Jess flat out told me that I’m really there for moral support. The ride is just extra. Even though she’s feeling much more confident about nursing school, I can tell she’s still wigged out about dealing with the scary cases. I don’t blame her. Some things just require a little extra whiz fizz. So I tell her that.
“A little…what did you say?” Jess asks on our way to the bank.
“Whiz fizz. Energy. Mojo. Call it what you want, but everyone can turn it on when they need to. Dig deep, Jessie. This girl likes you, right? You’re her happy thought.”
She looks unconvinced, so I tell her that I brought along two jerseys to sign. One is for the sick girl, and one is for her little brother.
“I don’t know if he’s into hockey, but it’s still a nice gesture,” Jess says as I pull into the bank’s parking lot.
“Of course he’s into hockey,” I argue. “This is Canada.”
“Right.” Her perfect lips twitch. “I forgot.”
I settle into a chair in the bank lobby with a copy of Sports Illustrated, but Jess reappears before I’m even finished with the first article. “That was quick.”
“It only takes a moment to sign your life away,” she replies.
I hate that she has to stress about money. It’s just a freak thing that I don’t. I mean, I’d play hockey even if they didn’t pay me. But they do. A lot.
Jess doesn’t like to talk about money, and I try to respect her wishes. But one of these days I’m going to figure out how to make things a little easier for her without getting yelled at. Last week I tried to ask her why she isn’t going home to California for American Thanksgiving. I’m pretty sure she can’t afford the ticket, but when I pressed her on it, she got all testy. So I had to back her up against the wall and lift up her skirt and press her in a completely different way just to calm her down.
Back in the Hummer, I head for the hospital. Jess looks out the window as I steer toward the other end of town. She looks nervous.
When I park in the hospital lot, she turns to me. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to. It’s kind of grim up there.”
“Whiz fizz, baby.” I wink at her. “I’m in, as long as I get a kiss after.”
But Jess feels like giving me my prize in advance. Her face softens, and she leans toward me. I meet her over the gearbox and receive one very soft kiss and a grateful smile.
After I grab the jerseys out of the back, we go inside, holding hands in the elevator. On the children’s ward, Jess stops outside room 302. She takes a deep breath and then taps on the door.
“Come in,” says a low voice.
We enter to find a skinny teenager in a bed, with a blanket pulled up to her chin. And right away I realize one important truth. I’m such an idiot. I thought I had enough jollies to get us both through this, but the girl’s blanket looks like a scratchy hospital edition, and I realize I should’ve brought one of the plush Toronto blankets instead. My mom has ’em all over the house.
I brought this sick girl a jersey. It’s so fucking impractical that I want to choke myself with it. And she’s too skinny and her eyes are scared and there’s a lump in my throat the size of a hockey puck.
How does any nurse get through the day? Fucking fuckity fuck.
But the girl’s expression lights up as soon as she sees me. “Oh my God!”
“Hey, Leila,” Jess says, her face about fifty times cheerier than mine. “Do you remember me? We did some knitting together? I’m Jess, a nursing student.”
“Okay, Jess the nursing student.” One skinny finger emerges from under the blanket. She points it at me. “Is that really Blake Riley? Or did they fuck up my meds again? If I’m hallucinating right now, this is a good one.”
I guess that’s my cue. “Hey there, Leila. Nice to meet you.” I offer her my hand.
She takes it, still staring at me. “Are you in the wrong room? I didn’t make one of those wishes, from that foundation? They do some cool stuff. But I think it’s bad luck to take them up on it.” I see a tiny shudder go through her.
“So, you’re superstitious?” I ask. I can work with this. “Because I’m hella superstitious. On game day, I have to fill up my gas tank before driving to the rink. One time I drove there on empty and I had a shitty game. Oh, fuck! Am I not supposed to say shitty on the children’s ward?”
Leila cracks up, so I’m winning.
“Here, I brought you something.” I open the shopping bag and pull out both the jerseys. “One is for you, and I heard you had a brother.”
She squeals. “No way! Will you sign them?”
“Of course.”
I’m signing the shirts with my Sharpie when Leila finally turns her attention to Jess. “Did you do this?” she demands.
I have a dirty mind, so right away I’m thinking about it literally. Oh, she did this, all right. I give Jess an inappropriate grin, which she returns with a glare that suggests I should take it down a notch.
To the girl she says, “Blake is my boyfriend.”
Leila’s head thumps back against the pillow. “Holy crap. And, before, you wanted to talk about knitting? You were seriously holding out on me.”
“I love knitting almost as much as I love him,” Jess says with an eye roll. “And knitting is less egotistical.”