Sweet Nothing(57)

Josh kicked the tray table, knocking it over, his eyes wild.

Everyone but me backed away. “Avery! Out!” I yelled.

Josh shouldered his way out of the room as the rest of the staff stood around the boy, just fourteen.

The X-ray tech backed out of the room with her portable machine, and the respiratory therapist followed. Deb printed out a final rhythm strip showing the flat line, and one by one, staff members removed tubes and began cleaning up the mess.

“I’ll go speak with the family,” Dr. Rosenberg said.

“Doctor,” I said, stopping him. “Might want to change first.”

He looked down, noted the mess on his coat, and then nodded.

“I’ll finish up,” Deb said.

I pulled off my shoe covers and gloves and nodded to her, wiping my face with the back of my wrist. I walked out of the room, down the hall, and turned the corner, looking for Josh. He was sitting on the break room floor, his back against the wall.

I knelt in front of him. “You can’t do that.”

“I know,” he growled.

“Look at me,” I said. His head snapped up. “You can’t pull that in my ER, understand?”

His shoulders fell and he looked away, nodding. His jaw shifted to the side. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s … it’s f*cking Christmas. He blew his brains all over the Christmas tree with his mom’s new pistol.”

“I know,” I said, wishing I could say something more comforting, but there was nothing rational about what had happened to that child.

He wiped his wet cheek and sucked in a breath, his face crumbling. “I feel like a f*cking *.”

“It’s okay. Everyone deals differently.”

“Baby,” he said, reaching out to wipe my face.

I leaned away from him. “I’ve got it. I’m going to get cleaned up. Make sure you debrief at the station.”

I stood, looking down at the large crimson splotches on my scrubs.

“Yeah?” I confirmed.

He nodded again, indignant. “Yeah, yeah, all right.”

“See you at home.”

Josh’s bottom lip trembled for a moment, and then he sniffed, stood, and shook it off.

We all had our reasons for doing this kind of work. Josh’s compassion ran deeper than even he knew. He didn’t do it for the money or the glory. We had shitty hours and even shittier pay, but at the end of the day, Josh could go to bed knowing he had helped someone, and for him, there were few things more important than that.

The women’s locker room was decorated in cheap red and green decorations. Most of the lockers bore pictures of the nurses’ children or nieces and nephews. Mine was empty but for one black and white photo of Josh and me at Quinn’s mom’s house on Thanksgiving. I walked past the lockers and into the bathroom, pulling my scrub top over my head and tossing it into the red biohazard box.

In the mirror, I noticed dark spatters and smears on my face, and the blood that had bled through to my sports bra.

My eyes stared back at me, dull green with dark circles underneath. Pieces of blonde hair had fallen from my ponytail. The rest of the staff was a mess, too. We had all worked hard the last hour to save that boy, but sometimes, no matter what we did, we couldn’t fix everyone. Not even Josh.

I pulled off my scrub bottoms and then turned on the faucet, watching the sink turn red while I washed my face and arms. I dried off, feeling the weight of disappointment and heartbreak, knowing not even a fraction of what I was feeling could be compared to the loss felt by the boy’s mother.

I gripped the sink, choking out a cry. After that first sob, my entire body shook, and I gave myself five minutes to grieve for the boy I never knew. My watch counted down the minutes, and then I washed my face again and dressed in fresh scrubs, ready to do my best to help the next person in need.

Michaels pushed through the door, her eyes puffy and red. “Good work, Jacobs.”

“Thanks,” I said, unable to make eye contact. I walked past the room, the doors closed and family present. Just as the mother began to wail, I grabbed another chart and pushed through the double doors to the waiting room. “Charles?” I called and smiled as a woman pushed her elderly husband’s wheelchair toward me.





Josh was waiting for me after my shift. He stood, still in his navy-blue T-shirt with the white logo and navy-blue cargo pants, bundled in a matching puffy coat. He pulled his ball cap low over his eyes, huffing out a cloud of crisp air when I approached.

“Hey,” I said, crossing my arms over my middle. “How long have you been out here?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I had Quinn drop me after we clocked out. Risking sounding like a huge vag again, I didn’t want to be at the apartment alone.”

I slipped my arms under his, pressing my cheek against his chest. The strong scent of whiskey assaulted my nose. I leaned back. “How many?”

“Just one, after work. It wasn’t even my stash, it was Quinn’s.” He smiled and then shrugged when I didn’t respond. “It’s f*cking cold out here.”

I pulled out my keys. “Let’s go home.”

Josh opened the driver side door for me and swept his arm toward the seat. I smiled, sat, and then leaned across the seat to open his door.