Jarrod’s text arrives at 11:04.

I kept it in my pants.

I cross my fingers and hope his much-deserved perfect life started tonight. With a woman named Grace.

I knew you could do it.

It wasn’t easy. The woman is H.O.T.

I take it the date went well?

Damn straight.

You gonna see her again? Outside of work, I mean.

I hope so.

I’m sure she hopes so, too.

Thanks, Mom.

You’re welcome, Grandpa.

A long minute passes before I get another text.

C u tomorrow. 7:30ish?

We’re playing at Bartholomew’s tomorrow night. It’ll be our last big show before The Upstage.

I’ll be there. Adam, too. I think.

Cool. How are things in Eden, BTW?

A bit tense. His father’s in from Seattle.

Nice guy?

The exact opposite.

Oh. That sucks.

Sure does. Adam’s been dealing with some family stuff. Plus, his gram isn’t doing so well.

Yeah, he mentioned that on Wednesday night. Sounds pretty much like hell.

Yep.

Good thing he’s got your shoulder to lean on.

Not sure my shoulder’s strong enough when it comes to his father.

It is. I’ve tested it myself. Strongest shoulder I know.

:)

C u tomorrow, Kace.

Later.

I’m happy for Jarrod. Really happy. I hope this Grace is everything he needs her to be.

Not long after I send my last text, I decide to go to bed, despite the fact that I haven’t heard from Adam yet. I’m worried about him, but tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and I need to get some sleep. I keep the ringer turned on, knowing it’ll wake me no matter what time his text arrives.

My last thoughts, before sleep comes, are of Ms. Sinclair and her birds. I picture the woodpeckers and goldfinches, the cardinals and chickadees, all flying around her like little living versions of Alzheimer’s, protecting her from the harsh reality of her life as they fly off with her memories. They flutter over her, carrying tiny pieces of her former self in their beaks. But they also shield her. They make her blissfully unaware of her own tragedy.

Just as I drift off to sleep, the last bird comes. It’s a mourning dove. It lands on Ms. Sinclair’s lap, nestling into her waiting hands and leaving her memories to the other birds. It looks up at her with its round, dark eyes, asking only for comfort and mercy. She smiles at the bird and then promises it everything will be okay.

* * *

I wake up Saturday morning to the sound of my alarm, but when I roll over to turn it off, something’s blocking my way. I open my eyes to find a shirtless Adam lying on his back, halfway between me and the alarm clock. He grins, lifts his right arm, and smacks the snooze button.

“Hey.” I’m sure he can hear my surprise as I snuggle against him and lay my head on his shoulder.

“Hey.”

“When did you get here?” I can’t see his face, but the hesitation before his answer gives me all the information I need.

“Late. Too late to wake you.” He brushes his hand against my cheek and down my neck to my shoulder. It’s gentle and sincere. “I remembered you telling Jarrod about the key taped behind the picture. Hope you’re not mad.”

“I’m not mad.” How could I be? His arm wraps around my shoulders and holds me against him.

“I know I promised to text, but I figured you were already asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you. So I just came over and let myself in.” Something is wrong with his voice. It sounds like it’s been wrung out. It’s twisted and contorted. Broken.

“No worries.” I spread the fingers of my left hand against his chest, looking at the perfect alternating Vs of light and dark, and hoping the weariness in his voice isn’t telling me what I think it is. “Did everything go all right with your dad?”

He inhales and then releases the breath in a deep, long sigh, confirming my fears about last night. “I should’ve known better.” He’s silent for a few seconds, as if he’s thinking about what to say next. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever do that again.”

“Do what again?”

“Willingly talk to my father.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad.” He releases my shoulders and kisses me on the forehead. My hand drops off his chest. “He’s just so damn manipulative.” He doesn’t offer anything more. But I have to ask.

“Did he tell you anything else about Bradley?”

“No. And he told me if I bring it up again, he’ll change his mind and take Gram back to Seattle.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. And that, my dear, pretty much sums up the entire night.” His voice is still broken. And now I know why.

“I’m sorry, Adam.” I kiss his chest, and he runs the tips of his fingers down my spine, causing a ripple of notes to burst through my skin.

“Me, too.” We’re both quiet for a few minutes before the alarm sounds again, shocking us back into reality. “You’d better get ready for work,” he says. “Gram will get upset if you’re late, you know.” A little lightness has seeped back into his voice.

“She isn’t the only one. Mr. Rauch doesn’t like anyone else to touch his colostomy bag, let alone empty it.” I sit up and start to climb out of bed, suddenly conscious of the old T-shirt I slept in, not knowing Adam would be in my bed this morning.

“Lucky you.”

He thinks I’m joking, but I’m not.

“I am lucky. Really. Because I adore that man, colostomy bag and all.” I stand up and shrug. Adam’s head tilts to the side. He eyes me with intense curiosity.

“Your patients are the lucky ones, K’acy McGee. Them and me.”

I don’t agree or disagree with him. I just smile, walk into the bathroom, and close the door behind me.

* * *

Thankfully, the rest of Saturday is a beautiful day, with lots of sunshine and no sign of Winston Sinclair. By the time I finish filling out the shift change report at the end of the day, I’m more than ready to crank out some funk with Jarrod, Marquis, Bryson, and the rest of Crackerjack Townhouse. After grabbing a quick dinner together, Adam drives me to Bartholomew’s.

It’s an amazing night. Full of everything that makes the world perfect: loud music, an incredible audience, epic ass shaking, and my lone swooner. And for the first time ever, when the show’s over, Jarrod doesn’t leave with a blonde. Or a brunette. Or a redhead. He leaves alone, with only the clothes on his back. I know he and Grace have only had one date, but I think it’s already helping him understand how much he deserves happiness. I think it’s given him a small taste of the hope he’s been looking for.

After the stage is torn down and the equipment is loaded into Calvin’s van, Adam takes me home. I can’t help but notice the black car is suspiciously absent from both the street in front of Bartholomew’s and the street in front of my apartment building. Its absence, however, doesn’t bring me the comfort I was hoping it would. It doesn’t make me feel better; it just makes me feel a different kind of nervous.

Eventually, though, I find myself falling asleep in Adam’s arms, thinking again of his grandmother and her birds. Only tonight, he’s there, too. Standing next to her wheelchair, holding her hand.

* * *

I leave Adam in my apartment, asleep in my bed, and walk out into the sunshine. The Sunday-morning quiet is familiar and comforting. As usual, it’s only me and the driver on the 61A. I walk into Pine Manor to find many of the patients are already sitting in the lobby, fully dressed and waiting for their Sunday-morning company to arrive. Or for Pastor Glickson’s service to start.

Sondra’s here, too, setting the brake on Mr. Ledbetter’s wheelchair. After a brief hello, to her, as well as to some of the patients, I head back to the nurses’ station to drop off my bag and read the report from last night. But before I get there, Susan Campbell, our Director of Nursing, meets me in the hallway and asks me to come into her office. Instead of greeting me with her usual warm smile, Susan’s mouth is a straight line. Her gaze barely connects with mine, and there’s no small talk, no friendly banter. She doesn’t say another word as we walk into her office. She closes the door behind us, and I take a seat in the chair across from her desk.

Something is wrong.

My mouth goes dry. Susan sits in her desk chair and her lips start moving; they’re telling me something, but my ears don’t want to hear. My brain rejects the words as soon as it registers them. A flush of sadness envelops me as more words come tumbling out of her mouth. Wrong words. Hurtful words. Words I never thought I’d hear. I swallow back my tears, wanting more than anything for this conversation to be a mistake. For Susan to have the wrong person.

Her hands are clasped together, resting on the desk. Her body is tilted forward, as if she’s leaning into me to make sure I’m hearing what she’s saying. Her final three words are I’m so sorry. I hear them. And I also feel them.

I’ve worked here for six years, and until this very moment, Susan has never had a single negative thing to say about me. She’s only ever given me glowing evaluations. She knows me as well as anyone else here. And yet, she has to follow company policy. Her hands are tied.

She told me she can’t share details, but someone has filed a complaint. They said I mistreated a patient. They said I’m not fit to take care of the people I love. I’m sick inside because everything this person said about me is everything I am not. I know it. And Susan does, too. It’s why she said she’s sorry.

I’m not allowed to say goodbye. Not to Mrs. Thompson or Mr. Reizenstein or Mr. Rauch. Not even to Sondra or Marie or Dr. Kopsey. I have to walk straight out the door, and I can’t come back until the investigation is over and my name has been cleared. If it’s cleared at all.

As I leave the building, the possibility of never being able to set foot in Pine Manor again saddles my soul with its crushing weight, breaking my heart and filling my eyes with tears.

Losing them to death is always hard, but this… Losing them to this would be far crueler than death could ever be.

The more you care for them, the harder it becomes.

Sondra’s words have now become the harshest gospel I’ll ever have to swallow. Because not only am I being forced to leave them, but with me goes their last chance for compassion. Their last chance for peace.

And that’s how it will be for Evelyn Sinclair, if I’m not allowed to come back. Knowing she’s going to suffer makes my heart weep. Not just for her, but also for her grandson. Because he will have to watch it happen, desperate and hopeless and crippled by his own helplessness.

I walk through the parking lot to the bus stop, sucking in a deep breath through my tears and thinking about Winston Sinclair. I think about why he did this, and what I’m going to have to do to make him take it back.

I’m going to have to fix this myself. And I can’t wait to look him straight in the eye when I do.

* * *

A second after I step into my apartment, my cell phone rings. It’s Adam. I’m surprised it took him so long.

“Hey. I just got here. Where are you? They said you left.” The pitch of his voice is far higher than usual. It’s filled with confusion.

“I’m at home.”

“But you left early this morning. I thought you had to work today?”

“I did. But I had to leave.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“I’m not allowed to go into details, but I made a mistake. It got me suspended for a couple of days.”

“What mistake?”

“I said something I shouldn’t have.”

“What?” The pitch of his voice has dropped. Anger has replaced his confusion.

“Like I said, I’m not allowed to share any details.” I can hear him breathing on the other end of the line. It’s heavy and fast, like he’s walking somewhere in a hurry. “But, please know it’s being handled. Everything’s going to be all right.” I don’t tell him how I’m going to handle it.

“The hell it is.” There’s more breathing. For several seconds, it’s the only sound coming through my phone. “I can’t believe he did this. I can’t believe he… Yes, I can. I can believe it.”

I take a second to collect my thoughts before trying to reassure him. “Everyone at Pine Manor knows me. They know I didn’t do anything wrong. They’ve dealt with people like your father before. They’re just going through the motions to appease him. I’ll be back at work in a few days.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

I’m struck by the strength of his words. They tell me immediately he knows something I don’t. I wish I could see his face. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Sorry, but it’s the truth. I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s using you to get to me.” I don’t understand. A long second passes before Adam adds, “He knows about us, K’acy.”

“What?” My stomach drops and my chest tightens. What the hell is going on?

“That’s the real reason he wanted to talk to me on Friday night.” He’s gathering his thoughts, carefully choosing his words. The resulting silence sends my mind reeling into a fit of apprehension. What if I can’t fix this? What if I never get to see them again? What if Adam is right, and I won’t be back at work in a few days? “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t think he’d take it this far.”

“Take what this far?”

“He saw me kiss you in the hallway on Thursday. And he had his driver sit in the parking lot on Friday. He saw us talking. He saw us leave together.”

I immediately think of the dark sedan, backed into its spot in the far corner of the lot, quiet and watchful and still.

Maybe that car has nothing to do with Latham Street after all.

I hear Adam shuffling his cell phone around as he talks. Then I hear a car start.

“Adam…” I don’t even know what to say next.

“I’m not going to let him hurt you—and Gram—in some kind of stupid attempt to prove something to me.”

“Prove what?”

“That he still has control.”

“Over what?”

“Over everything. My life. What I do. Where I live. Who I love. Everything.” It only takes me an instant to understand. Now I know the real reason why his voice sounded so broken on Saturday morning.

“Oh.” I nod in acknowledgement, as if he can see me through the phone. This whole thing has nothing to do with the sassy words I said to Winston Sinclair about his mother’s Alzheimer’s. In fact, it has nothing to do with my behavior toward him at all.

Instead, it has everything to do with my behavior toward his son.

“I’m not gonna let him do this.” A siren sounds in the background. Adam’s driving somewhere. Worry streaks through me.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see my father.”

No. No. No. “Don’t. Just…let’s talk about this first, okay? Let’s figure it out together.”

“There’s nothing to figure out here, K’acy. I’m gonna take care of it.” His words are hot and angry, as if he’s turned into somebody new. Somebody with a point to get across.

Adam doesn’t even wait for me to respond before he says a quick, “I’ll see you later,” and hangs up. I’m left standing alone in my living room with a silent phone at my ear, wondering what the hell he’s going to do.

* * *

A few minutes later, I’m sitting at my table, folding laundry and thinking about what’s about to happen in Winston Sinclair’s hotel room. Just as I fold a pair of jeans down over my forearm, the doorbell rings. I quickly finish folding the jeans, set them down on the table, and walk over to the door. Relief swells in my chest at the thought of Adam coming here instead of heading to his father’s.

But when I open the door, Adam isn’t the one standing there.