At the hospital, Margaret found her on her rounds and they chatted briefly in the hallway.

"All of the paperwork, and my recommendation, have been faxed to them. I'm sure they will be in touch soon regarding an interview. I have no problem with you taking the time off to fly up there and talk with them. You should take an extra day and drive around a bit." She smiled sincerely, warmly. "I really think they're going to be so interested in you, Tara. Drive around, see what you think of the area."

She could only nod. The usual chaotic boat rocking on the sea that she herself had whipped into a dangerous frenzy. She was the great saboteur of her own life. Her stomach gripped uncomfortably.

Margaret was oblivious to her rising seasickness. "You know, you look fantastic, Tara. I've noticed it this week. You're positively glowing."

She smiled weakly. She had never been of the girlish ilk where she needed to share, tell others about her love life, taste a man's name on her tongue, gain approval, or entertain with sordid stories. She could just hear herself, I've got myself another outlaw, the baddest of the bad boys this time, Margo-girl, and I'm riding high on dopamine, the sex is amazing, this man! This man! Drinking and smoking and cavorting. Oh, and the crying, let me tell you about how he sees me. He really sees me. By the by, can I get you to flow me the cost of two blood tests and could ya put a rush on that? She needed a drink, or a cigarette, or an hour alone with Chibs.

"Okay, then! Back to work for both of us. Would you care to join me for lunch in the cafeteria, Dr. Knowles? Say, one?"

"Sure. Yes. That would be fine. Nice."

She fled to the bathroom, digging her phone out of the pocket of her lab coat and texting him. MISS YOU.


A few sporadic texts, but not enough meat on the bone to fulfil and no call. She refused to worry or feel sorry for herself. She spent a long restless night alone in her bed. The next morning the realtor came and she listed the house. From the kitchen window, she watched him hammer a For Sale sign into the front lawn, a pile of contract duplicates on the table. It all made her tired and she tried to take a nap but ended up curled on her side, looking at the photographic print of the human heart mid-surgery. She knew she was the perfect psychological study. In love with the organ, the solvable mystery of its life-sustaining job, and yet frightened of the symbolic representation, fearing its magic, too damaged to love well, too broken to try. She berated herself without words, using the body memory of Chibs bone shaking in her embrace, panting against the skin of her throat, making of her name an age-old promise and prayer.

By late-afternoon she was climbing the walls. After months of being so alone, the week had wrecked her. She changed into hospital togs and joined the ER staff. Sniffly children, screaming babies, frail elderly, a mad man, a woman with an ectopic pregnancy, a frighteningly inebriated young man. It was the usual running to stand still. And she radiated in it. Late evening found her sitting bedside vigil with the drunk, debating pumping his stomach, watching the banana bag empty into his swollen veins. The paramedic who had brought him in was keeping her company while his partner filled out paperwork at the triage desk.

"Where've you been, Dr. Knowles?" he asked, surprising her out of her reverie.

"Have I been somewhere? I've been busy."

"You working a night shift?" he switched subjects.

"What? Probably." She looked sideways at him. They were close in age and he was classically handsome in an Eagle Scout sort of way. Crewcut, clear eyes, square jawed and tall and lean inside his uniform. She looked him up and down covertly, the midnight blue button down, the heavy canvas trousers, the black boots impervious to petrol, oils, and bodily fluids. He had shears stuffed in a cargo pocket, a stethoscope around his neck, and a large-faced watch ticking down life-saving seconds on his wrist. Chibs wore an uniform, too. Heavy boots, the leather cut, the shades, and the knives strapped across his chest. She knew he carried a loaded Berretta tucked into the waistband of his jeans. "You?"

"Night shift? Yeah, always." He was smiling, so open-hearted that she couldn't help but feel her own heart's blood warm slightly in response. "I could swing back by here in the a.m.. We could grab some breakfast in the cafeteria."

She narrowed her eyes. Was this the boy her dead mother would have wanted her to date? Marry? Have a family with? Was this the man her alcoholic father would have wanted to give her away to? She felt dizzy thinking of it. He was looking at her earnestly, a slight blush rising up his perfect cheekbones.

"Oh," she faltered, tripping over all of her thoughts. She furrowed her brows. "Thank you." Racking her memory for his name. "Troy, thank you." She smiled close-lipped. "I'm seeing someone."

"Yeah. Sure. Of course." He was backing out of the small curtained enclosure, looking over his shoulder for his partner, stepping sideways away from her. "Don't work too hard tonight, doc."

"You, too. Save some lives out there."

"I'll do my best."

And he was gone. She turned back to her patient. Stomach pumping it was.

At three in the morning her restlessness returned like a sickness. The long night was beginning to feel endless, as though the sun might have burned out while the earth was turned away. Leaning against the nurse's station, blankly staring into her unknown future, she began to feel overwhelmed. The possibility and potential of a new job, a new hospital, a new life. Selling the house, homelessness promising itself to her as though a birthright. The unexpected proposition by the paramedic. Absent Chibs and the work that was keeping him away from her. She felt the prickling sensation of panic begin to electrify her heart from the inside out. She quickly made her way for the ambulance bay doors and out into the parking lot. The late summer air was warm and intensely refreshing. She began to pace, her body needing to move, bone and muscle more sympathetic to her mind than heart and lungs. She pushed all thought away from her, dark and light, and just kept walking. The length of the drop-off parking lot, then the visitor lot, then the physician lot, and out onto the sidewalk. The night was still black, sunrise a forgotten memory from the morning before. She wondered how big the city block was and considered it, but then turned back into the main entrance, the well-lit hospital in front of her, the darkened suburban neighborhood behind her. She felt trapped between light and dark, angels and demons on both sides.

Suddenly, she heard the bike, recognized the throaty rumble of the Dyna.

She kept moving, if she had trainers on instead of the heavy clogs she knew she would be running. She listened as the motorcycle banked into the parking lot, turning behind her and into the visitor lot. She heard the engine silenced. Still she did not turn or slow. And then he was there, beside her, matching her stride for stride. She moved through another row of parked cars and made her way back out onto the sidewalk and decided, yes, she would walk the quarter mile perimeter. He kept pace with her and as they made the first corner she reached across for his hand. He squeezed her fingers, stepping up closer beside her and they continued forward.

His fingers were cool but his hand began to warm. The connection was solid and steady and an alternate current began to flow into her, out of his body, up her arm, and through her heart. She felt the panic subsiding, her breathing leveling out, and her strides became slower and more deliberate. They made the last corner of the block, the hospital entrance sign ahead of them. He tugged her to a stop and pulled her into his arms. He rocked her slowly, his mouth against her ear, the low cadence of his voice a male lullaby, his words surely Gaelic because she recognized none of them. She closed her eyes and let her body be filled with light.

Finally he stilled, one hand on the back of her head, holding her fast.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

"Taking care of you, aye."

She nodded into his shoulder.

"What are you doing here, is the real question. Let's go home."

"Yes, yes. Please take me home."