In another corner lay a haphazard pile of bills, most of which were medical. Owens-Adair Hospital. East Haven Cardiology.
He pushed to a sitting position, palm flat against his forehead. “No, I’ve never prescribed lamotrigine.” A pause. “You’ve spoken with the family?”
She dared to slide open the right-hand drawer. Though it looked as if it would produce a horrendous creak, it remained silent on its tracks. A glint of light illuminated a photo within that halted her heart for a beat before it quickened and her throat grew thick. It was of herself, taken when they’d gone to the café in Portland following Reid’s funeral. In it, her gaze was downcast as she reached for a paper cup, her mouth agape. Kenna had no recollection of the picture being taken but she remembered he had stepped away to answer a call.
The shot wasn’t crisp like his Polaroids.
It was out of focus. Blurred by her movement. There was something charming about the incomplete, in-motion glimpse of her being enough for him.
The discovery should have filled her with outrage but only tenderness washed over her as she looked at the photograph that had been carefully tucked away in the drawer.
Slowly, she pushed it closed.
“The minute she’s one iota of coherent, give me a call and I’ll head up there.”
Abandoning the safety of the desk, she nestled on the arm of the couch, maintaining a respectable and observable distance from Dayton.
“Mania?” she asked.
“You’ve always been an exceptional student. It’s tragic your intellect is doomed to waste away in general therapy.”
Tears welled behind her eyes. “I had a good mentor.”
13
GOD’S WRENCH
Dayton thought he’d died and gone to Hell when Kenna quietly asked if she could accompany him to check on his patient who was recovering from a manic episode.
The silent ride to Owens-Adair did not phase him. Her nearness filled the gaps in the absence of her words and, while she never broke the barrier of speech, she hummed a lovely rendition of Adele’s ‘Hello’ alongside the radio. Hearing the muted melody made him ache for the full range of her holy voice. Every note, every intonation brought him closer to God. He was grateful for the humming. For him, it signified hope.
She had not lost all faith in him.
The view on the way to the hospital almost rivaled the beauty of his passenger. Warm colors flooded the forest. Burgundy. Marigold. Ginger. The only green that remained were the pine needles. His eyes continuously flicked to either side of the road, singling out the lush trees that were in defiance of autumnal norms. He had a lot in common with those pines. Both of them were stuck, unchanging. But he had Kenna.
He’d professed his love to her and soon he would have his own seasonal transformation. Shed everything dead from the inside out in anticipation of new growth. Whatever change was necessary to be the man she deserved.
She was disappointed but respectful when he told her she had to wait in the lobby. Afterwards, he drove her to Sinclair’s and they idled by the station wagon for an eternity. Neither of them wanted to say goodbye.
They didn’t hug. It didn’t suit them.
His toes curled in his shoes as the sunlight played off her emerald eyes, crinkling around the edges, and her gaze softened on him.
“See you tomorrow,” she said.
Dayton stood there even after she peeled onto the main road, drunk on this strange feeling between them and thankful for the bottle of wine that had sent her home with him.
That was almost a week ago.
Most days, he left a hazelnut latte on her desk before she arrived at the office. He pushed for more observation time and stayed later to take over her light janitorial duties.
Anything with the aim of making her happy.
He extended another dinner invitation and though she declined—she reallydidhave to work on her paper for Rothman—he kept at it. In time, he was confident she would soften, reciprocate his feelings, even, and he prayed their love would be enough to wash away every misguided thing he had done.
Or, at least, that’s what Dayton had convinced himself of until Friday rolled around and a familiar, distressed face peered into the windows of his practice.
God’s wrench in his happily ever after.