Page 71 of Under Southern Stars
A knock at the door interrupts us. Tasha Williams sticks her head in, holding her travel coffee mug.
“Oh my God, hiiiii, is this your daughter?” Tasha asks, her eyes lighting on Paige. “The one who drew that heart valves picture you showed everyone!?”
Paige looks startled. “You showed my picture to people?”
Nate’s ears redden slightly. “It was exceptional work.”
Tasha leans down slightly to Paige’s level. “I thought it was soooooo cool how you included the interatrial septum. Most people forget that’s technically a fifth distinct area.”
Paige brightens visibly, sitting up straighter. “Dad helped me build a model!”
“If you need someone to watch her,” Tasha says, turning to me, her usual sharp edge is softened by an uncharacteristic awkwardness, “I could stay with her in the break room. Just until Nate can sort something out.” She shrugs, aiming for casual. “I’m good with kids. Got a bunch of younger cousins.”
I stare at her. Nate looks equally stunned. This is Tasha Williams, queen of the eye-roll and the “not my patient” sigh, offering to babysit. The ER gods truly work in mysterious ways.
“Are you sure, Tasha?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral, appraising her. This cannot be a half-hearted offer. “You’d be responsible for her. I’d need to pull you from the floor.”
“I can handle it,” Tasha says, a flicker of her usual defensiveness in her tone, but her eyes are fixed on Paige with something that looks surprisingly like…empathy? “For an hour or so. Give Nate time to make some calls.”
I make a quick decision. It is not ideal, but it is the best bad option we have. “Okay, Tasha. Thank you. For one hour. Break room. I’ll let Nathan and I handle Fast Track between us.”
Nate looks like he could weep with relief. “Tasha, I…thank you. Seriously. I owe you big time.”
“No worries, Nate,” Tasha says, already turning to Paige. She gestures to the book in Paige’s hands. “Is that ‘The Giver’?”
Paige nods, holding it up. “For school.”
“That’s one of my favorites,” Tasha says, her face lighting up with genuine enthusiasm. “The ending still makes me mad, though.”
Paige’s eyes widen. “You’ve read it?”
“Dystopian literature is kind of my thing,” Tasha admits, then looks at me defensively. “What? I read!”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Never doubted it.”
Nate hesitates, then unzips his backpack and hands Paige a smaller bag. “Your lunch. Protein bar for midmorning. Water bottle’s full. Remember your inhaler’s in the side pocket if you need it.”
“Dad,” Paige mutters, embarrassed. “I know.”
“Want a juice box, Paige?” Tasha asks. “We’ve got apple, orange, and prune…mmmmm, we should probably skip that last one.”
Once they are out of earshot, the door closing behind them, I turn back to Nate. The immediate crisis is averted, but the stress still clings to him.
“Are you okay, Nate?” I ask, lowering my voice. “Have you heard anything from…her?”
He knows who I mean. Paige’s mom. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “No. Last I heard, she was somewhere in Florida. ‘Finding herself.’” He lets out a short, humorless breath. “I still email photos of Paige to her folks, her grandparents. Never hear anything back. It is what it is.”
The casual dismissal doesn’t hide the old hurt. He clearly feels Paige needs a mom, even if he has no romantic interest left in the woman who’d been her mother.
“Thank you, Sophia,” Nate says then, his voice thick with gratitude, shifting the subject. “For trusting Tasha with her. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Tasha stepped up. And you needed a solution,” I say, giving him a small smile. “Go make your calls, Nate. Find a real babysitter. And Tasha just earned herself some serious good karma.”
“I can have HR take an hour or two of my sick time or PTO to pay for her time,” Nate says, his rigid sense of fairness asserts itself even in crisis.
I wave him off. “Nate, this is real life, and real life is messy. If we asked corporate or HR, they wouldn’t have let this happen at all, but that’s why they pay me to figure these things out.” I smile at him. “You’re an asset to our department. And you’re our friend. You’d do the same for any of us.”
He nods, a flicker of something like gratitude in his eyes, then pulls out his phone, a measure of the usual Nate-like efficiency returns to his movements. I watch him for a moment,then head back to the break room to distribute assignments. The ER is calm for the moment, but the day is young.
