Page 62 of Fly with Me

“Have at me.”

She rolled up the leggings. There was some bruising, but his range of motion was good. Olive also checked his pulse and blood pressure and listened to his heart. Everything seemed normal besides the typical manifestations of parkinsonian symptoms and common medication side effects.

“Well, he looks okay. He can move everything.”

“Ha.” Hector pointed at his daughter.

“But.” Olive crossed her arms, shifting into boss-nurse mode, brandishing her folded stethoscope like a teacher brandishes a pointer stick. “I still recommend calling your physician to check in. I don’t know about what meds you’re on. I don’t know your medical history. You’re welcome to tell them a nurse came by to check on you. But it’s my recommendation that you call.”

“Ha.” Stella pointed at her dad.

A few hours later, they’d called the doctor and all eaten dinner together. It was odd for Olive to be a part of such a normal family dinner. Olive and her father had never been close. He’d been a 1950s-style father, complete with horn-rimmed glasses, short-sleeved button-downs, and emotional detachment. She couldn’t help but marvel at the easy way Stella and Hector interacted. They were friendly and teasing. Open.

Most surprisingly, Olive didn’t feel awkward at all for being there. After more coffee, for Stella of course, and tea for Hector and Olive, Hector wheeled himself away from the table. He kissed his daughter and even gave Olive’s shoulder a paternal squeeze.

Stella had followed to help him, leaving Olive alone at the table. Olive was washing dishes when her phone started buzzing. She was expecting it to be her mother or Heather, but it was Lindsay.

She ignored the call.

After she’d stacked the last dish on the drying rack, she grabbed her phone again.

LINDSAY

Can I come over?

LINDSAY

I need to get my mason jars and that blender bottle.

LINDSAY

Ignoring my texts is immature.

Olive flicked away the messages. When Stella returned to the kitchen, she’d changed out of her uniform and was in a pair of leggings and an Embry-Riddle sweatshirt. It was the most casual Olive had ever seen her.

Olive crossed the kitchen to throw out the meal-prep containers in the recycling bin, and when she came back Stella wrapped her arms around Olive’s neck.

“Thank you.” Stella’s mouth was almost touching Olive’s collarbone.

“It’s nothing.”

“It was huge.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

She released Olive from the hug, gratitude glowing on Stella’s face. Her voice got more passionate but not any louder, ever aware that her father was in a room ten feet away. “I worry about him and then he worries about me, and we’re both just as stubborn as each other. You really put my mind at ease. I don’t ever want him to not tell me something is wrong because he doesn’t want me to worry. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. And you’re welcome, then.” Olive tapped her toe on the kitchen floor, nibbling on her lip. “Are you excited for the awards banquet next weekend?”

“Excited to have the chance to get moving on the plan.”

“Right.” Olive cleared her throat. “The plan.”

“Hey, speaking of the plan, we should probably take some photos for the ’gram.” Stella finished her sentence with a slight wince.

“The ’gram?” Olive said, laughing.

“I’m cool. Shush.” Stella put a finger over Olive’s mouth, and Olive damn near fainted. Was it normal to want to suck on someone’s fingers? “Tomorrow’s supposed to be the last beautiful day for a while. I’m teaching lessons in the morning, but would you want to meet and go hiking in the afternoon?”