Page 63 of No Greater Love
"So," I said, "what's next? Someone allergic to the alphabet? A patient convinced they're turning into a werewolf?"
"Don't jinx us," Nate warned, but he was still smiling. "In this place, anything's possible."
As we headed back to triage, I felt something settle into place inside me. This was more than just doing the job—this was finding my place in it. Finding my rhythm, my confidence, my partnership with someone who brought out the best in my clinical skills.
It was about realizing that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
twenty
nate
Saturday morning foundus in my kitchen, the kind of lazy domestic scene I'd never imagined having with anyone other than Paige. Tasha was at the stove making pancakes while I packed Paige's lunch for a sleepover at her friend Zoe's house later. Paige herself was sprawled at the kitchen table, supposedly doing math homework but mostly providing running commentary on everything we were doing.
"Dad, you're cutting the sandwich wrong," she informed me without looking up from her worksheet. "Zoe's mom cuts them diagonally. It tastes better that way."
"Ah yes, the scientific principle of diagonal sandwich superiority," I said, refolding the sandwich. "How could I forget?"
"You're so weird," Paige said, but she was grinning.
"Speaking of weird," Tasha added, flipping a pancake with unnecessary flair, "your daughter just asked me if I knew the difference between a numerator and a denominator. I told her I'm a nurse, not a mathematician."
"But you figured it out anyway," Paige said loyally. "You're smart."
I watched them interact, this easy back-and-forth that had developed over the past few months, and felt that familiar warmth in my chest. Paige had taken to Tasha in a way that still surprised me sometimes—not just accepting her presence in our lives, but actively seeking her out for everything from homework help to discussions about which hair products worked best.
"So," I said, settling at the table with my coffee, "big week coming up."
Paige's head snapped up from her math. "Five days until graduation!"
The excitement in her voice was infectious. Fifth grade graduation (officially called "Fifth Grade Recognition Ceremony" by the school district) was apparently the social event of the year in Paige's world. She'd been planning her outfit for weeks and practicing walking in a straight line without tripping, which she'd demonstrated for us approximately forty-seven times.
"I still can't believe you're going to middle school," Tasha said, bringing a stack of pancakes to the table. "When did you get so grown up?"
"I've always been this grown up," Paige said seriously. "You just didn't know me when I was little."
"Fair point," Tasha laughed.
As we ate breakfast, listening to Paige's detailed analysis of which of her classmates were most likely to trip during the ceremony (apparently Marcus Dawson was the odds-on favorite), an idea started forming in my mind. Paige's graduation was next Friday. I'd been planning to take her somewhere special afterward, just the two of us like always. But sitting here, watching Tasha help Paige with her math while stealing pieces of bacon from my plate, I realized I wanted something different this time.
I wanted to see how we'd work as a family.
"Hey," I said as Paige headed upstairs to get ready for her sleepover. "You have any plans for next weekend?"
Tasha looked up from loading the dishwasher, eyebrow raised. "Depends. Why?"
"Paige graduates Friday. I was thinking we could do something to celebrate. Like a weekend trip."
"What kind of trip?" Her tone was cautious, but I caught the hint of interest.
"Camping."
Her face went through several expressions in rapid succession—surprise, horror, then what looked like mild panic. "Camping!? Are you trying to kill me? My idea of roughing it is a hotel without room service. Bugs? Sleeping on the ground in a tent? Noooooo, thank you. Hard pass."
I started to explain, but Paige chose that moment to thunder back down the stairs, overnight bag in hand, apparently having developed supernatural hearing where the word "camping" was concerned.
"Did someone say camping?" Her eyes were wide with excitement. "Oh, please, Tasha! Camping would be so cool! We could make s'mores and tell ghost stories! Please?"
I watched Tasha's resolve crumble in real time as she looked from Paige's pleading face to mine, clearly realizing she was outnumbered by the Crawford family united front.
