It says:

D-
Thank you!
Happy birthday-
Love, SM.

Love. Does it- No. Don’t go there. That girl loves you, Habibi… But I know it’s true. I don’t know if it’s true in the way I want it to be true, but the way she was touching me was so sweet as we fell asleep…

I wonder what that means. Everything and nothing. Everything because it’s what I’ve been waiting to hear. What I never thought I would hear. Nothing because nothing should change. And I’m happy. Ecstatic. Still afraid of doing the wrong thing. But after what she’s given me, offered her naked bound trust up to me that way, open arms and legs and heart and trust, I’m just floating.

I shove the card back in the envelope, biting my lip. Eight hours and I can see her again. I tuck the card into my bra and when I turn around, Bob, Darrell, and Louise are all standing right there grinning.

“Who’s the lucky girl, Dar?”

“Me.” I say, smiling like an idiot. I press my hand to my mouth, as if my whole soul might spill out, then duck past them and walk to the locker room.

I leave the flowers at the nurses’ station, so I can be reminded every time I walk past. I feel like last night we crossed a threshold into some new level. My boss wishes me a happy birthday on her way out. I’m charge on this shift, with Darrell and the new girl, Brittany. Love working with Darrell. Britt is shaping up to be pretty cool too. Love my job. Love Shane, though I will never in a million years admit it to her. I’m on top of the universe.

It’s a pretty dead shift, so I take an early lunch. When I come back down from the caf the radio phone rings and I grab it.

“ER.” I stare at the flowers. Even under the harsh fluorescents they are beautiful, deep violet blue and cream. What made her pick these colors? Refreshing, like water. Unusual. The color of lightening, a color rarely found in nature.

“Hey, this is Charlie one six, we have one GSW, thirtyish female, single wound to the left shoulder, no distal pulse, carotid pulse is one sixty four, the bleeding looks arterial and we’re compressing, BP Seventy five over forty, we’ve started a line. Resps are at twelve, airway is clear, mental status waxing and waning.”

“No problem. What’s your ETA?”

“Two minutes.”

“Allright. We’re not going anywhere.” I love traumas. I live for them. I love my job.

I walk to the break room. Darrell and Brittany are hanging out with Dr. Bucknel.

“Guys, we got a GSW coming in, bleeding out.”

“Okay.” Dr. Bucknel stands up. By the time we’re out of the lounge, EMS are coming through the door, three of them, with a gurney. I know two of them, the third is a stranger.

“Hey guys. How is she?”

Jerry the EMT starts repeating his spiel.

Then I look down, and my whole word crashes.

“Darrell!”

I realize that I’m screaming at the top of my lungs.