Page 75 of The Ampersand Effect

When they arrived at the regional hospital, they powered down as Mike went to meet the transferring nurses. She honored a light flutter of anxiety in her stomach as she thought about landing at Aetheridge Children’s Hospital and walking into the Integrated Health department to surprise Grier. It was probably best to gauge whether Grier would even be available; she didn’t want to surprise her unless it would be awelcomesurprise.

She grabbed her phone to start a slightly sneaky line of questioning—only to realize she had a new message from Grier. Quickly remembering the last one she’d sent, she unlocked her phone with a burst of anticipation. She wasn’t expecting the answer, let alone the novel that explained it.

GRIER—10:55 a.m.

Hands. No other body part offers as much

insight, or as much emotion. They are what

we use to explore ourselves, tentatively as

well as insatiably. They tell a story of

someone’s past, of their scars and their

victories. They have a power to both hurt and

heal. They can entwine with another’s to offer

support, love, and a simple presence. And

they can hold you in place during the sultriest

of power dynamics. In the best of

circumstances, hands can explore, they can

tease, they can soothe, and they can pleasure.

But the knowledge that they’re capable of

harm—of being a moment’s indiscretion

away from inflicting pain— demands a sense

of respect and trust between friends, and even

more so between lovers. Some hands can

address physical pain, working the body to

provide comfort. Some hands are artistic,

providing the world with new beauty in the

form of paint, clay, jewelry, etc. Some are

musical, deftly strumming cords or fingering

keys. Some are rough and calloused, used to

work wood or stone into useful or artistic

pieces. Hands give us information about their

owner—and they search for information in

every interaction they have.