Page 19 of His Last Shot
She continues to concentrate on the computer screen. “Sure, sweetie. What’s up?” Her nailstap-tap-tapon the keyboard as she adjusts her reading glasses on her nose.
“How long have you been a nurse?” She boops her name badge on the computer screen, pushes away the keyboard, and gives me her full attention.
She swoops her glasses onto her head while glancing at the ceiling. “Let’s see.” She pauses as she contemplates her answer. “I would say around thirty-five years now.”
“Wow! And you’ve always loved it?”
“I have. I mean, every job has its moments, of course, but yes. It has been very fulfilling.” She tilts her head in curiosity. “Why are you asking me this? Are you thinking about going to school?”
I sigh in response, take a moment to gather my thoughts, and decide to confide in her. Also, she will be only the fourth person I have ever confessed this to. The first being my brother. The second being my cheating ex, and then the too-hot-for-his-own-good stranger who took my breath away and I kissed under the stars.
Wringing my hands in my lap, I rhythmically swing my legs back and forth over the edge of the exam table. “I have thought about it before. I’ve always wanted to be a nurse. To help people. But it’s out of my reach.” I shrug and sheepishly turn my face away. “You know, with my RA and all.”
A wide grin stretches across her features. “Well, don’t let that stop you!”
Regarding her again, I let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, come on, Renee. With my flare-ups and chronic pain, how could I ever do”—I wavemy hand over her—“what you do? And then there’s the schooling. My body won’t allow for it.”
With a deliberate step, she walks over and places her weathered hand on my knee. “I am a type 1 diabetic.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re kidding me?”
She shakes her head. “No, ma’am. And the other nurse, Bobby, he has MS.” She squeezes my knee. “Then there’s Chrissy; well, that poor dear deals with Crohn’s disease.” Determination fills her expression, raising her chin in the air. “Letnothingstop you from doing the things you want to do. There are nurses who work through cancer. Some have personal family problems; others take care of their aging parents.” She raises her hand and then points to herself.
“You can totally do this. You are smart, capable, and have an enormous heart. That’s all the makings of an incredible nurse. And you’re still young.” She lets out a heavy sigh, then smiles sweetly. “You can accomplish big things, young lady.” She gently shakes my knee, then leans forward. “Do the big things,” she whispers, then releases her hand. “The doctor will be in soon.”
After she exits the exam room, soft pop music creates a calming atmosphere, leaving me to contemplate my life in peace.
Hearing her words creates a swell of excitement in my chest.Could I do this? Do I want this?The thought of going to school is daunting for sure, yet very exhilarating. And the cost wouldn’t be an issue. The OBGs have been very generous tippers over the years. They will nurse one seven-dollar beer for hours, then slap a hundred on the bar. I’ve tried and failed to reject the kind gesture. It brings them joy, so I let them. But because of their generosity, I now have a modest savings account that is more than enough to pay for the schooling.
And money that I keep hidden from my uncle.
Suddenly, the ache in my elbow is gone since all I can think about is a brighter future.
But first, I need to talk this over with my uncle.
Knock, knock, knock.
I’m standing outside my uncle’s office, wringing my hands to release some of this tension building.
“Come on in.” His muffled reply sails from the other side of the door.
With a deep inhale, I puff out my chest and slowly turn the knob. As soon as the door opens, I’m met with the smell of cigar smoke and fresh paint from the remodel and his kind eyes.
“Hey, Rach.” A genuine smile reaches his ears.
Uncle Dexter did not receive the height of our family. I tower over him, and he definitely suffers from short-man syndrome, that’s for sure. It can be a blow to the ego when your niece, who is only twelve, surpasses you. I was five six back then. He’s five five.
In order to make up for his lack of height, he always walks fast, head back, arms swinging with purpose. He ensures he commands attention and respect in any room he walks into by projecting an aura of importance. With each passing day, his receding hairline inches back further while he carries extra weight around his midsection. He’s never been married, yet always has a woman on his arm.
Uncle Dexter loves Micah and me as if we are his own. After my parents passed away, he and his father took us in and raised us. He has been there for me through so much.
And, I know it’s weird for me—a thirty-year-old woman—to ask him for permission to attend nursing school, but there is this debt I feel I owe him. He employs me here and pays me way more than he should; he takes care of my medical bills, and he’s family. The only family Micah and I have right now.
Plus, he relies on me to run this bar. Micah and I handle just about everything, so in order for me to go to nursing school, I will need to cut back on my hours. And Johnny was right. He may need to hire someone to fill in.
Suddenly, the thought of Johnny and maybe seeing him again soon is making my cheeks pink.
My unclenotices.
