Chapter Two

The heavy door opened, and she stopped crying. A sliver of light cut through the darkness of the room, but not the darkness that invaded Sage’s soul. She looked up to see the outline of a man, but the bright light behind him made it impossible to see his face.

“Sage?” She recognized the baritone voice as her supervisor, Mr. Michael Cross. He slipped into the quiet room and loomed over her. “I need to see you in my office.” He didn’t wait for a reply. The door opened, the light seeped back in for a brief second, and he walked out leaving Sage cloaked in blackness once more.

Hands fisted, she wiped at her tearstained cheeks and struggled to stand on legs too numb to feel. She pulled herself from the floor and straightened her uniform. Blood rushed from her head to her cold feet. The room spun, forcing her to lean against the gray walls for support.

After a quick splash of water to her face, she returned to the nurses’ station to find a nurse she didn’t recognize looking through the charts.

“Who are you filling in for?” Sage asked. With two nurses on the night shift, it was a reasonable question when the nurse in front of her wasn’t a regular.

The woman whose nametag read “Terri” said, “You. I came up from pediatrics. We were overstaffed.”

Sage’s stomach twisted and turned. “Oh . . . okay.” Mr. Cross had called for a replacement, so this couldn’t be good. “He’s expecting me.” It was time to face her fears.

When a boss summoned, there wasn’t a choice between staying or going, and so she went. She wound down the corridor and approached Mr. Cross’s office door. Sage stood at her supervisor’s closed door filled with apprehension. She’d never abandoned her post before, but since he had to come and find her, it meant he noticed her absence. She looked down at her watch and groaned. She’d missed thirty minutes of her shift while sitting on the floor, mourning the woman she’d come to love like family.

It was bad enough Sage was filled with sorrow. Now she had to deal with the regret of her poor choices.

It took her two more minutes to build up the courage to knock. Her knuckles thunked on the solid wood door.

A muted voice told her to enter.

Her scrubs felt tight. She felt the stethoscope around her neck choking her like a noose. After a deep breath, she opened the door. The last time she was in this office was after her grandmother passed. Surely, having two meltdowns in as many years wasn’t that bad. Well, two that were public knowledge. Internally, she suffered each time a patient left, but she’d always done her job—until tonight. No matter how much Sage tried to convince herself she was allowed to mourn, she knew emotions weren’t revered in her field. Grief can get in the way of good decision-making.

Mr. Cross didn’t stand. He settled back in his big leather throne. “Have a seat.” He pointed to the chair in front of his desk, its sleek design more about looks than comfort. When she sat, the fabric’s rough texture poked through the thin cotton of her scrubs while the wooden arms offered no sense of softness or warmth.

“Mr. Cross,” she began. “I’m so sorry.”

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the dark wood surface of his desk, his steepled fingers pressed to his lips. After what felt like a lifetime, he broke the silence. “I’m sorry about Bea. I know how much you cared for her.”

A lump stuck in her throat, forcing her to swallow hard. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she refused to allow them to drop. She looked at the ceiling in hopes they’d go back to where they came from, but her attempt was futile, and she felt one escape and run down her cheek.

Mr. Cross slid a box of tissues across his desk.

Sage fought the urge to break down. Instead, she pulled a few tissues from the box and patted her eyes dry. “When did she pass?”

He picked up a clipboard and scanned for the information. “She was pronounced dead just after noon.” His voice had a sincere empathetic quality to it, surprising to Sage because Mr. Cross was always factual, not emotional. “We need to talk about your future here, Sage.” His monotone snapped back into place.

“I understand how this must look, but I’m only affected because I care.” Most people would believe a sensitive person makes the best nurse, but that’s not the case. Feelings are frowned upon when dealing with a population of suffering people. It’s too hard to remain neutral when your heart is involved. Too hard to jab that needle into flesh when it hurts. Too hard to be honest when the truth is so brutal.

“Why did you transfer to this ward?” He pulled a manila folder from his drawer. The tab across the top read “Sage Nichols” in bold black letters. He flipped it open. “You used to work in labor and delivery, where life outnumbers death. What happened?”

Her eyes drifted to her employee file. “I worked there for four years before I transferred to this ward a little over two years ago.”

“Why the transfer? Most people don’t go from birth to death in their career choices.”

Mr. Cross scribbled notes on a blank page. Her heart rate sped. Would this be her first negative report? When her grandmother died, no one questioned her tears because Dotty Nichols was a relative.

“I transferred so I could care for my grandmother, who was in this ward. It gave me more time with her.” It was a hard sell to Mr. Cross’s predecessor. Mrs. Stankowski had denied her initial request, saying it wasn’t recommended, but eventually she gave in to Sage’s endless pleading. Sage had worn her down with numerous calls and visits and notes.

Disapproval etched in the lines on his forehead. “And you stayed because . . . ?”

Sage fidgeted in the chair. “I wanted to make a difference in the last minutes of a person’s life.”

He lifted the edge of her employee folder and let it fall closed. His dour expression remained stiff as his hand rubbed across his stubbly jaw. Thin lips drew thinner with his frown. “I don’t think you’re a good fit for my ward.” If disappointment had a soundtrack, it would be Mr. Cross’s sinking tone—every word an octave lower until only a vibration remained.

The floor felt like it opened up and sucked Sage into a dark pit below. “You don’t want people who care on your ward?” She gripped the arms of the chair so hard, she was certain she’d dent the wood.

Mr. Cross twisted his wedding ring in circles and stared at his wife’s picture as if to seek her counsel. “Caring is not the problem. You’re a good nurse, but not everyone is wired for death. In this ward, it happens with regularity. You have to be able to turn your emotions off like a switch.” He moved his index finger up and down mimicking the motion. “I’ve talked to some of your coworkers, and they say every patient’s death affects you similarly. You can’t save them, Sage.”

A muscle twitched at the corner of her eye. “Obviously, because Bea died,” she said, an unintended edge tingeing her voice. In her mind, she listed several dozen patients whose passings had pulled at her heartstrings. Her shoulders drooped. This situation didn’t look good.

Mr. Cross opened his drawer and pulled out a familiar piece of pink stationery. “I had the privilege of talking to Bea yesterday morning. I can see why you liked her.”

“She was an amazing woman.” Sage closed her eyes for a second and pictured Bea Bennett’s white hair and wise brown eyes.

“Do you know what the last thing she said was before I left her room?” He turned the pink envelope in his hands.

Sage shook her head. She reluctantly opened her eyes and let go of her vision of a smiling Bea. “I don’t have a clue.”

He stood and turned his back to her. He looked out the window into the night where the fog moved past, slow and thick. “She told me to fire you.”

“What?” His statement was like a dagger to her gut. Sage felt a strong connection to Bea and couldn’t believe the woman would suggest such a thing. “She did not.” Her voice filled with indignant denial. Sage grabbed more Kleenex to absorb the new flood of tears.

“She did. In fact, she begged me to let you go.” He turned around and leaned on the desk, dropping the pink envelope to the dark surface. “Not because you’re a bad nurse. She thought you were skilled and wonderful.”

Her thoughts were in disarray. “I’m confused.”

“She told me this job would kill you. That your heart was big but couldn’t hold all the sorrow and pain that came with a job that ended in death.”

“That’s not true. I love my job.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She didn’t love her job. She loved the people. Maybe she loved them too much, because every death chipped away at her. Little pieces of herself that she gave only to her patients that died when they did. “Are you firing me?”

Mr. Cross shook his head. “On what grounds? Caring too much? It’s not a crime, and it’s not against your contract.” He looked down at the pink envelope where “Sage” was written in perfect penmanship. “However, I will honor a part of Bea’s last request.” He slid the envelope across the desktop. “She asked that I give this to you after her passing. You can’t hope to save everyone. All you can do is pray that at the end of the day, you make a difference. You made a difference in her life, Sage.”

She pulled the envelope to her chest. “Still feels like you’re letting me go.”

He pursed his lips and shifted them back and forth. “You abandoned your job today. You were missing in action. You can’t do that. Every minute is a minute where anything can happen.” He sank back into the soft leather chair that folded around him in a hug that Sage envied. “That’s not who you are as a professional and not who I need as a caregiver. Rather than mete out disciplinary action, I’m giving you a professional courtesy. I’m requesting your transfer from my department. You’re on unpaid administrative leave until another position opens.”

The wind left Sage’s lungs. He may have given her a professional courtesy, but it still left her without a job and a paycheck. She wanted to stomp her feet and cry and argue and beg. Instead, she nodded and whispered, “Thank you.” Logic told her he was right to let her go, but it stung to know she’d failed the one group of people she wanted to help the most—her patients.

“You have vacation days. Use them. Search your soul for the truth. Is this where you want to be in ten, twenty, thirty years?”

Sage rose from the chair and turned to leave.

“Bea said your life was wasted on the dying. That a girl like you should focus on living. I don’t disagree.” Sage left Mr. Cross’s office feeling worse than she had when she arrived. She approached the empty nurses’ station, empty because Terri was probably doing the job Sage had failed to complete. She gathered her belongings. Before she left for home, she peeked in on Clive, hoping to say goodbye, but his light was out. Except for the beep of monitors, his room was silent. He would be another regret.

She looked around the ward for the last time before she walked into the elevator and worked her way back to her car. She sat behind the steering wheel for endless minutes, wondering what in the hell she would do. She tucked the pink envelope into the side pocket of her purse and pulled her SUV into the night. In her rearview mirror, the hospital that had been the largest part of her life became smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared.