Page 17

MIA

“Wait.” Kallie’s eyes go wide as saucers. “He offered you how much?!”

“Shh!” I glance nervously around the E.R. “Lower your voice! What if Gwen hears?”

“Oh, she’ll know either way,” Reese chimes in from Bay Three over the sound of his patient throwing up. “Last week, she knew what I had for lunch. On my day off. In my own apartment.”

In Bay Five, Kallie shivers. “That’s so creepy.”

“C’mon, guys.” I fasten the tourniquet around my patient’s arm. “Gwen’s a little strict, but she’s not, like, a Bond villain. She rides us hard because she cares .”

“Or because she gets a kick out of it,” Reese mutters, pulling his patient’s hair back as she hacks up every piece of bad sushi she ever ate. “It’s called sadism. Look it up.”

I ignore him and turn to my patient. “Alright,” I say with a bright smile. “Where does it hurt today, Mr. Konrad?”

“Everywhere,” Mr. Konrad complains.

“Business as usual, then?”

“It’s different this time.” He gestures across his body with his free hand as I prepare the blood draw kit. “This pain starts here—” He points at his right shoulder. “—then jumps and picks back up over here .”

“Your abdomen?”

“Belly button,” he specifies. “Then it zigzags all the way down, right here, under my?—”

“Okay!” I push him gently back down on the cot. “Make a fist with your right hand for me, yeah? Real tight, like we always do.”

“Should I turn away?” he asks with an edge of panic. “M-my brother always faints when he’s doing this. I heard it can be hereditary. I read an article saying?—”

“All done,” I interrupt before he works himself into a hypochondriac frenzy. I pat Mr. Konrad on the back. “I’ll send these to the lab while we wait for your consults.”

“Already?” He glances in disbelief to the gauze on his arm. “Wow. I didn’t feel a thing! You’ve really got the touch of an angel, Nurse Winters.”

I can’t help but preen a little. Gratification in this job doesn’t come cheap—I’ll take what I can get. Even if it’s from Hypochondriac Kevin.

“Why, thank you.”

“Also, I think you should take the sugar baby job.”

“Me, too,” Kallie joins in. “Then I can become your sugar baby.”

“Haha. Very funny.”

“Hey! He’s hot, rich, and willing. I say go for it. What do you have to lose?”

Hot is an understatement.

Rich, even more so.

But…

“I don’t know.” I wince. My heart flutters with a thousand conflicting feelings. “He didn’t strike me as the most reliable person on the planet. Or the most considerate.”

Flashes from that diner keep overlapping with his coldness on my doorstep. The way he ordered me coffee, made me smile, brought me back to myself. The way he took care of me. Those are all good things.

Then there’s the way he dismissed me like a cheap hooker.

It’s been three weeks since he left that ultimatum on my doorstep. Three weeks of his contract burning a hole in my kitchen drawer, right next to the knives and just as sharp.

Today, at midnight, the offer will expire.

“I’m with Mia on this,” Reese offers. “Sorry, but it sounds like a serial killer podcast waiting to happen. No one pays that much money for a girl, let alone a fake girl. No offense.”

I sigh deeply and sit at the foot of Mr. Konrad’s cot. “You’re right. It’s madness.”

But without Yulian, how am I going to afford Eli’s school?

I keep swinging back and forth on that. One second, I’m crying myself to sleep, thinking of all the ways I’ve failed him since he was born.

The next, I look at my son’s smiling face and feel like we’re gonna be okay, fancy school or not.

And then there’s the whole Yulian situation. His smirk, so rare and sharp I could cut myself on it. His million-dollar clothes, million-dollar cologne.

Million-dollar abs, my horny mind supplies.

No. Nuh-uh. I’m not gonna fall for it. I’m not gonna let myself get tangled up into some entitled billionaire’s power schemes, whatever they may be.

I’ve already seen the damage it can do.

“Break time, is it?” a sneering voice interrupts.

We all spring to attention. “Gwen! We were just, uhh?—”

“Comparing treatments,” Reese cuts in helpfully. “For emesis.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up, too,” Mr. Konrad mumbles.

Gwen—our head nurse—surveys the scene. Her expression is, as always, unreadable. I’ve never seen a sixty-odd woman who’s shorter, grayer, and more severe-looking than her. She’s like one of those Roman statues whose age and mood are shrouded in mystery.

“I see. How’s your patient doing, Kallie?”

Kallie goes green as she glances at the empty bed that her discharged patient vacated half an hour ago. For a second, I’m worried she might throw up, too. “I-I’ll go do another round of the bays.”

“Good idea,” Gwen agrees snidely. “‘Right now’ would be perfect.”

Kallie scurries away. I cringe inwardly for her. Getting scolded by Gwen Zimmermann is never great. Sometimes, it feels like she can stare into your skull and read your mind. Like she knows every corner you’ve ever cut and she feels nothing but scorn for your weakness.

As if on cue, her narrowed eyes zero in on me.

“You don’t look well,” she notes.

“Haven’t had a chance to hit the salon lately.” I laugh awkwardly, but it goes over like a fart joke.

Gwen isn’t swayed. “It’s not that. You look… tired.” Her eyes, if possible, narrow even further. “Make sure to take care of yourself. Otherwise, you won’t be able to care for your patients.”

Then, sermon delivered, she marches off to the next victim.

Reese and I share a look . “Unbelievable,” he breathes. “She’s worried about you. I didn’t know she could do that.”

“Do what?”

He gestures wildly. “Care!”

I roll my eyes. “She’s not that bad, you know. She taught us everything, remember?”

“How could I ever forget the Gwen Glare?” He shivers. “I see it in my nightmares all the time.”

I shake my head. Reese loves being dramatic. He’s got one thing right, though: I cannot accept Yulian’s offer. Not now, not ever.

I glance at my phone. My shift is almost over. The calendar blinks back at me with a date circled in blue.

August 2nd . The day of Eli’s first basketball game—and my deadline.

But that’s okay. I’ve already decided. Turns out, I decided this one a long time ago.

Never again.

By the time I get to the school, I’m so excited I could burst. It’s Eli’s first game, and I can’t wait to see it.

He looked so happy practicing at home with his plastic hoop. Seeing him like that, I forgot why I ever considered calling his therapist back in the first place.

The more the days go by, the more I convince myself Principal Johnson got it wrong after all.

How can such a happy kid be struggling with anything?

All the families will be here, too, which is more good news.

Maybe I can take the chance to extend an olive branch to the Perkinses.

If he’s going to be moving next door for grade school with everyone else in a couple of years, I want him to be on the best of terms with everyone. It’ll make things easier down the road.

Or so I think.

Then I arrive, and I realize how misguided all that hope really was.

When I enter the gym, Ms. Keane’s face is white as a sheet. “Oh, Mia! It’s terrible.” She runs up to me, her thick glasses bouncing on her nose. “We can’t find Eli anywhere.”

I freeze. “What do you mean, you can’t find him?”

“We’ve looked everywhere.” She looks close to tears. Behind her, children in tiny jerseys are already warming up on the court. “I was about to call you. I?—”

“It’s okay,” I lie, because yelling at Ms. Keane won’t make me feel any better. Because my son’s missing, and right now, that’s all that matters. “I’ll find him.”

I rush out of the gym and start searching.

I look in the classrooms, the bathrooms, the cafeteria. The school isn’t big, not by a long shot, but there’s no sign of him anywhere.

Soon, I move into the courtyard.

My heart is racing. My worst fears are crowding my head.

What if Brad found out? What if he came here for him? What if ? —

What if this morning was the last time I ever got to see him?

But then I hear it: soft, choked sobs, just off into the shrubbery.

I push the branches out of the way?—

“Eli?”

—and there he is.

Thank God. I let out a breath I fully knew I was holding. He’s safe. He’s okay.

But when I look closer, I realize he’s not okay at all.

He’s got something in his hands: a pair of shoes.

Destroyed shoes.

They’re ruined, full of holes. On the ground, I can see three separate rolls of duct tape and a pair of round-edged scissors.

He’s crying. He’s crying so damn hard.

“Mommy,” he sobs, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop Bobby. I—I tried fixing them, but it won’t stick! Why won’t it stick, Mommy?”

“Oh, baby.” I scoop him into my arms. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not!” He starts hyperventilating, a telltale sign he’s in the middle of an episode.

His cheeks are all red, his little nose runny and sniffling.

He throws his supplies away, then clings to me and wails.

“I hate it here. Everyone’s mean. They say I’m a weirdo and a freak, but they’re the freaks!

They break everything and they’re evil! ”

My own eyes are wet now. I try to tell Eli I’m sorry, that it’s all going to be okay, but nothing comes out.

All I’ve ever wanted is to give my kid a good life, but what kind of life is this? No money for shoes, no time together, no way to protect him?

“I don’t want to come back here, Mommy,” he sniffles into my chest. “Please, don’t make me come back.”

I think back to Principal Johnson’s words. To her warnings I ignored. To the contract, burning a hole in my drawer.

“Okay,” I rasp. “Okay, baby. We don’t have to come back.” I pick him up and press a kiss to his teary cheek. “I’ll fix this, okay?”

“Okay,” he sniffles. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

No, I am.

All this time, I’ve been so selfish. I’ve been in denial, afraid to face the reality of my son’s needs. I’ve been acting like I’ve got options when I don’t. When it’s obvious there was only ever one choice to make.

Luckily, I’m still in time to make it.

So we go home. I tuck Eli into bed and hold him until he falls asleep.

Then, two minutes before midnight, I make the call.

“It’s me. I’ll do it.”