Forgive Me. Amanda Eyre Ward

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      “I’m going to need some time by myself,” said Nadine. “Okay, honey?”

      “Nadine going poop in the potty!” cried Bo, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

      Without thinking, Nadine tried to push the door closed, but Bo’s fingers were in the way. He looked at his hand, stunned, and then began to wail.

      “Oh, shit,” said Nadine. “I’m really sorry, Bo. Can this be a secret?”

      Lily came upstairs, carrying a basket of clean laundry. She looked at Nadine quizzically, then put down the laundry and gathered Bo in her arms. Bo sobbed, “Nadine go peep in the potty! Nadine hurt me!”

      Nadine stood and pulled up her pants. “Time for me to head on out,” she said.

      “Sorry,” said Hank, as Nadine sat on an examining table in a borrowed T-shirt and jeans. “Did I hear you correctly? You want money for a bus ticket?”

      “I need to get to Logan,” said Nadine, “and they don’t take credit cards at the bus station.”

      Hank crossed his arms and leaned back against a counter lined with glass bottles of tongue depressors and Q-tips.

      “Anyone going to meet you at the airport?” he asked.

      “Sure, yes. I don’t need to remind you, Hank, but I am an adult.”

      “I don’t need to remind you, Nadine, but I don’t have to give you bus fare.”

      “Fine,” said Nadine, sliding off the table. She turned and banged her left arm, sending pain shooting to her wrist. Nadine gritted her teeth.

      “I have a house on Nantucket,” said Hank. “I’m headed there for the holidays. Why don’t you join me?”

      “Thank you,” said Nadine. “That’s nice. I’m fine, though. I just need to get back to Mexico City.” She tried to catch her breath and ignore the dizziness, the dark patches at the edges of her vision.

      “I love to cook,” said Hank, “and there’s a bar with good burgers downtown. I can push you there in my wheelbarrow.”

      Nadine tried to smile, and shook her head.

      “You won’t make it to Mexico City,” said Hank. “Nadine, you’re still on some strong painkillers, and your body has undergone a serious trauma. You’ll pass out at the bus station.”

      “I have friends who can help me.” Nadine wasn’t sure this was true, and the room did look fuzzy. Oh hell, she thought. She envisioned the long security line at the airport. She thought about her empty apartment, the meaningless flirtations with the fact checker next door. She wanted so desperately to get back to work, but she couldn’t travel, not like this. She had to sit down, just for a little while.

      “Okay,” said Hank. “Thought I’d give it a shot. It’s lonely out there. You take care, Nadine. Have a great holiday.”

      “All right,” said Nadine. “All right, fine.”

      “Let me help you to the door,” said Hank. “Do you want to take your records, or should we fax them to your doctor in Mexico?”

      “I said fine,” said Nadine.

      “What?”

      “Let’s go,” said Nadine. “I don’t… I said, okay. Let’s go to Nantucket. But I’ll need… I need some clothes.”

      “They have clothes on Nantucket,” said Hank.

      “I shudder to think,” said Nadine.

      “You’re my second-to-last appointment. I was planning on catching the four PM ferry.”

      “I’ll be in your lobby,” said Nadine.

      The receptionist did not appear to notice as Nadine sat down in an orange plastic chair and paged through the Cape Cod Times. She finished the paper, three old People magazines, and one Travel+Leisure before Hank appeared.

      Nine

      Sun shone on the water as the ferry moved out of Hyannis Harbor and past expensive gray homes. Next to Nadine and Hank, an old woman petted her dog. The dogs collar was printed with tiny lobsters.

      “Look,” said Nadine, “a yacht.” She pointed. It was a lovely boat, its sails bound in blue cloth. “Or I guess you’d call that a sailboat.”

      “Definitely a sailboat,” said Hank. “Didn’t you grow up here?”

      “Sort of,” said Nadine.

      “What does that mean?”

      “I don’t remember it much,” said Nadine. “My life started after I left.”

      “Coffee?” said Hank.

      “Great.”

      Nadine watched his red T-shirt as he walked away. The shirt had an ice cream cone on the back. His jeans were faded, and his hiking boots looked well worn. Hank’s thick black curls needed a trim.

      The ferry rocked slowly. Hank returned a few minutes later, balancing a cardboard tray of coffees in one hand. “Cream and sugar?” he said.

      “Neither,” said Nadine.

      “I figured,” said Hank, handing her a paper cup.

      “At what point does a sailboat become a yacht?” said Nadine.

      “Hm,” said Hank. “Fifteen feet? Twenty?”

      “Oh,” said Nadine. “Well, you learn something every day.”

      “Do you?”

      Nadine sipped her coffee. “You know,” she said, “I do.”

      “I envy you, then.”

      “I love my job,” said Nadine.

      “Yes,” said Hank, “you’ve said that.”

      “Why do you sound as if you don’t believe me?”

      “I used to work in an emergency room in Boston,” said Hank. “At first, it was great. You know, it was what I was trained to do. Someone ODs, or comes in with a broken leg, I know how to handle it. At work, I was happy. I guess it was somewhat like you said. I felt alive. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t switch it off. I mean, you walk out the door, you know, you walk outside, but those patients are still… you’re supposed to go on home, have a beer, relax. I’d take the T, twenty minutes, and then my wife would be opening the door, wanting to go see a movie or talk about new paint for the living room… it was strange. It got to me. I felt as if I couldn’t stop, not for a minute. I didn’t like who I turned into. I didn’t like who I was, outside the ER.”

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