Page 54 of Wicked Proposal
We all spring to attention. “Gwen! We were just, uhh?—”
“Comparing treatments,” Reese cuts in helpfully. “For emesis.”
“I think I’m gonna throw up, too,” Mr. Konrad mumbles.
Gwen—our head nurse—surveys the scene. Her expression is, as always, unreadable. I’ve never seen a sixty-odd woman who’s shorter, grayer, and more severe-looking than her. She’s like one of those Roman statues whose age and mood are shrouded in mystery.
“I see. How’syourpatient doing, Kallie?”
Kallie goes green as she glances at the empty bed that her discharged patient vacated half an hour ago. For a second, I’mworried she might throw up, too. “I-I’ll go do another round of the bays.”
“Good idea,” Gwen agrees snidely. “‘Right now’ would be perfect.”
Kallie scurries away. I cringe inwardly for her. Getting scolded by Gwen Zimmermann is never great. Sometimes, it feels like she can stare into your skull and read your mind. Like she knows every corner you’ve ever cut and she feels nothing but scorn for your weakness.
As if on cue, her narrowed eyes zero in on me.
“You don’t look well,” she notes.
“Haven’t had a chance to hit the salon lately.” I laugh awkwardly, but it goes over like a fart joke.
Gwen isn’t swayed. “It’s not that. You look… tired.” Her eyes, if possible, narrow even further. “Make sure to take care of yourself. Otherwise, you won’t be able to care for your patients.”
Then, sermon delivered, she marches off to the next victim.
Reese and I share a look.“Unbelievable,” he breathes. “She’s worried about you. I didn’t know she could do that.”
“Do what?”
He gestures wildly. “Care!”
I roll my eyes. “She’s not that bad, you know. She taught us everything, remember?”
“How could I ever forget the Gwen Glare?” He shivers. “I see it in my nightmares all the time.”
I shake my head. Reese loves being dramatic. He’s got one thing right, though: I cannot accept Yulian’s offer. Not now, not ever.
I glance at my phone. My shift is almost over. The calendar blinks back at me with a date circled in blue.
August 2nd. The day of Eli’s first basketball game—and my deadline.
But that’s okay. I’ve already decided. Turns out, I decided this one a long time ago.
Never again.
By the time I get to the school, I’m so excited I could burst. It’s Eli’s first game, and I can’t wait to see it.
He looked so happy practicing at home with his plastic hoop. Seeing him like that, I forgot why I ever considered calling his therapist back in the first place.
The more the days go by, the more I convince myself Principal Johnson got it wrong after all.
How can such a happy kid be struggling with anything?
All the families will be here, too, which is more good news. Maybe I can take the chance to extend an olive branch to the Perkinses. If he’s going to be moving next door for grade school with everyone else in a couple of years, I want him to be on the best of terms with everyone. It’ll make things easier down the road.
Or so I think.
Then I arrive, and I realize how misguided all that hope really was.
