Page 57 of Changing Lanes

And without Alzheimer’s we’d all be better off. Fuck you, dementia.

Cynthia chose her words carefully and I’m grateful. While my decision might’ve been hasty, it ultimately only hurt me. A nurse getting injured is forgivable, but a resident being harmed—not so much.

“Thank you, Cynthia. You may return to your station.”

Cynthia rises from her seat beside me, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she passes. Tomorrow’s supposed to be her last day working here so in a way she gave me a hell of a parting gift, vouching for me like she did.

Rosie watches from across her oak desk, waiting until we’re alone to continue. You’d never know she was just pulled from bed. Not a single hair is out of place and her business professional attire is immaculate. A woman in her late forties, she’s turned this place around from the dump it once was. Some directors can become lazy and complacent in their role but Rosie’s always striving for improvement and I really respect her.

“Per our policy, I have to put you on leave.”

No, no, no.

“Rosie, I need the money. Dennis wasn’t hurt. Nobody was hurt,” I plead, leaning forward, ready to fall to my knees if necessary.

“You were hurt, Paige. That’s enough for me.” She raises an impeccable eyebrow, asking, “Is it for you though?”

I study the swirls in the wood of the desk in front of her, willing the tears filling my eyes to disappear.

Rosie sighs. “It’ll be paid leave. You may return the beginning of next week. Take the time to rest. Recharge.”

Clutching the arm rest, I meet her gaze again. “What about my mom?”

“That’s another thing.” My heart picks up, a loud staccato in my own ears. Don’t say it. “I’m afraid Ms. Christensen’s presence has impacted your ability to maintain a professional approach while on duty.”

“That’s not true. Aside from tonight, I haven’t had a single slip-up. I’ve managed to keep my connection to her confidential for the most part. Very few people here even know we’re related.” Although, I don’t know how anyone could miss the similarities. It’s the same for all us Christensens—once we’re in one room, the resemblance is unmistakable. “I’ve only been able to visit once on my day off and I left as soon as it became clear she wasn’t receptive. She hasn’t been herself and I’m worried about her as any daughter, or nurse for that matter, would be but I haven’t given her any special treatment. Just,” I stop, swallowing, “give us a little more time to adjust to the new situation. Please.”

My fingers twist in my lap. Sweat against sweat, they writhe like my composure.

Rosie looks me over. Can she tell I’m going under? Does anyone notice my lungs are filling with something other than oxygen?

Better yet, does anybody care?

She leans forward to rest her elbows on her desk, meeting my eye. “Okay. You’re one of the best nurses I’ve got or I wouldn’t consider it. I’ll see you back here after the weekend and we’ll see how things go from there.”

I push to my feet before she can change her mind.

“Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” she says, rising to see me out.

Coming face-to-face with a smug Vernon reminds me what got this whole knotted ball rolling in the first place and I turn around in the doorway, blocking his path.

“Before I go, I recommend Dennis’s chart be inspected. It seems Mr. Gregory, along with Ms. Christensen, haven’t been receiving their medication as prescribed and I’m wondering how many other residents are missing their necessary treatments. Vern, maybe you could provide some insight into that.” My eyes lock on Vernon, watching as his widen in alarm.

Snitches get stitches, right? Well, if I’m nailing the last part of that, I might as well live up to the first part, too.

CHAPTER 14

Beckett

Waking this morning to find Paige’s bike parked in its usual spot was surprising. Finding her bedroom door locked was not.

Her absence stirred up a shitastrophy of emotions I didn’t even know I was capable of anymore. I didn’t want to be capable of.

As much as I hated the idea of having her here in the beginning, sharing my living space with the woman became nice. Normal. My fucking usual without me even realizing it. I tried, I fucking tried shutting her out after she literally knocked down my door, planting her ass too close to personal business I’ve been managing alone for years. But the disappearing act she pulled as a result backfired. Big time. The words I spewed to her, that felt like coughing up my own intestines, turned into verbal darts piercing my already perforated façade the more I replayed them until I was ready to grovel at her feet. And I don’t bow to anyone. Never had to before and I sure as fuck didn’t plan on doing it now.

Yet…that’s what I was willing to do for Paige. For her to come back, to come home.