Neighbor

My parents said that I couldn't make it on my own in NYC. That's why I decided to move there in 2012 with my boyfriend, who put the crazy idea in my head in the first place. When he broke up with me at 5 AM at the airport in Minnesota, I didn't cry. I boarded my flight alone, made it to my job interview that afternoon, and signed the lease on an apartment in Brooklyn by the end of the day. Then I cried. A lot.

But I'm grateful for my ex's crazy idea, and this is the story about why. Let's start at the very beginning.

Part I: 2014

Chapter 1: Allie May

As I flipped through my patient assignments at 6 AM for the twelve-hour shift ahead of me, I smiled at a familiar name. All the nurses on the pediatric unit knew this patient—she had been with us for months, battling leukemia. Allie May.

Since we were short-staffed, I tackled my six reports and med passes like a maniac. I saved Allie's medications for last since she had been sleepy during my assessment. Her mother, Lisa, had been asleep at the bedside.

It was around eight when I entered Allie's room for the second time. When I had her as a patient before, weeks ago, she had been awake by eight eating her pancake breakfast and watching SpongeBob. Today, her breakfast tray sat untouched, and her mother's worried gaze joined mine on her daughter's sleeping face.

"How has she been, Lisa?" I asked quietly, noting the tired rings around the mother's eyes.

"Weaker by the day," Lisa confirmed, propping herself up on her elbow in her narrow cot. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm the only one worried about her."

I took my stethoscope from my neck to take another listen to my young patient's lungs. Vital signs were great, lab levels didn't look too bad, and all the antibiotics seemed to be right. By the numbers, Allie should have been dancing around the room.

"Sweetie, take a deep breath for me," I instructed, placing my stethoscope on her chest after warming it on my hand. Allie obeyed, cracking one brown eye open. "Good morning, beautiful," I added, prompting a tiny but noticeable smile.

Lungs sounds were diminished but fine. Pulses were great. Allie was weak bilaterally on hand squeezes and any other movement for that matter. Feeling unsatisfied, I logged into the rolling computer to begin her meds. Possible answers for Allie's weakness ran through my mind.

"Any changes to her antibiotics?" Lisa asked, eyeing the vial of yellow fluid in my hand.

"Not since yesterday. Her cultures came back early this morning and it looks like the docs picked the right antibiotics for the infection," I said. I smiled at Lisa to indicate that was a good thing.

She smiled back, a weak, unfeeling smile.

"Have you seen the doctor today? I asked.

"Just Dr. Arango," she said, referring to our pulmonologist. "He said she sounded fine. No infection there."

"I'm going to talk to Dr. Moore about getting physical therapy or something like that to help get her strength up. Her lab work is looking much, much better."

"That's good news," Lisa said with a real smile this time. "You hear that, Allie? Your blood's getting happy again."

A small "Yes, Mama" came from the mountain of pillows and blankets. I couldn't help but smile.

"They brought you pancakes, Allie," I said, setting up her tray on the bedside table. "Are you hungry?"

"Hmm. A little," Allie said thoughtfully.

"Let's sit you up and get some food in your tummy."

The day bustled on just like any other short-staffed day. Minutes turned into hours, to-do lists got longer, and the call bells got louder. Specialist after specialist visited Allie's room and came out with the same troubled look on their faces. By the time I spoke to Dr. Moore, Allie's attending physician, it was afternoon.

"No, I don't think she needs physical therapy. There's nothing wrong with her muscles." The busy doctor seemed annoyed that I had tracked him down at such a busy time.

"I know her labs are looking better, but she's not. She is weak bilaterally like she wasn't before. It's a change," I emphasized.

"I see that, I see that," he said, flustered. "The mother tells me every day. I don't know what you want from me. I can't prescribe miracles."

For my afternoon assessments, I visited Allie's room first. Just like every other time I popped in the room that day, Allie was asleep with the TV remote in her hand. Cartoons blasted like white noise in the background. Her lunch tray sat on her table untouched. Lisa was out of the room, supposedly for lunch in the cafeteria. My empty stomach rumbled.

"Sweetie, I'm going to take your blood pressure again," I said, lifting the remote from the girl's cool hand. Frowning, I grasped her limp hand in mine. Then, my fingers shot to the pulse on her neck. I took her by the shoulders and shook, calling out her name. Dread filled me.

"Code 3!" I yelled, yanking the code lever on the wall as hard as I could. Blue, flashing lights appeared outside the door as I began chest compressions. Allie's tiny chest felt like a pillow. A woman's voice over the hospital-wide PA announced the code and the room number.

My coworkers were at my side in an instant, hooking up wires and pads and shouting instructions at each other. My charge nurse tapped me on the back to take over compressions. I stepped away gratefully, wiping sweat from my forehead. Allie's brown eyes seemed to stare at me, and then they were replaced by Dr. Moore's frowning face.

"Who's the nurse?" he asked as if he hadn't just spoken with me out in the hall.

"Me," I said, stepping through the crowd of nurses, techs, and doctors in the room. "I just found her unresponsive, no breathing, no pulse. Her last set of vital signs were within normal limits, no new medications were given today. I assume you saw her labs."

"She's in v-fib now!" the nurse on the EKG monitor exclaimed.

"Continue compressions, shock at one-twenty joules, and give one-milligram epinephrine," Dr. Moore ordered.

I pounced on the crash cart to retrieve the epi and made my way to Allie's IV. I pushed the medication into her vein hard and fast, shouting, "Giving epi now!"

The nurse recording the code in the corner echoed, "One-milligram epi given."

The defibrillator whirred up to shock and the nurse on the monitor yelled, "Clear!" Everyone's hands left Allie's body while the machine delivered the shock. I was up next for chest compressions, and my hands planted themselves on Allie's chest immediately after the shock.

Compressions, epinephrine, and electric shocks continued for about forty-five minutes. When Lisa returned from the cafeteria, I pulled her aside to explain what was going on. Judging by the look on her face, she already knew. We hugged, both shedding tears that would never heal her daughter's broken body.

My charge nurse came with me to the cafeteria when I took "lunch" at 5 PM. She asked if I was okay, and I said yes and told her that it wasn't my first code. She didn't seem convinced. We finished our usually chatty lunch in silence.

Two hours later, my shift was over, but my computer charting had just begun. I hadn't charted my routine assessments or the long note I intended to write about the code. Most of the other day shift nurses stayed to chart as the night shift nurses took over our patients. As nurses do, we chatted as we charted about the day and about Allie.

"She seemed more tired but she also seemed better, you know?"

"Yeah," I said, typing away at my computer. It was already 8 PM. "Her labs were great this morning."

"I heard Dr. Moore say it was probably a PE to the lungs. But she didn't really have clotting issues before…"

"Yeah," I sighed, biting my lip hard. "I don't know."

One by one, my coworkers left as I made it through my charting checklist one patient at a time. I saved Allie for last, dreading to relive the experience through a narrative note. But the note needed to be written to show that I did everything I could have done.

9:30 PM.

I returned to the break room to get my purse, but my locker was empty. I squeezed my eyes shut to remember the last time I used my purse. At lunch. In the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was deserted save for one security guard. My purse was not hanging on the chair where I had sat for lunch. It wasn't anywhere for that matter.

"Excuse me," I said to the guard. "Do you have the key for lost-and-found?"

"No," he said predictably.

I pulled out my cell phone and called the hospital operator—my last hope. "I'm sorry, hun," she said. "The only person who has that key is the head janitor, and he's gone for the day."

Groaning internally, I marched to the front of the hospital to hail a yellow cab. Thank God I had left cash in my scrubs pocket after lunch.

It was 10:30 PM by the time I got to my apartment building. As soon as I punched in my access code, I remembered my door key was in my purse. I should've just gotten a hotel room or stayed at the hospital.

I stood very still in front of my apartment door. Pulling my hair tie out, I rubbed the sore spot it left on my scalp as my brown hair fell to my shoulders. After completing that task, my mind went blank and was immediately filled with thoughts and emotions from the day.

Why didn't I take the time to get Allie up out of bed? My five other patients weren't as sick as Allie was. She should have gotten all my attention today. Maybe she would still be alive. Maybe her mother wouldn't be planning a funeral right now.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and sticky, and I sank to my knees. Pressing my hands to my face, I let myself go, physically and mentally. I cried until my tears ran down my chin and neck. My forehead leaned against the locked door as my body trembled with sobs.

I just...can't do it anymore.

"Kate?"

I froze at the voice, and my stomach twisted into knots. It was my insomniac neighbor who was sometimes home in the evenings. I turned halfway, blocking my puffy eyes from his view.

"Steve, sorry—God," I sniffled, pulling myself up without facing him. "I didn't mean to be loud," I mumbled.

"No, no, I was just worried," he said. After a moment, he touched my arm as if to turn me around. I didn't. "Rough day?" he asked gently.

I sighed, long and hard, trying to dry my face with my hands. "You could say that."

"And now you're locked out of your apartment."

I laughed without feeling at his deadpan tone. "You could say that," I repeated.

"Well…" I could tell he was uncomfortable talking to my back. "My couch happens to be a pull-out, so…"

Finally confident that my eyes didn't look like I had poured salt in them, I turned around to face him. "You're a saint."

He smiled.

Steve was a very attractive guy. He had moved into the apartment across from mine a few months before. I didn't know what he did for a living; if I had to guess, it would be modeling.

His apartment was neat to an extreme, which made me feel like a slob. He lived on the side of the building that overlooked the street, which happened to have larger floorplans. I had been inside once before to use his washer and dryer. He had offered them up after he saw my frequent trips to the downstairs laundry room.

"Do you work tomorrow?" Steve asked, bringing my mind back to his immaculate living room. He was at the sink in the kitchen, dreamy blue eyes cast in my direction.

"Actually, yes," I said. I had almost forgotten after such a long day.

"Feel free to use the washing machine. Er—I can lend you some clothes to sleep in," he added with an awkward smile, filling a kettle with water. "Tea?"

"Yes, please," I said, avoiding sitting on the couch in my dirty scrubs. I sat on a metal stool (a bleachable surface) at the island in the kitchen. "You drink tea?"

"Sometimes," he said. "When it's not socially acceptable to drink coffee, like at 11 PM."

His smile was so charming.

After changing into a giant t-shirt and drawstring shorts, I sat on the couch with Steve and my tea. I suddenly got nervous being alone with a grown man, but it was honestly a nice distraction from my troubled thoughts.

"This is going to sound terrible," I warned, enjoying the chamomile scent of my tea, "but I don't know what you do for a living."

"I work in…business," Steve replied with a tentative smile. "Sometimes I have to travel for my work but lately it's been…slow."

"Do you go to work every day? Or do you work from home?"

"Work from home mostly," he said with a frown. "What about you? What kind of nurse are you?"

The subject change was not lost on me. "Pediatric oncology," I said. When he cocked his head, I added, "Kids with cancer."

His eyebrows lifted. "Wow," he breathed. "And how many days a week do you work?"

"Four. Although it feels like more sometimes."

"I'll bet," he said. "Don't you leave around 6 AM?"

"5:45," I amended.

"So, you just worked an eighteen-hour day," he pointed out with a hand on his chin.

I sipped my tea. "I sure did."

"Well, I hear it's a very fulfilling career," he said, clearly trying to end on a positive.

"Most of the time." I looked down at my tea. "I want to help kids, but sometimes it feels like it's taking too much out of me."

He was silent for a moment as if deciding on what to say. "Your service is invaluable to folks. You have no idea just how important you are."

"Thank you," I laughed, unsure how to react. "You sound like my parents," I added, prompting a chuckle.

"I'm sure I do," he said, smiling lazily.

I wondered if he knew just how attractive he was. He was dizzying. His smile began to fade, and I realized I was literally staring at him. I broke eye contact and focused on the difficult task of sipping tea.

"Well, I better let you get some sleep." He smiled politely as he got up from the couch. I berated myself for creating that awkward moment.

"Thank you, Steve—for everything. I probably would have slept in the laundry room if it wasn't for you." I smiled, hoping he understood how grateful I was.

"No problem at all," he said, flipping off the overhead light. I noticed the vintage lamp on the coffee table for the first time. "Goodnight, Kate."

"Goodnight, Steve."

…

To say I slept like a rock would be an understatement. My alarm blared the Loony Toons theme at 5 AM, and I jumped to shut it off so it wouldn't wake Steve. Sitting up, I saw my scrubs placed carefully on the coffee table, dry and unwrinkled. A variety of protein bars laid on top.

I smiled, and no thought of the previous day entered my mind. Just Steve.

Thank you for reading! This idea has crossed my mind many times since seeing Winter Soldier all those years ago, so I finally decided to write it. Sharon Carter was undercover as Steve's neighbor "Kate the nurse" in the movie. This is my headcanon of who Kate might have been if she was a real person. Please review! I write faster and better when I get reviews :) -Scarlet