Republic. âObviously, the suffering that we witnessed.â
âOf course,â she says, her tone serious. âThat must have been so hard.â
âIt was. But on a more personal level, since I think thatâs what youâre asking, I would say it was missing friends,â I say with a sigh. âI missed Max, even though heâs a pain, and Wyatt, too. I missed talking to friends who arenât in medicine. Just chatting about something other than work or doctor stuff.â
âYouâre a social person,â she says, her voice soft.
I nod. âAlways have been. I loved your emails, though,â I say, remembering how Josie kept in touch with me. She consistently sent me updates, more than anyone else. âIâd get excited just seeing your name in my Gmail inbox.â
She smiles widely. âReally?â
I nod. âYeah. It was an amazing experience being there, but I did miss home, and getting your notes was like receiving a little piece of New York every time you wrote. Like the time you told me about the woman who ordered a cake for herself from her dogs. How when she picked it up, she said, âMy dogs ordered me a cake.ââ
Josie laughs. âShe was adorable. She was a writer. Sheâd just hit a bestseller list, and she said her dogs wanted to congratulate her with a cake.â
âWhat a lovable nut. And you totally went along with it.â
Josie juts up a shoulder. âOf course. I said, âSatchel and Lulu are so very proud of you. Hereâs the chocolate layer cake they ordered just for you.ââ
âYou probably made her day. Hell, that story alone made mine. What didnât help was the picture you sent along of the cake, you temptress,â I say, narrowing my eyes.
âYou missed my cake. So sweet.â
A smile tugs at my lips. A wistful one. âI missed you, too.â
âYou did?â she asks, her voice softer than usual, less teasing.
âOf course. Youâre one of my best friends.â
âRight. Totally. Same here.â She clears her throat. âDid you make new friends in Africa?â
âDefinitely. I became friends with some of the other doctors and nurses.â
âNurses?â A tightness threads through her voice. I havenât heard that tone before. For a flicker of a second it sounds almost like jealousy. But thatâs ridiculous. Weâve been friends for too long for things to change between us.
âA group of us became close. Camila, this hip nurse from Spain with crazy tattoos down her arms, was awesome.â
âA Spanish nurse? Covered in ink?â she asks, like this is the most difficult concept, or the most annoying.
âYes. She was a riot. Always telling funny stories about the guys back home. And a doctor from England, George. And another doc from New Zealand. His name was Dominic, and he had the perfect deadpan sense of humor. That was our crew.â
âDid anyone have a vein fetish like you?â
I wiggle my eyebrows. âThey would have if a specimen such as yourself had been around to provide doctor porn,â I say, and grab her arm again, running my finger along her vein as if Iâm mesmerized.
For a brief second, her breath catches. The soft, barely-there hair on her arm stands on end. A strange sensation runs down my spine, as if Iâm floating.
Which makes no sense, so I shove the idea away.
I look away from her arm and meet her green eyes. Thereâs something different in them. Something I havenât seen before. I donât know what it is. I canât name it.
âIâve been using your hairbrush,â I blurt out. Iâm not entirely sure why Iâm confessing right now, but here, with those wide eyes staring into mine, I canât help myself.
Her mouth lifts. âI know.â
âYou donât mind?â
She leans forward and runs a hand through my hair. That strange feeling? It
Bret Witter, Luis Carlos Montalván