Torin (Hope City #9) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,27

him as she said, “I really hate to go, but I have to be with a patient this afternoon.”

“I’m glad you agreed to come by, Erin.”

Once again, she closed her eyes for a second and leaned her face toward his palm, her lips curving upward. When her eyes opened again, she said, “I’m glad you asked me.”

With that, he grabbed his keys and they walked down to his SUV. As he pulled up outside her parents’ house, he turned to her and said, “Remember, a little over a month to go to the race. We’ll keep training, and then we’ll do our last week together daily.”

“It’s a deal, Torin.”

He watched as she left his SUV and jogged up the sidewalk, letting herself in. She stood in the doorway and turned, her hand thrown up in a wave, her smile bright. Driving back downtown, he couldn’t remember having smiled so much in a long time.

8

Erin sat at Mr. Tanika’s bedside, one of the hospice nurses on the other side. Rosetta and she shared a long, silent look as death crept into the room. Mr. Tanika’s heart rate and blood pressure had been dropping slowly over the past few hours. His son had been called and was flying in later that day.

Erin had kept the bedroom curtains open to allow light to shine into the room. She remembered that when she first met Mr. Tanika, he’d told her that he and his wife used to love to enjoy the sunshine as they took long walks in their garden. She had brought her playlist, and the room was filled with soft piano music. She had no idea if he was aware of the light or the music, but she hoped if he was, it gave him a tiny modicum of peace.

Rosetta stood and stretched her back, leaving the room. Erin heard her in the kitchen and appreciated the few minutes she had to be alone with her thoughts.

She’d experienced so much death, but it was very different from what was happening now. As an Army medic, she’d seen the violence of combat as it ravaged bodies. One of her acquaintances in nursing school was planning to become an ER nurse, but Erin knew that was not for her. She’d seen enough vicious, fatal wounds. She’d held the hands of those who couldn’t believe they wouldn’t make it home. She’d whispered words of comfort and lies, promising that everything would be okay.

She closed her eyes and cast her mind back. For the last year, John’s image had always appeared. Sometimes with a wide smile on his face as they’d promised vows of the future. But often, it was as she held his broken and bloody body close to her chest, her wails mingling with the cacophony of sounds all around. Now, it was harder to bring his image to mind. She remembered his red hair and the smattering of freckles over his shoulders. She remembered his blue eyes. But his expressions had faded. The feel of his kisses had faded. The way she felt in his arms had faded.

Now, the image of Torin suddenly filled her mind, and she gasped, throwing open her eyes, grateful to see that Rosetta was still in the kitchen. Swallowing deeply, she let out a ragged breath, licking her dry lips. What does it mean that John is harder to remember?

For the past weeks, she and Torin had run together whenever her schedule allowed. They traversed neighborhoods of stately homes, miles of streets lined with townhomes, and followed the roads near the harbor with the water lapping along the side pylons, keeping time with their footsteps. They talked about their families, each having met the other’s siblings but now sharing tales of growing up. He regaled her with stories from the pub, and she told him of her career confusion after leaving the Army.

What she had never shared was why. For now, John was her own, still not shared with her family. “Why is that?” her counselor had asked. Erin had struggled coming up with an answer, glad when her counselor didn’t press her for one.

Her attention focused back on Mr. Tanika as his blood pressure and heart rate continued to drop. Rosetta appeared by the bedside again, and within a few minutes, he’d passed peacefully.

Rosetta checked her watch and quietly began the process of checking his vital signs, then stepped out of the room again to call 9-1-1 with a code of expected death, unquestioned. This would allow