Luckily, Mrs. Wilson hadn’t heard me. She was too busy rambling on about how cold the room was and how it had been hours since she’d been checked on.
“I cannot wait to go home.” I knew a few nurses that would be happy to see her wheeled out the door and off the floor. “At least at home, I can eat what I want.”
“How is your pain? Any discomfort?” I asked, ignoring her comment. I just wanted to get in and out of that room as fast as possible without seeming like I had no bedside manner. I checked her vitals and made sure that everything was as it was supposed to be.
“It’s manageable,” she said shortly.
“Okay then. Everything looks good, so I’ll leave you be,” I said with a smile. “Just hit the call button if you need anything.” She offered up a stiff nod and I placed her chart back in the holder at the foot of her bed. I walked out of her room and down to the nurses’ station. Mrs. Wilson was one of only three patients today and I’d made my rounds. I sat down and pulled out my cell phone.
Me: Any chance you’re available on Tuesday to help me over at Reid’s parents’ house? Moving trucks are coming.
I’d forgotten to ask him. Somewhere between dinner and making out it had slipped my mind.
Brett: Let me check my schedule. I’m pretty busy these days. ;-)
I snorted back a laugh, garnering a look from one of the other nursing students who was nose deep in the book from our Genetics & Molecular Therapeutics class. Clearly, she didn’t want my laughter interrupting her. I got it. That class was not a cakewalk. Just another thing I was not looking forward to. When I got off my shift at the hospital, I was looking at no less than four hours of studying for an exam. My day was not looking up.
“Sorry,” I said, turning in my chair to face away from her.
Me: That’d be fantastic if you could pencil me in.
Brett: I can do more than pencil you in.
Me: Did you mean for that to sound sexual?
Brett: Isn’t everything I say and do sexual?
Me: Good point.
Brett: Of course I’ll help you. Especially if that’s the only way to get to see you. You’re too busy.
Me: Tell me about it.
Brett would love to hear all about Mrs. Wilson and her bad attitude. He would make me see the humor in her grouchiness. At least he was a fairly easy patient.
I could still recall how the nursing staff had gushed about him from the moment he arrived.
“Brett Sallinger is here,” one of them had said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You know he’s a professional motocross rider, right? I wouldn’t mind being personally assigned to him.”
“Whatever he needs,” another one laughed. “He’s beyond hot.”
“One of the nurses that assisted with his surgery said he’s worth the effort. She snuck a peek under his gown while he was out,” Miss Hair Toss finished with a waggle of her eyebrows and held up her hands to signify the length of what the surgical nurse saw under his gown. I wasn’t surprised at the separation between her hands. Made sense, considering exactly how arrogant he was at times. At least he could back it up.
I’d tried to remain cool as I eavesdropped, but even back then before I really knew Brett, I was irritated. Their lack of professionalism was one thing, but talking about him like they actually had a chance was quite another. Maybe my subconscious knew there was something between us before the rest of me.
“I hear he only dates models,” I’d blurted out in an attempt to stop their conversation. It had worked. Both of them rolled their eyes and walked away from where I was standing. Guess I had been wrong about the model assumption. I was far from a supermodel and he was interested in me. The thought alone was enough to have me grinning back at my phone.
Brett: What are you doing tonight?
Me: Studying.
Brett: Boo.
Me: What are you doing tonight?
Brett: Not sure. Probably just sitting around being awesome.
Me: I might need a study break around 9.
Brett: Is this a booty call? I’m not that kind of guy, Georgia Bennett.
Me: Not a booty call. A booty text.
Brett: I’ll let you know if I have an opening. I need to check with my assistant.
I tried to think of something funny to respond, but before I had a chance my phone vibrated in my hand again. His wit was definitely faster than mine. When I looked down at the screen I realized it wasn’t Brett’s name on the screen.
Iris: Don’t forget about lunch on Sunday.
How could I forget? This was the second message that Iris had sent after I’d seen her at the grocery store. The last Sunday of every month she had a big dinner for her family after church. A big dinner that I’d been attending with Jamie since I was thirteen, and attended without Jamie since he’d died. At first it was nice to be surrounded by other people who loved him as much as I did, but the past few months, I’d dreaded it. It was always the same. Everyone was all happy and cheerful while we ate, but as soon as the dessert was served, Iris would pull out old photographs or something that she’d found of Jamie’s and thought I’d like to see or have. The mood shifted with everyone and it was like being sucked back into the day of his funeral.
I’d amassed a collection of his old sweatshirts and other odds and ends that she’d found when cleaning out a closet or the attic. How do you tell a mother who lost her child that you don’t want to spend the last Sunday of every month rehashing the memories of her son? I took each item she gave me and placed it in a box in my closet. It might have been therapeutic for her, but each reminder that I didn’t have him in my life only reopened the wound that I was trying so hard to close.
Me: Wouldn’t miss it.
I typed out my response and slipped my phone back into my pocket just as the call button lit up on for Room 459. Mrs. Wilson.
Perfect.
Now seemed like as good of time as any to get back behind the wheel of a car. I hadn’t heard from Georgia anymore that day and it was nearly eight o’clock. I’d waited for her to respond to my text message and when I didn’t I just assumed she got busy with a patient. I couldn’t go another day without seeing her. If she wasn’t going to come to me, I would go to her.
I could feel myself falling for her and for the first time in my life, I wanted to keep falling. I just hoped that I hadn’t scared her off when I was talking about riding. I understood her hesitation and fear, but it was something that we could work through together. Georgia was pretty good at trying to tackle everything herself. Each time I got her to let her guard down a little, I could see a new part of her. She could be funny and silly and not so serious. She could be passionate and sexual and sensual. I knew there were more layers to her and each one I peeled back was better than the last.