Page 6 of The Art of Dying

“I envy you, Christy. I’ve never seen someone work so hard to love her job,” I said, taking my coat off its hanger and sliding my arms through the puffy sleeves.

“Patricia in Nita’s office? I’m shocked and surprised,” Alecia said without emotion, going into the break room to gather her things. “There are dozens of hospitals in and around Boston. Why work for someone so… you know. The woman who raised Mason to be the way he is.”

I stopped putting on my mittens long enough to point at her. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

She laughed. “C’mon. Let’s stop at Ody’s on the way home.”

“I can’t. I was exhausted this morning. I need to hit the hay early tonight.”

“One drink,” she said, holding up her index finger.

“That’s what you said last night, and I didn’t get home until midnight.”

She hooked her arm in mine and drug me into the hallway. Our sneakers stuck to the residue left behind from the disinfectant they used on the floor. “That’s your own fault. I was in bed by nine.”

“Can’t we just drink boxed wine at home? It’s cheaper, and we don’t have to tip or worry about random idiots hitting on us.”

“I want to be around people who don’t smell like sanitizer foam or moth balls.”

“Then why are you hanging out with me?”

Alecia belted out her signature cackle before opening the thick metal side door of the hospital. Winter air immediately blasted me in the face. I gasped, and as usual, Alecia laughed at me.

“Aren’t you used to Massachusetts weather by now?” she asked.

“I will never get used to air that hurts my face. How do you get used to air that hurts your face?!”

Alecia laughed and kept hold of my arm until we reached her Nissan Pathfinder. “See you in a minute. Drive safe.”

“For the whole mile,” I said.

“Oh, and if we see Kitsch tonight, you should give him a chance. He’s really not a bad guy.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t start. I’m not interested inanyoneresiding in your recycle bin.”

“He kissed me goodnight, dummy. I didn’t go home with him.”

“You didn’t?” I blinked.

She shook her head. “That was the rumor going around and it made Lucas jealous, so I didn’t deny it. Who did you hear it from?”

“Maybe it was Allie Smith, I don’t remember. You mean your current boyfriend Lucas? Or do you also have an ex named Lucas?”

“We’ve been off and on for years. He was my ex at the time.” She winked and slid into the driver’s seat, twisting the key in the ignition.

I pushed her door closed and walked to my car, stopping when I saw a note tucked under the windshield wiper. “Shit,” I said. I looked down to scan my doors for dents before scanning the chicken scratch written on the wrinkled paper. Instead of an apology for a door ding or fender bender, it was a few sentences from Kitsch.

Hope you had a good day. I’d like to buy you a drink at Ody’s tonight. No strings attached, just to say thanks.

I sighed, carrying the note with me as I sat behind the steering wheel. The geriatric engine of my green Ford Escort struggled in the cold, but I kept my foot off the gas and let it finally catch and turn. Old Emerald, or Emmy as I affectionally referred to her, was an 80s girl and easily flooded. She was on her last leg, but I refused to give up on her. Emmy was all I owned in the world, and she was paid for. We made our way together to Ody’s, and to my relief, Kitsch’s enormous white pickup truck wasn’t in the parking lot.

I stepped out and locked my door, startling when Alecia ran up behind me to wrap her arms around my middle and lift me a few inches off the ground.

“Really?” I said as she put me back on my feet. “I almost had a baby heart attack!” I smacked her arm with my padded mitten.

She giggled, hooked her arm in mine, and walked me to the front door. The hinges squealed as the thick wood swung toward our faces, one of the regulars just as surprised as we were.

“Oh, hell! Sorry, Alecia.”

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