Page 115 of Stone Vows

I go back in the kitchen and get the chicken casserole, setting it on a hotplate before I sit down. “You know,” I say, with the faintest trace of humor. “Some wise doctor once told me not to keep things inside or they will eat away at you.”

“Some wise doctor, huh?” he asks, his mouth twitching in amusement.

“Yeah, wellhethinks he’s wise. But I just think he’s a wiseass.”

He chuckles, scooping another bite of peas into Ellie’s mouth.

“So, this tough day. Was it tougher than Rosita?” I ask.

His eyes snap to mine. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do. That was the day everything changed,” I tell him. “Before that, you always went to Gina for comfort. But that day you came to me. That’s the day I knew—”

I stop talking. I stop talking because sometimes I forget we’re not together and some things are not appropriate for us to say to one another. I busy myself dishing out dinner for the two of us.

“That’s the day you knewwhat, Lexi?”

I shrug as I carefully compose my answer. “That maybe there could be something more.”

He nods in understanding. Then he studies me. “Wait, you knew about me and Gina? I mean, I know I told you we had . . .somethingmaybe, but I don’t ever remember getting into the particulars with you.”

“What was it you told me once? Nurses love to gossip? I was in the hospital for almost a month, Kyle. I heard all kinds of things.”

He takes a bite of casserole. “Wow, this is really good. You know I don’t expect you to cook for me. After all, youarepaying me rent—which I’d like to go on record as saying you absolutely don’t need to do.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I say. “I know I don’thaveto cook for you. That’s probably why I like to. And, for the record, the pittance I’m paying you for rent is just a token of my appreciation and we both know it. Anyway, you’re missing the point. I was trying to get you to talk about your day.”

He blows out a strong breath. “I told you I’m doing my PICU rotation, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. Pediatrics, right?”

“Not just pediatrics, pediatric intensive care,” he says.

I look at Ellie. “That must be really hard.”

“It is. But kids are strong. Resilient. Most of the outcomes are good. But today . . .” He looks over to the window and I could swear he’s trying to keep from crying. “Today, there was a kid about my nephew’s age. He wasn’t even three years old and already he’d had a dozen surgeries. He needed a heart-lung transplant, but he had a very specific blood type and we couldn’t find him the organs in time. I sat and watched his parents say goodbye.”

He chokes up, getting up from the table to grab a bottle of wine. He brings it and two glasses back into the dining room.

“I know what you need,” I tell him.

He raises his eyebrows at me. “You mean besides the wine?”

I stand up and go into the kitchen, bringing the large cookie jar out, putting it on the table in front of him. “You need a fortune cookie.”

“I do?” he asks, pouring me a glass of wine.

I nod, taking the lid of the jar off. “You do.”

He reaches in and pulls out a cookie. After breaking it apart and popping the halves into his mouth, he reads the fortune to himself, drawing his eyebrows together.

“Well, what does it say?” I ask, curiously.

“It says‘Sometimes you just need to lie on the floor’.”

I take it from him, scanning it over before I laugh. Then I take Ellie out of her highchair and put her down on her blanket with her favorite toys. Then I lie down on the area rug between the couch and the television and I stare at the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

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