Chapter One - Charlotte

The patient in room 217b keeps shifting onto their call bell.

I’ve checked on him several times tonight and attempted to move the bell to a more secure place, but somehow, no matter where it ends up in his bed, he manages to shift it back under him several minutes later. It’s been an otherwise quiet night—almost too quiet for my liking, with the usual pace of things around here—so the constant ringing of a bell for no reason feels fitting, somehow.

“Gotta keep you on your toes on your last night,” my fellow nurse, Sydney, says, laughing as I get up to answer the light. I laugh too and shake my head. I wonder just how many times I’ve walked down these halls now, how many times I’ve run down them, exactly how many steps I’ve taken on these floors. I’ve grown up making these rounds, going from a nervous nursing student to a seasoned and confident nurse. I’ve spent more time in this hospital than in any apartment I’ve lived in, seen more of my co-workers than anyone I’ve dated.

This place has been my life—maybe too much of it, if I’m being honest.

The patient is fast asleep with his knee wedged into the bell when I get there. I shake my head and move the bell, trying to leave it within reach for any actual needs but far enough away that it won’t be rolled on again. I have a feeling it’s a futile attempt, but I try anyway. I start the rest of my rounds while I’m up, thinking again about just how much of my life I’ve spent here over the past decade. I’ve made some wonderful friends and wonderful memories here, but honestly, I’m glad to be leaving. Between the long shifts, the overnights, and the constant stress that can come from a busy city hospital like this one, I think I may be on the edge of burning out. I’ve known so many people who were fantastic nurses who quietly crumpled under the stress and left medicine altogether. I don’t want to lose my passion for nursing, so I hope a transition away from a hospital setting will be just what I need.

I can’t wait to start my new hospice job—the slower pace and more regular hours are just what I need. Still, I can’t help but think it will feel strange to not come to this place anymore, to not hear these call bells in my sleep, to not leave exhausted after a 16-hour shift knowing I was due back in eight hours. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself, honestly, with the steady daytime hours my new job allows. I’m planning to use my evenings to help out in my father’s restaurant. It’s part of the reason I’m moving home, to help Dad and keep an eye on him.

I adjust a patient’s IV tubing carefully and let my mind drift to the topic of my parents’ divorce. It had been a long time coming—even when I was a teenager there were serious cracks and strains—but still, I know it’s hit Dad hard. He hasn’t been on his own since he was practically a teenager himself, and I know he’s lonely in the house by himself. Mom’s moved down south to a condo with an ocean view she sends me pictures of at least twice a day. I’m happy for her. I am. But I do worry about Dad. It’s just felt like the right time to go back home, at least for a little while.

Despite the teasing I’ve gotten from my coworkers, though, my hometown is not a small town by any means. It’s a large town on the bay—quaint, historic, and charming, but always filled with tourists, sailors, and activity. Even with the variety of stores and restaurants available here in the city, I’ve missed the bustling main street so much – its unique stores, fun boutiques, and award-winning restaurants, including my Dad’s newest venture. It’s only been open for three years, but he’s gotten rave reviews and won a handful of awards. I’m so proud of him and so excited to finally be able to be a part of it myself.

Now that I’ve got that IV sorted out, all my patients are resting comfortably, and I don’t have any treatments or medications to give for an hour, so I sit down to do some charting, still thinking. I haven’t actually seen Dad’s restaurant yet. I haven’t been home at all in years. With my hectic schedule and with my parents wanting to avoid spending time with each other, it’s been easier for them to come see me than for me to go home. Even over the holidays, there haven't been many families celebrating lately. It’s something I hope to change for Dad this year, even if it’s just the two of us. I know he hasn’t had a real Christmas in a long time, and I think we could both use it. The restaurant is hosting the local Naval Academy’s Christmas Ball this year, too, which will make things even more special. It’s a huge honor to be selected as the venue, and it’s definitely something I’m glad I won’t be missing.

I spin myself around in my favorite office chair, feeling a bit of sadness at realizing that it’s one of the last times I’ll ever sit in it. By this time next week, I’ll be sleeping in my new apartment, back in the cozy embrace of my hometown. It’s a strange thought, but an exciting one. Dad’s promised me a huge meal with several of their best dishes the first night I’m back, and I’m hungry just thinking about it. All the reviews I’ve read have praised the food, and praised Dad’s head chef, Danny, even more, calling him one of the most promising chefs in the entire state.

Now that I have some trouble imagining. Promising is the last word I’d use to describe Danny, from what I remember of him. Danny has been Dad’s best friend since I was a little girl, back when Dad was the shift manager at a local pizza place that’s been closed for years. Danny had been a line cook, a high school dropout with no plans for where to go from there. He and Dad had bonded back then and have remained friends for all this time – over two decades now. Apparently, Danny’s cleaned up his act a lot lately.

But back when I was a kid? He’d been nothing but trouble. Mom had never liked him—in fact, he was one of the things she and Dad used to fight about, and often. She hated his womanizing habits, his sleazy demeanor, and his complete lack of ambition. She never understood what potential Dad saw in him. And I might have only been a kid at the time, but I was inclined to agree with her from what I’d seen. I can remember one night when I was twelve, sitting in one of the restaurants Dad had managed before opening his own, doing homework at a back booth and watching Danny, cigarette behind his ear and hair all greasy, kissing a woman in a low-cut shirt and high heels. There’d been another woman in to see him a few nights later, and then the first was back again, yelling at Danny until Dad made her leave. Then it was yet another woman, and Danny had just seemed unaffected, even bored, by the whole scene.

He’d joined the Navy while I was in high school after getting his GED. I know some personal things happened to make him go, but it’s not anything I was ever told details of. And sure, I know people grow up, that they change and mature, but I still see Danny as that sleazy, greasy guy with a new girl on his arm every week. So, I can’t work out how he’s become a master chef who co-owns a hugely successful restaurant. The idea that someone could change that much is fascinating, if hard to believe.

I’m in the middle of charting about the patient in 217b when his light goes off again, getting me up, shaking mine out of my own thoughts with a laugh.

“How many is that now?” Sydney asks with a wink, looking up from her own charting.

“Fourteen,” I laugh, shaking my head and looking at my watch. I’ve only got three hours left on shift. “Bet you a coffee it’s twenty before I leave.”

“You’re on,” Sydney says, smirking. “But only because I was planning on buying you a going-away-coffee anyway.”

“It’s a bet, then,” I say, headed for 217b, smiling to myself.

The bell is under his hip this time, and he’s asleep so soundly he doesn’t even stir when I pull it out. I clip it to his pillow and think to myself that in the morning, I might just thank him for keeping my last night shift here so interesting.