Page 39 of The Candle Palace (Jamison Valley 6)
“One second.” I shook off the water droplets into the sink and grabbed a paper towel. Then I dried my hands while staring at my patient, who had already forgotten my visit and was glued to his phone. “See you in a while.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled.
This guy had been here for the past week, and in the days I’d been working, he’d maybe spoken three sentences. His mind had been abducted by the video game on his phone.
“Shit,” he cursed at the screen, his thumbs flying.
I rolled my eyes, then left the room to talk to Kym. “What’s up?”
“You have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Who would come here to see me?
My heart dropped. Amber. It had to be Amber. No one ever came to see me. Had she found out about Valentine’s Day? Was she here to fire me?
My stomach twisted in knots as Kym and I walked to the nurses station. With my fingers clenched together, I tried to keep my breath steady but I was having a mild panic attack.
After Milo had kissed me, I’d been okay risking my job. But then I’d had to buy groceries. And gas. And pay my power bill.
I really needed power. I loved running water.
So I needed my job.
Sure, I could find another one, but I wanted to work here. Especially during the final weeks of Milo’s stay. Once he left, I wasn’t sure when I’d get to see him again.
The short walk to the nurses station felt like a slow death march to the guillotine.
I scanned the area for Amber, expecting her to be waiting in one of the chairs. But the seats were both empty.
“Over there.” Kym pointed across the counter to an alcove on the opposite side of the elevator. It was our tiny waiting room with only one upholstered bench and two chairs with skinny wooden arms.
It wasn’t Amber waiting for me.
“Mom?”
She looked up from her phone and stood from the bench. “My car broke down.”
No hello. No smile. Just my car broke down.
“Okay.” I met her on the other side of the counter.
The smell of fresh cigarette smoke filled the air around us and I scooted away. I hated how it stuck to me so quickly. It seeped into my scrubs and latched onto my hair. As a kid, I’d worn my hair up not because I liked the ponytail, but because it was the only way I wouldn’t smell Mom’s and Dad’s cigarette smoke. I don’t think I even realized it at the time. It wasn’t until years later, after living in a smoke-free home, I realized how much it had bothered me.
Especially now, because that smell was associated with his death.
“I need your keys.” Mom snapped her fingers, leaving her palm outstretched.
“My keys?”
“Yeah. My car broke down about two blocks from here so I just walked over. The tow is coming but I’m not going to wait outside in the cold. I’ll go to your condo and wait.”
No. Not a chance in hell.
Mom would smoke inside my condo. She’d poke around and gather up a list of things to criticize. My bed had too many pillows. My couch was too firm. My fridge was too empty. Those were the three objections she’d come up with the one and only time she’d been at my place. She’d taken a lap around the condo and in less than ten minutes had a list of critiques a foot long.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she’d come up with if left there alone for thirty minutes.
“Where is your car?” I asked.
