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Kerry had been standing with her shoulder almost brushing the wall, angled into the hallway just enough that her cane would become an obstruction if someone barrelled through with a bed. She knew this vaguely in the back of her mind, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her attention was stuck on the chart in her hand.
The new nurse’s handwriting was a catastrophe, with arrows that pointed to nothing, and a note that read F, 28, c/o abd pain. As if the chart didn’t already clearly indicate the patient was female. Kerry never understood the point of redundancies that wasted space. If you were going to take notes, they should add something. Otherwise, why bother?
She read the line again. And again. The longer she stared at it, the less sure she was of what the nurse had actually meant. She wasn’t sure whether c/o was their shorthand or just another malformed scribble. It annoyed her more than it should have, but irritation was easier than admitting she was zoning out.
Kerry didn’t register the sudden acceleration of footsteps or incoming herd of people until Elizabeth’s voice caught her attention. She remained stood where she was anyway, convinced she wasn’t far enough into the walkway to be a problem.
Then Elizabeth’s hand closed around her upper arm. She had already half-pulled Kerry out of the way by the time a large piece of equipment wheeled past, only inches from hitting Kerry’s leg. “Move—Kerry, move, now. She’s coming through—watch her neck—”
A gurney was pushed past and Kerry felt the air brush her sleeve. The girl on it had a bulging, pulsing mass along the side of her throat. Kerry should have been processing that, but she wasn’t.
Her eyes wouldn’t focus properly and they went somewhere around the bridge of Elizabeth’s nose. Her feet felt wrong in her shoes, like the linings had turned gritty. Her hands were uneven too: one was sweaty, the other cold and numb. She was suddenly aware of the bridge of her own nose, of every tiny sensation. Everything went into overload.
Elizabeth’s hand remained on her arm through it all. Even worse, her palm continued to shift, brushing a small arc over the sleeve of Kerry’s coat. Her nails were short, filed, and painted a soft rose-pink. Kerry’s observations did little to stop her stomach from plummeting.
“Kerry,” the blonde said softly. It was hard to tell if it was meant to be gentle or a little condescending. “We’re just in a bit of a rush, that’s all. Are you alright?”
Kerry still couldn’t make a sound.
Her fingers clamped around the handle of her cane until her knuckles ached. The weight of her hair against her neck suddenly felt unbearable. The thin, ginger strands were suddenly too heavy and had begun to prickle.
It was ridiculous. She knew it was ridiculous. She was an attending physician, the one who shouted orders, made decisions, and had authority. She shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the hallway, unable to speak because someone touched her arm. She shouldn’t feel startled by the woman she trusted most in the hospital.
The touch had been without permission. Sudden. Strong enough to move her body physically. Her thoughts were all jammed together, stuck between wanting Elizabeth gone and wanting her to stop looking at her like that.
She wanted to scream, to yell at her to stop. But what would that even mean? Stop what? Elizabeth didn’t seem to realize that being touched was bad for her. She hadn’t stopped touching her. She hadn’t stopped staring, either. Taking her in. Assessing her. Judging her. Letting her eyes drift over her face like she was some incompetent piece of—
Receiving no response, Elizabeth exhaled. “Alright,” she murmured, finally loosening her grip. “I have to get in there. We’ll talk later. Come find me if you need anything.”
Finally. The blonde turned, rushing off toward the trauma room, glancing back but ultimately pulled in by the crisis.
A nurse brushed past her, muttering an apology, but Kerry barely registered it.
She had to overcome it. She had to be better than this. She had to be prepared for the unexpected. She couldn’t run away from the issue.
By late afternoon, Kerry could no longer withstand the hospital walls. The courtyard was where she went. Where she always ended up being. It had a single tree that shed tiny leaves year-round, a few patches of grass, and one rusted bench that Kerry considered hers. She knew logically that hundreds of people had sat there over the years, but logic had never outrun the sense of ownership she felt for the courtyard.
Her macaroni was exactly where it was supposed to be, packed into a purple, well-used container. She’d eaten the same lunch for almost two years without changing it. That was, unless someone managed to talk her into a garden salad, which only ever happened out of obligation. On a small tray beside the noodles were three tiny oranges, which were her newest safety food. Her fork, the same one she washed and reused every day, was leaning against the rim of the container.
And in her left hand, she rolled a small flat stone she’d found by the ambulance bay doors that morning. A perfect distraction.
She breathed. She ate slowly. She listened to the little birds chip away in the tree. She let her shoulders drop.
“Kerry.”
The sound of her name pulled her back into herself. She looked up to see Elizabeth sitting down on the bench beside her, careful to leave space but not too much.
Kerry could smell her hand cream. Something orange. Not unpleasant. It reminded her of her own little oranges.
Had anyone ever made edible perfume?
Would it taste the same?
How would you even make perfume without chemicals?
There’d have to be oils involved—probably ones Kerry wouldn’t be able to pronounce.
Couldn’t you just bottle orange juice?
No, that would spoil.
What if—
Kerry’s jaw tightened. Conversation. Yes. She had to talk. Damn it, she had to talk. Of all places to be found, it had to be here. Her sanctuary. Her bench.
Elizabeth looked down at the tray on Kerry’s lap, observing the macaroni, then the oranges, then noticing the little stone between Kerry’s other hand.
Eating while someone watched was torture. Worse when she was the one watching.
Kerry cleared her throat, a cue for Elizabeth to start talking. She’d learned that people relied on little signals like that to seem friendly, or maybe just superior in conversation.
To her, it always felt a bit rude. But right now her brain was in a full fritz, and politeness wasn’t exactly at the forefront of her mind.
Thankfully, Elizabeth seemed to get the hint.
“I wanted to apologize. For earlier.”
Kerry stared off into the bark of the tree.
Elizabeth interlaced her fingers in her lap. “I didn’t mean to be invasive. Or to startle you. I only meant to keep you from being hit. I didn’t expect I’d shove you quite so hard. I’m sorry.”
Kerry looked down at Elizabeth’s hands. That was as close to eye contact as she could manage. She angled her body a little toward her, enough to show she was paying attention. Another social habit she’d picked up along the way. Apparently it was a sign of respect, though she’d never understood why facing your body toward someone proved you were listening. Didn’t listening happen with your ears?
“The touch. It made me uncomfortable.”
The bluntness made Kerry wince inwardly. She had been trying to soften her delivery, but translating her thoughts was like trying to pick up water with her bare hands.
She rubbed her thumb along the stone again, circling the same spot she’d already traced a thousand times. “I had to scrub my arm,” she muttered. “For about ten minutes. Paper towel. I just—needed the feeling gone.”
Elizabeth’s brows furrowed. Kerry couldn’t tell if the woman thought she was trying to guilt her or if she understood this was the only way Kerry knew how to explain the magnitude of discomfort. Kerry hoped that it was the latter.
“I need warning,” Kerry said quietly. “If someone touches me. Or pushes me, or even just nudges. The suddenness of it made me nauseous.” She took a deep breath then added, “but I don’t expect special treatment. I just need a moment before someone reaches for me so that I can brace for it.”
Elizabeth’s hand shifted in her lap, preparing to reach out and offer physical reassurance. Elizabeth had mastered comfort through touch. This time she stopped herself.
She rubbed her thumb over her own knuckles instead, a little nervous habit Kerry rarely witnessed in her. “Was it…me?” the blonde asked softly. “Or just the touch itself?”
Kerry shook her head, yet kept the blank expression she defaulted to when it came to reassuring others. Reassurance was not her strongest attribute.
“It was the touch. You’re one of the least overwhelming people I know. Most of the time, I’m fine when you touch me.”
“What made earlier different?”
Kerry didn’t answer immediately. She shifted the stone in her hand, needing the sensory to organize her thoughts.
“I was already overwhelmed. And I need predictability when it comes to my own body. If a patient hits me or stumbles into me, I can somewhat anticipate it. I know that kind of contact is bound to happen.” Her brows furrowed slightly. “But having someone that I know grab me firmly, without warning, and not immediately knowing why…I suppose it sent me over the edge.”
Elizabeth’s face fell, her concern no longer masked. “I didn’t realize that was how you felt. I should have been paying more attention. I’m so sorry.”
“No one realizes how I feel. That’s normal. But how someone treats my feelings, even if they can’t see them, that makes a difference.” Kerry cleared her throat with a soft cough. “It helps.”
“Well, now that I do know…I won’t touch you unexpectedly again. Not ever. You have my word.”
Kerry blinked, startled by the sincere commitment. Elizabeth had never lied to her, so Kerry had no reason to believe she wouldn’t follow through with what she’d said. And that frightened her more than the possibility of an accidental touch. She didn’t want Elizabeth to be afraid of interacting with her.
“I appreciate that. I just don’t want to be…babied. Or watched. Or handled like I’m made of glass. I want to be approached like anyone else. Just…without being coddled or questioned about how I react.”
Elizabeth nodded before Kerry had finished speaking. “Of course. I understand.” She leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. “I’ll be more careful. I’ll use my voice before my hands.”
Kerry let out a slow, deep breath. That was probably the most impressive thing she’d heard in a long time. It was rare that someone understood exactly what she meant without needing a long explanation. No doubting her, no talking down to her, no judgment. Elizabeth had actually set a boundary that matched hers. A boundary Kerry was willing to respect.
That felt like a lot of success. A lot of care.
The ginger slowly extended her hand across the narrow space between them. Her fingers brushed Elizabeth’s, testing the contact, before she placed her hand fully over Elizabeth’s.
She patted Elizabeth’s hand twice then gave her a small, earnest squeeze before pulling away. Physical affection was not something she offered lightly or often, and the simplicity of the gesture in a normal sense held much more meaning in Kerry’s eyes, which she hoped Elizabeth would understand.
Elizabeth swept a loose curl behind her ear, lightly brushing her cheek. Kerry had become fond of that gesture, which she had come to diagnose as something Elizabeth did when she was nervous. Elizabeth’s curls were always escaping and seeing her tuck them back with an almost sheepish motion warmed Kerry’s heart.
“I was afraid,” Elizabeth admitted. “I thought you might be upset with me forever.”
Kerry let out a small noise. A laugh, or just a little huff of acknowledgement. Either way, it didn’t lift her expression at all. Most things didn’t. “Why would you think that?”
Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “You looked furious this morning.”
“That’s just my face. Even if I’m happy. Forcing expressions is difficult. And tiring.”
“Alright then,” Elizabeth said gently. “How do you feel now? Because you still look…fairly neutral.”
Kerry popped the lid of her macaroni container open again. She took a bite, letting the texture bring her back into bliss for a moment.
“I have my lunch. I have new indents in my arm from your manicure. And it’s going to rain in about twenty minutes. It seems the good outweighs the bad.”
“Oh. Do you—do you like the rain?”
Kerry nodded, looking up to meet Elizabeth’s eyes. On impulse she reached out again, this time toward Elizabeth’s face. A perfect curl had fallen forward, brushing over Elizabeth’s eye.
Kerry carefully took it between her fingers and gave the curl the slightest tug. It bounced back instantly, bringing a faint smile onto Kerry’s lips.
“Yes,” she whispered, “but your hair must not like the rain.”
Elizabeth seemed startled by the touch and the comment, but she let out a soft laugh anyway. “Well, if I have you beside me, I doubt the weather will dictate much. You’re more important than a touch of frizzy hair.”
“Am I?”
”I haven’t lied to you yet, Kerry.”