Page 1 of Dangerous Devotion

1

SERENA

My heart hammers faster as I read the notification on my phone. I look up in disbelief and meet Caylee’s eyes.

“I passed. Look!” I show her my screen.

“Passed? You got a freakin’ 94%. You were afraid you wouldn’t pass. Meanwhile, it looks like I’m taking medical terminology again next semester. Quit waving your score under my nose. It’s like you’re dancing at my funeral.”

She rolls her eyes heavenward and returns the favor, showing me the notification of her posted exam grade. Hers is not a passing score. I don’t know what to say. We met when we started the nursing program at the same time. She’s funny and sweet, and we sit together when we’re in the same class. I’m not sure how to reassure her to keep trying. This is the second final exam that she’s failed.

“Be honest, you bombed the test on purpose so we can finish together, cause you know I have to take a semester off, right?” I say as lightheartedly as I can.

“Yeah. That’s me, such an awesome study buddy that I sat down for the test and forgot every word I ever knew. I even blew the multiple choice. You’d think I could guess better than that after three semesters of classes,” she says with drooping shoulders.

“Hey, you’ll retake it next semester, show them who’s boss. We meet back here in the fall and pick up where we left off, right?” I say brightly.

“Serena, I swear to God,” she says, “I have no clue how you look on the bright side all the time. If I tank one more final, my parents are gonna stop paying my tuition. I have to get it right.”

“Call me if you want me to quiz you on anything. I’ve saved all my notes. I’ll scan them and send them to you if you want,” I offer.

“Ugh. You’re so nice,” she groans and hugs me. “You’ll text me, right? I’m gonna miss you.”

“Of course I am, and it’s just one semester.”

“How many breaks have you taken for your old man so far?”

“In nursing or in life?” I joke weakly. “It’s no big deal. I’ve got time and he needs my help right now. I love my dad.”

“You must. You’re like the model daughter. My parents would trade me for you in a heartbeat.”

“No way!” I say loyally, “they love you for who you are.”

“They’re ready to cut me loose, and I’ll have to give back-alley Botox injections to make ends meet. I’ll be sitting in my car with the windows down and a little sign that says, ‘unlicensed Botox & fillers, no ID, cash only’ and make my patients hold a flashlight so I can see where to stick the needle.”

I can’t help but laugh. “It’s not going to come to that, I know it,” I say.

“I’ll have to get a regular job. Cause you won’t catch me using my hard-earned degree to clean bedpans for minimum wage that’s for sure.”

“You can do this. We both can. Text me, okay?” I say and hurry to my car. I don’t want to be late for my shift as a nurse’s assistant.

I rush into the hospital and duck into the locker room and change into scrubs, pull my hair into a tight ponytail. I take extra care scrubbing my hands and under my short nails even though I wear exam gloves for practically everything. I stow my purse, clip on my ID and go to the nurse’s station for my schedule. After I greet Lara, the charge nurse for this shift, I see that I’m changing cath bags and helping a lady learn to change her ostomy bag.

“Then you can clean out 617,” Lara says, “and take everybody some fresh water, check their output.”

“Will do,” I say.

My brightest smile is in place as I go to see Mr. Webster and change out his catheter bag. I remind myself to check his tubing and make sure he’s not lying on it again. Just as I finish up in there, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I remove my gloves, drop them in the proper trash can, and slip into the restroom to check my phone. It’s my dad and he’s left a voicemail. When I listen to it, my hand goes to my chest involuntarily like those women in old movies who gasp and clutch their pearls when they get shocking news. I wish this were just a movie I was watching.

I shut my eyes. To my shame, my first thought is, they’re going to fire me for this one. I can’t even keep a job doing the grunt work of a hospital unit part time, because I leave my shift. I hate that I’m not dependable, and this firing will follow me to the next job I try so hard to get and keep. I’m sick about it. I remind myself that my dad took care of me, and it’s my turn to take care of him when he needs me.

Stomach twisting in knots, I tell Lara in a rush what’s going on. I say I’m sorry about eight times, but the grim line of her mouth tells me that sorry isn’t going to cut it this time. I grab my stuff from my locker and don’t bother changing out of my scrubs. When I get home, I throw the car door open before I’ve even shifted into park.

He’s exactly where I know he’ll be. Sprawled in a kitchen chair because it’s the first seat he came to when he walked in from the garage. He doesn’t go to the bathroom to clean up or even the couch to get comfortable. It’s the kitchen chair, head thrown back, legs flung wide, dried blood on his face. His location is where the similarities end. This isn’t like the other times. Nothing prepared me for how bad he looks.

He’s lost money on cards and horse races, on Super Bowl point spreads and March Madness brackets. My dad’s tried handicapping the vice-presidential nominations and everything in between. I’ve never seen him this beaten up, both eyes swelling shut, blood matting his hair on one side near the temple. Too near the temple. I drop to my knees beside him.

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