Page 23 of Night Shift

Rays of sunlight streamed through the canopy of leaves as we entered Swan Creek Trail. The air was fresh and filled with the scent of damp earth and the sound of small creatures skittering around in the forest. I’d always loved this hidden gem of an urban park in the middle of Tacoma, not only for its beauty but also because there weren’t many people who visited it during the weekdays.

“Isn’t it incredible how peaceful it is here?” I asked Sam, gesturing to the lush greenery surrounding us. “It’s like we’re miles away from the city.”

“Definitely,” she replied, her eyes roaming over the landscape. “I love how we’re surrounded by the thick woods and it feels like we’re the only ones here. You’re right; it’s a nice escape from the chaos of the hospital.”

The damp earth squished under my hiking boots as Sam and I made our way up the narrow trail. My mind raced with questions I wanted to ask her, but I held my tongue. We walked in silence, listening to the birds chirping in the trees above us.

As we rounded a corner overlooking the stream below, I noticed how the streaks of sunlight making their way through the tree canopy lit up her beautiful auburn curls. I pulled out my phone, put my arm around her, and said, “Smile.” Just as I took the picture, she poked me in the ribs, evoking a big ole grin from me while I glanced over at her. I pocketed my phone and moved on.

I noticed that Sam didn’t have her phone out and wasn’t snapping pictures like most people her age would be doing. Curious, I asked, “Would you like me to take some pictures of you?”

She shook her head. “No, that’s okay. Whenever I’m out in nature, I try to separate myself from technology, even when it comes to taking pictures. I figure if I have a good time doing whatever it is I’m doing, the memories will be there with me forever.”

Who is this girl? I wondered, surprised that she actually preferred enjoying nature rather than posting pictures about it on social media.

“Really?” I asked, genuinely curious. “You don’t use your phone much, do you?”

“Actually, I didn’t have a cell phone until college,” she said. “I couldn’t afford one, and there was no way my father would spend money on anything he didn’t have to. He only gave me grocery money because he didn’t want the Department of Children, Youth, and Families called, since he was given probation until I turned eighteen.”

Her candidness about her past and the mention of Mac’s issues with the law caught me off guard. I wanted to learn more about her story. “What happened with your father, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Sam hesitated. “Promise me something first,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “For every question you ask about my past, you have to answer one in return.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed, intrigued by the prospect. My years as an emergency-room doctor had honed my ability to ask leading and fulsome questions, putting me at an advantage.

For a few strides, I mulled over how to ask Sam about her past and how to phrase my first question to get the most information from her. I decided to begin by summarizing what I knew about her so far. “From what I’ve gathered, your father is an alcoholic, since he reeked of it the other morning, most likely a drug addict based on the condition of his teeth, unemployed with the way he demanded money, and violent…because of the way he attacked you. And something must have happened to your mother since you’ve never mentioned her. I was wondering if you might want to tell me more about what’s going on with your dad and what happened to your mom.”

Sam’s steps faltered for a moment before she righted herself. We stopped, and I turned to face her. For a minute, she remained silent, and I thought she might refuse to answer.

She bit her lip, looking down at the ground while she considered my question. Finally, she sighed, as though resigning herself to share more about her past. “My father was always a heavy drinker and sometimes became abusive to my mother when I was little, even before the wreck,” she began.

I instantly felt a pang of regret for asking. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Sam—”

She shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

I stared at her, puzzled by her matter-of-fact tone.

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” I said, thinking of my own mother, who had died when I was only fifteen. The rawness of everything that had led up to it had never fully left me. “Losing a parent so young…” My voice faded. I didn’t know how to comfort her, to lessen the pain of that old wound.

She shoved her hands in her pockets and started shuffling along the trail again, kicking rocks. “Mac and my mother were at a Christmas party with friends, and I was at a babysitter’s house. I was eight years old. I wasn’t feeling well, so the babysitter called my parents. They left the party, and of course, my dad was drunk. After picking me up at the babysitter’s house, he ran a stop sign and struck another car. The wreck killed my mother and injured the people in the other car. Then my father was convicted of vehicular manslaughter but only given probation so that I wouldn’t be left without a parent. His probation ended when I turned eighteen, and so did the roof over my head.”

“Wow, that’s…a lot to deal with,” I said softly. I reached out and twined my fingers with hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze. We walked for a while without speaking.

After taking a few deep breaths, she recounted more of her tumultuous past, detailing the abuse she’d suffered under her father’s drunken rages and her struggle to grow up in such a harsh environment.

“I learned early on that I couldn’t depend on him, so I took care of myself. Worked my way through school and got my nursing degree. And built my own life.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve wrestled my demons and mostly have them pretty well caged.”

I believed her. Sam was one of the most capable, levelheaded nurses I’d worked with. But I also sensed a deep vulnerability beneath her veneer of strength.

Despite everything she’d been through, she stood here, determined to build a better life for herself. And the fact that she was still willing to share some of her most painful memories with me, a man she barely knew, was both humbling and inspiring.

Before I could stop myself, I reached over and gave her shoulders a hug. She tensed but didn’t pull away.

“All right,” she said. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

“Go ahead, ask away.” I braced myself for whatever probing query she might throw at me, then took her hand once again. This time, she held it firmly. We picked up the pace.

“Have you ever been married?” Sam asked simply.

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