about my work with Doctors Without Borders. He admitted, once upon a time, he’d fantasized about working in underdeveloped countries, but he’d met his wife and started a family, which effectively ended that dream.
He’s a nice guy, a little older—I peg him at mid-forties—but with an obvious love for his job. When he went over my schedule with me, he briefly described each of the patients and informed me he’d be tagging along the first week to introduce me.
I was relieved to see the uniform: navy blue scrub pants, navy T-shirts with a logo, and a zip-up sweater in the same color. I’d been imagining something more hideous I’d be forced to wear. I’m not one for uniforms of any kind—never really had to wear one—but I can live with simple scrubs and a tee.
When I walked out of the office, I had a large bag of clothes and a big binder with details on the patients I’d be seeing. Something to familiarize myself with over the weekend.
I haul the bags into the kitchen, put away the groceries I picked up on the way home, and eat a quick sandwich while flipping through the binder. A glance at the clock tells me I barely have two hours left before the kids get off the bus, and I still have one task to finish.
Steeling myself, I dump my plate in the sink, grab the bag with my uniforms, and make my way upstairs.
The top drawer is underwear and socks, none of which I particularly care to keep or hand off to Goodwill. It would appear my sister had a taste for lace, which doesn’t surprise me. She started ordering from Victoria’s Secret when she got her first job at the grocery store in town. I don’t share her love for lingerie and generally buy my cotton panties in bulk.
The whole thing ends up in the garbage pile.
The second drawer yields tops and T-shirts, some of which date back to our high school years. I smile when I come across a familiar concert tee.
I had a crush on the lead singer since I first saw the local band play at a school function. I think I was about fifteen, which would’ve made Nicky seventeen. When I found out they would be playing an open-air concert in a park in Mountain View a few weeks later, I begged my sister to take me, knowing there was no way Mom and Dad would ever allow it. I would’ve asked Kathleen, but Mountain View is a forty-minute drive and neither of us had a driver’s license. Nicky did.
She never would’ve agreed to it if I hadn’t caught Andrew Fryer with his hand up her shirt behind the restrooms at the practice fields the week before. A little blackmail went a long way.
It hadn’t been hard to sneak out, since my parents were usually in bed by nine thirty, ten o’clock. Unfortunately they were wide awake when we tried to sneak back in at two in the morning, giggling our asses off. Apparently Dad was getting ready to go out on an emergency call.
It hadn’t been the first time—and would definitely not be the last—I dragged my sister into my adventures. It was, however, the first time my parents clued in, which is probably when I earned my label as troublemaker. We were grounded for a month, but at least we both had a concert T-shirt to show for it.
I put the shirt to the side. I’m keeping it.
The bottom drawer nets a stack of sweaters and some yoga pants. I may want to keep some of those. I don’t have much in the way of cold-weather clothes. I sort through the stack, until I get to the last sweater, a gray zip-up hoodie. I lift it up to check for holes when a large manila envelope falls out.
It had been hidden inside.
Rafe
“Two more visits next week and then you’re done,” Lisa says when I hand her the updated files.
“Until September,” I point out.
“Yeah, well, that’s three months away. A whole summer. Which reminds me, do you want me to block off vacation time on the schedule?”
Vacation time? I can’t remember the last time I took time off in the summer.
Not since that disastrous week when Sofie was maybe three, or four. She’d been an adventurous little thing, often bringing me critters—frogs, worms, and even small snakes—when she came in from spending time playing outside. It had been my idea to go camping at Table Rock