rest. I’m here for now if you need me. And if you don’t, that’s okay.”
He draws in a shaky breath and whispers “Thank you” on his exhale. Then he scoots back in bed and reaches out his hand. I crawl into bed beside him, and he pulls me to him like a security blanket. Chest to chest. Arms and legs intertwined.
William Landry might break me, but not in the way I ever imagined.