Page 54 of We Can Stay
I hang up before he can respond, before he can voice the disappointment I know is there.
The spreadsheet mocks me from the computer screen. All these numbers, all this planning, and for what? So I can have another excuse to work eighteen-hour days? So I can avoid dealing with the fact that I’m thirty-five, divorced, and my only meaningful relationship is with a ferret who steals car keys?
“Eeeek!” A scream echoes down the hallway, followed by the distinctive crash of medical supplies hitting the floor.
I squeeze my eyes shut, counting to ten. Then I stand, straighten my scrubs, and head toward the chaos. Because that’s what I do. I fix things. I solve problems. I stay busy.
Even if it’s killing me.
The afternoon sun slants through my windshield as I pull up to Flick’s house, the security cameras sitting in their box on my passenger seat. My scrubs still carry the evidence of the day—fur, suspicious stains, and the lingering scent of anal gland expression that no amount of Febreze can quite conquer.
But I’m here. I showed up. That has to count for something.
She opens the door before I can knock, and my breath catches. Even tired, even in pain, she’s beautiful.
“Hi.” Her smile could power the entire island.
“Hi yourself.” I lean down to kiss her, a quick brush of lips that’s nowhere near enough.
“I know you don’t have a lot of time between shifts, so thank you so much for coming to do this.”
“Of course. I think it will give us both some peace of mind.” What I don’t say:I need to know you’re safe when I can’t be here. I need to do something, anything, to help.
She nods toward the kitchen. “I’ve put a few things out I thought might help.”
I grab the supplies and a step stool, hyperaware of her presence as she follows me to the front door. The drill feels heavy in my hands, weighted with more than just its physical mass.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Her teasing skepticism makes me smile despite the knot in my chest.
I widen my eyes in mock offense, grateful for the lightness. “Hey, you’re looking at the man who once installed cameras for an entire barn at my parents’ petting zoo. Granted, that was mostly to catch which goat kept escaping and eating Mom’s vegetable garden, but the principle’s the same.”
Her laugh fills the small entryway. “Well, if it works for escape artist goats, I guess it’ll work for me.”
I work steadily for a while longer. The familiar rhythm of physical work soothes something in me. This is simple. Straightforward. Drill goes in wall. Camera gets mounted. Problem solved.
If only everything else was this easy.
“All done with this one. Did you download the app?”
She hands me her phone, the app already open. A few taps bring up the crystal-clear feed of her front porch. The image quality is excellent—good enough to identify anyone who approaches.
“Wow, that’s impressive,” she says, leaning over my shoulder. Her shampoo smells like vanilla and something floral. I want to turn, to pull her against me, to forget about emergency shifts and conferences and all the obligations pulling me away.
Instead, I clear my throat. “I’ll set up one more at the back door, just to be extra safe. You’ll get an alert on your phone whenever motion is detected near either camera.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, and something in her voice makes me stop.
I pull her into a hug. She melts against me, her head fitting perfectly under my chin. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you trusted me with all of this.”
Even if I don’t trust myself.
Too soon, my phone buzzes with a reminder about my shift. I pull away reluctantly, already calculating the drive time to the emergency clinic.
“I have to go,” I say, hating the words.
She nods, understanding in her eyes. “I know. Go save some animals.”
As I drive away, I watch her in my rearview mirror, standing in her doorway. The new camera blinks its LED light above her head, a small guardian in the gathering dusk.
