Page 12 of I Still Love You

Claire points at Britney. “Exactly. How the hell are you supposed to have fun if he’s in your head spoiling it before you get the chance?”

“I’m not here to have fun, Claire. I’m here to work.”

“Shame,” is all Claire says before the door chimes, and in walks Cherie Robinson, our mom. She’s dressed in her bank get-up, dress pants and a pretty blouse. Her light hair, done up in loose curls, brush her shoulders as she spots us and makes her way over.

She knew I was flying in a few days ago and made plans to see my sisters today.

I scoot out of the booth, and she sighs in relief, most likely happy as hell that her middle child, who fled the nest, is finally home. She drops her purse to the floor and grasps my arms. Her eyes move over me as if she’s checking to make sure I’m in one piece. “Layla, girl.”

I smile back. “The one and only.”

“I can’t believe you’re here. I was worried about you traveling. I hate that you have to do it alone. Are you settled in?”

“As settled as I’m going to get.”

She rubs one of my arms before crushing me into her chest. “Oh, honey. I know you’re not very fond of your current arrangement, but we’ll make the best of it, won’t we? Who knows. Maybe it’ll be good for you here. Give you a little more closure you didn’t know you needed.”

“Maybe.” She smells like flowers. The same floral-scented perfume she used when we were kids nuzzles close, and it feels nice. Like something I’ve missed without even realizing it. She doesn’t know how badly I need this hug.

There’s been a chill in the air every morning since running into Mason and Luke. The Tampa news only worsened it. It clings to me as I shower and tags along when I head out. It even snuck into my suitcase on the trip to Maine, and it’s here now, clinging to the walls like second-hand smoke.

I hate it. Hate that being back here is doing this to me. It might’ve taken me time to find myself again, but returning teleports me to the past, to the pain, to the penitence.

I saw a future with Luke. All the bells and whistles. A gorgeous diamond halo engagement ring—which he provided before I left—the white picket fence, date nights every Friday while one of my sisters babysat our two little Luke look-a-likes.

When I let myself ponder, mourning tickles the corners of my eyes, and I recall how challenging dealing with the aftermath of my dad’s accident was just after accepting Luke’s proposal. I preferred breaking it off and hiding away instead of tapping into his strength when I was weak. I didn’t consider the lasting effect my choice would have on either of us at the time.

So, maybe I deserve his bitter attitude. If the roles were reversed, it would make me just as angry. I broke him. While I was gone, I may have learned to survive my dad’s passing, but I still don’t know how to fix my past mistakes or how to repair the damage caused. Deep down, it kills me that Luke used to be there for me, that I used to have a companion to lean on.

And now…I have nothing.

5

Layla

Besides the obvious, I’m settling in well. My belongings—what I travel with—were officially unpacked this past weekend. As much as this move and job placement make me antsy with anticipation, I’ve decided to accept it. There’s nothing I can do to turn back time to fix Aubrey’s mistake, and I can’t magically show up in Tampa and demand a job.

I’m taking being here as a sign, as my mom mentioned. Maybe it is time I face the music—my past poor decisions and learn to live in a place that holds so many memories of my dad. I slam my car door and haul the straps of my lunch tote and work bag up on my shoulder. My blonde hair is pulled back in a sloppy braid to ensure it’ll stay out of my face while dealing with patients. With my chin held high, I push my shoulders back and head for the entrance, burying any insecurities that attempt to rob me of my confidence.

The emergency department at Regional sits on the left-hand side of the hospital, its entrance over the top. A wide, expansive arch hovers above the electronic sliding door, and thick, strong pillars keep it in place. “EMERGENCY” hangs from the arch in bright red lettering, and light filters out through the windows. Even from the parking lot at the hospital’s main entrance, it’s hard to miss.

The path leading to the emergency entryway is long and winds between another path before opening back up to where I’m heading. I blow out a breath and make my way toward it. In the future, I’ll be using the private entrance off to the side of the building when I come and go, but I don’t have my hospital badge yet. Besides, I always enjoy the journey through the front on my first day. I like the perspective it brings, being able to view it from the patient’s eyes. When a person comes to the emergency room, what do they notice first? Does the ambiance of the environment soothe and calm them? Does it quiet their fears and give them a sense of reprieve?

I appreciate the sweep of the airy clouds as I walk. Aside from them, the sky is clear, the sun slowly pushing up over the eastern horizon, turning the sky dark blue and creating a hue of hopeful orange to wash along the skyline. It’s the calm before the storm, something I’ve grown accustomed to these last few years of being a traveling nurse. Out here, there’s a tranquility you won’t find inside. As soon as I walk through the doors and check in with the head trauma nurse, this sunrise will mean nothing, and I’ll tap into the focus I’m expected to arrive with and practice throughout my shift.

And I’m okay with that arrangement because I love helping save lives. The sunrise might be pretty, but in the grand scheme of things, giving someone the quality of their life back is more liberating and fulfilling.

When the doors to the emergency room open, a wave of warm air cascades over me, replacing the slight chill from the early morning air. The check-in station is off to the right, and groups of chairs sit around it, some filled with waiting patients. Across from the check-in counter is a door leading to triage. I follow the directions that I read over in my contract and head down a narrow hallway away from the center of the E.R. entrance. Being that I already know where it’s at—because this place looks no different than it did years ago—it takes less than a minute to find it.

Before I get the chance to raise a fist and knock on the closed door, an arm curls around my shoulder, and someone is squishing me into their side.

“Layla Robinson, it is so good to see you,” Mildred, the same head trauma nurse I worked with after nursing school, greets, her curly brown hair cut into a classic shag. The bright blue eyeshadow and thick eyeliner she favors taking me back to the eighties.

“Mildred,” I beam, giving her a squeeze back. “Still holding up, I see.”

She flicks a finger in the office’s direction, silently telling me to follow her as she pushes through. Before I left Regional, Mildred was my go-to. She might not be the name at the bottom of my checks, but she trained me to be the nurse I am today. Without her, I’m not sure where I’d be. Nor would I have the skill or knowledge that’s gotten me this far.

“You know me,” she quips, dropping a stack of papers on the corner of a desk flush against the wall. “I’ll work until I’m dead. Barry isn’t a fan of that, but he also isn’t aware of how invigorating our line of work is.” There’s an edge of resentment in her tone, reminding me of the marital issues they had years ago when they separated for a fleeting period.

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