Page 9 of My Heart Before You

“Like . . .” Her friend rolled her hand.

Blood drummed in her ears. “Like the little ways they go out of their way to show you that they care. Listening to you when things go bad at work and a patient dies, or getting up early to start the coffee for you before you wake up every morning, or getting up with you in the middle of the night when you need them no matter how tired they are.”

A thousand memories threatened to flood back, and she shut her eyes hard in an attempt to stop the eventuality. Her thumb traced repetitive circles on the tips of each finger under the table in a febrile attempt to dissipate the anxiety teasing every synapse in her body.

“It’s that.” She pointed at the custom-made booth behind the bar top which faced the customer side of the restaurant.

With her friend’s attention deflected, a ragged exhalation escaped. “That’s what love looks like.”

Her gaze followed Ash’s eyeline to the elderly proprietors of the restaurant. The couple’s matching white-haired heads were bowed in intimate conversation as they sat. His neon pink oxford shirt stood in stark contrast to her simple yellow checkered blouse.

“Do you know why he’s always wearing those crazy neon shirts? It’s so she can see him when he walks around the room.” Emilie paused, feeling her back relax a fraction. “Her vision is so bad she can’t see him in the standard white shirt that the rest of the staff wears. When she told him this, he started wearing the bright shirts so she could find him. She just looks for the neon blur in the room. Watch her when he gets up; she’ll follow him around with her eyes.”

Through the hospital grapevine, she’d learned about Bo and Mary’s love story. Bo had worked in the hospital cafeteria, and Mary was a young labor and delivery nurse when they’d met. She would always take lunch from her night shift right before the cafeteria closed while Bo worked the kitchen’s last shift.

Over long, late-night chats, they fell in love and eventually married. After the birth of the first of their three girls, Bo decided he wanted to build a place of their own and opened the diner. More than fifty years of business later, the once young man’s gamble had paid off.

The restaurant was a family affair; their daughters worked there growing up, and now their grandchildren either waitressed or helped out in other ways. Shannon, their eldest, was the general manager. Even in their old age, Bo and Mary were ever-present at the diner.

The memory of the last time Emilie had been seated at the bar top flashed in her mind.

“I like your scrubs.” Mary’s voice floated up from beneath delicate white hair in carefully placed curls. “I can’t see any of the details, but I like the color.”

The teal scrub pants with a matching top adorned with eyelet trim around the neck, sleeves, and pockets was one of Emilie’s favorites. “Thank you.”

“My name is Mary,” she said before extending out her veined, age-spotted hand.

“Emilie.” She gripped her hand gently, but not limply, and received a firm handshake in return.

“I wanted to name our youngest Emilie, but Bo said it wasn’t Irish enough.” She blew out a playful huff. “He’s one to talk.” Mary leaned in conspiratorially and darted her milky eyes to the side as if to check if the coast was clear before continuing. “His real name isn’t Bo. His given name is Killian, but he wanted to have something more ‘American’ to go by and the nickname stuck.” She leaned back in her booth seat. “We settled on naming her Erin. I always liked Emilie though, lovely name.”

“Thank you.” Something about the old woman’s voice soothed the near-constant tension she felt between her shoulders.

“What do you do at the hospital?”

“I’m a nurse.”

“I was too. What kind?”

She swallowed the root beer sip she’d taken. “I work on the intermediate floor for heart surgeries.”

“Ahh, a surgical nurse. In my youth, all those women were the most severe in the place. You don’t strike me as overly serious.”

“I didn’t used to be, but I find that I am most of the time now.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she heard her own sorrow streaking through her quiet admission. She’d been so disarmed by the sweet woman, she’d unintentionally answered honestly.

Mary’s soft hand slipped over her own on the countertop. “I meant no offense.” She paused briefly. “It may not seem like it now, but all things ease with time. Even the worst things. They may never leave us entirely, but the pain does diminish.”

She glanced up to find a comforting tilt of Mary’s lips that led all the way to her failing eyes.

A gentle squeeze encompassed her hand before Mary released it to continue rolling silverware into paper napkins. “I’d love to keep chatting with you dear, but you’re going to have to eat while we do. Your food is getting cold.”

Like a small child being told what to do, she obeyed by picking up her mushroom swiss chicken burger and taking a healthy bite.

“How about I tell you a story while you eat?” Mary paused for a brief moment. “How about how my Molly was delivered in a snowstorm in the back of a cab before we could make it the two blocks to the hospital. I promise it’s funny and appropriate for the table. Though I am guessing you could probably change a bandage and eat at the same time if you needed to. Iron stomachs, the lot of us.”

A toddler at the table behind them dropped his sippy cup on the floor with a wail, bringing her attention back to the present.

“Are you serious?” Ash’s mouth gaped in awe. “I thought he was just an eccentric old man.”

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