Emily
Moira marches into the apartment like she owns the place. She’s a short woman, about my height, but she’s thick where I’m thin, sturdy where I’m fragile. Her hair is jet-black, which makes me double take when I step back and let her in. She looks me up and down, a stern expression on her face, a face devoid of freckles, just like Jude’s.
“We’re not all redheads,” she says, and then walks into the living room. She doesn’t acknowledge my bruises, which is refreshing. She’s holding a big pile of books and she’s dressed in nurse’s scrubs. “I came straight from a nightshift, so you ought to thank me, really.” She sets the books on the coffee able and drops onto the couch. “Jude has told me a lot about you,” she goes on, without waiting for my response. “He’s told me you have a natural talent for caring. Well, I told him right back, it takes more than a natural talent to make a nurse. But he was adamant. Says you fixed him up every night for the past two weeks. Said you were brilliant at stitching and patching and soothing. Said you had great bedside manner.”
“Oh.” It’s the first thing I’ve said since she walked in, and even that seems too much for her.
She twists in her sitting position. “Oh?” she echoes. “What do you mean, oh? I’m telling you what Jude’s told me.”
I join her at the couch. She follows me with Jude’s hard eyes.
I sit next to her.
“I didn’t realize Jude had spoken about me at all,” I say.
“Oh, yeah.” Moira nods. “We talk on the phone often, usually about run-of-the-mill stuff. He doesn’t mention his work and I don’t ask. That’s one thing I’ll ask of you, too. I don’t want to know. I know what he does. I don’t agree with it. But he’s my brother and I’d stand by that man no matter what. You know he saved my life?”
Her speech is like the firing of a machine-gun, constant tat-tat-tat. She doesn’t even seem out of breath.
“Well,” she says, staring at me plainly.
“Well . . . what?”
She gestures at the textbooks, piled high. “Aren’t you going to take a look?”
“I’ve never had any desire to be a nurse,” I say.
“Have you ever even thought about it?”
“Before right now? No.”
“Well, then, how do you know? Eh?” She smiles for the first time. It makes her seem less jarring. “Seems to me you need some direction in life.”
I blink at her. “You don’t even know me.”
“Of course I do!” she explodes. “Jude has told me all about you! Not all the details, of course. He wouldn’t betray your trust like that. That’s what he said to me, anyway, and I was damn surprised to hear him talk like that. He doesn’t talk about women like that, my brother. More of the . . .” She winces, realizing she’s saying too much. “More of the cold type, if you get my meaning.”
“I do,” I say. “But he’s not cold anymore.” There’s a hint of pride in my voice.
“No,” Moira says, “he’s not. You must have magic powers. So, you don’t want to look at the books?”
I glance at them out of the corner of my eye. They call to me. I can’t deny that. After being denied education for so long—after Patrick ranting at me for countless hours about how learning is useless for a woman like me—I can’t deny that the books are appealing. And nursing, helping people . . . maybe there’s something in that. But there’s another response inside of me, too, a life-long response which causes me to recoil at the idea. You can’t do it, a voice whispers. After a moment, I realize it’s Patrick’s voice. You could never do it. In my mind, he’s standing over me, eyes burning with drugs and anger. What do you think you are? Some prissy smart bitch? Just keep your head down and get on with your goddamn work, bitch!
I realize I’m shaking. With an effort, I stop myself.
“Are you okay?” Moira asks, her voice suddenly softer. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” I lie. “No, I’m fine. Just . . . thinking.”
“Don’t do that,” Moira snaps. “Never waste time on that. All it does it rot your brain.”
I tilt my head at her. “You just said that thinking rots your brain.”
The corners of her lips twitch. “Oh, yes, I did.” They twitch again, and then she breaks into a full smile. Her face transforms. “What am I talking about!” She giggles, clutching her sides.
The laughter is infectious. I can’t help but laugh along with her. Whatever atmosphere was in the room turns to vapor at once.
When the laughter passes, Moira leans across and pats me on the knee. “It’s good to laugh now and then,” she says.
All at once, I feel an outpouring of gratitude to this woman. Perhaps it’s because she’s related to Jude or perhaps it’s because she’s taken the time out of her life—when she’s tired after a night shift, when she should be sleeping—to come and make me laugh.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask.
“And something to eat, if you’ve got it.”
I go to the kitchen. “What do you want?” I call. “A sandwich?”
“Sure.”
I check the refrigerator, which luckily escaped Jude’s anger. “Ham okay?”
“Yes.”
I make the sandwich and pour a glass of orange juice. I’m about to take it into the living room when Moira appears in the kitchen. She looks over the broken cupboards and ruined oven and sucks in breath through her teeth. “Jude, Jude, Jude.” She sighs. “He must’ve been really angry.” She sees me flinch and holds her hands up. “Don’t worry. I won’t pry. Not my business, I know. But I know Jude and I know he wouldn’t have done something like this unless he cared. Jude doesn’t get angry, not usually. That part of him died a long time ago. I think only giving a shit would make him angry now. He doesn’t even get angry with his work, as far as I know . . .” She shakes her head. “But I don’t talk about that. What I’m saying is, he must care about you, Emily. Care about you a whole lot.”
“I know.” It’s like I hear the words instead of speak them. The confidence is unlike me. But I do know. Jude and I have reached a place I never thought a woman like me could reach. A close place. An intimate place. A place where we can tear open our chests and reveal the soft places inside. A place where we fuck like animals and love every minute of it.
Moira takes a step back. “Well, excuse me.” She grins. “I didn’t know you were so in love.”
I hand her the plate and the glass and we return to the living room. The TV’s still on, but the documentary has changed. Now the camera follows a pack of wolves as they run across an icy wasteland, hunting, mating. I get so absorbed in it I don’t realize that, when it ends, an hour and a half has passed. Moira stirs next to me, yawning and stretching.
“You can take a nap if you like,” I offer.
“No, not yet.”
“Not yet?”
She gestures at the textbooks. “My mission today is to get those books in your hands. And I will not sleep until my mission is complete!” She waves her hand dramatically. Suddenly, she’s not a sleepy nurse on a couch; she’s a vibrant actress on the stage. She yawns again, deflating.
“You need sleep,” I press gently. “How long was your shift?”
“Ten hours.”
“Ten hours, and here you are still awake. Do you want to take a nap in the bed?”
“Yes, of course I do.” She looks at me flatly. “But not until you have picked up those books. And not just picked them up, missy, but really lost yourself in them. Put your all in. Really try.”
“Has anybody ever told you, Moira, that you’re an extremely annoying person?” I wink at her, shocked at my own playfulness.
“Too many people.” She nods meaningfully at the books. “Now, are you going to take a look—or not?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling, can’t help but smile. I pick up the first book, which is titled, A General Introduction to Nursing. I sort through them. All but one is a textbook; the final one is a guide on how to apply to nursing courses.
“I’ll take a look,” I say, but already my curiosity is piqued. Learning. Expanding my mind. Actually getting a chance to apply myself.
“Good.” Moira heaves herself up, walks across the room, and stands at the bedroom door. “I’m going to question you after my nap, so study hard.”
I bury my face in the book, reading the introduction. By page two, I’ve already learnt two new things. It feels good.
“Thanks, Moira,” I mutter, but she’s already snoring.