She's Home

The smell of disinfectant turned his stomach. Tim breathed through his mouth, slow, but the sour taste had already settled in his throat. He leaned back against the wall near the nurses' station.

A few steps away, by the coffee machine, Jackson and Nolan were talking in low voices. Tim caught every word.

"I got everything set up at our place." Jackson's voice was raw. He tapped the duffel bag at his feet. "Her clothes are in there. I'm going in, I'm bringing her home."

"You can barely stand, Jackson." Nolan, both hands wrapped around a cup he hadn't touched. "I'll drive you both. You can get your car tomorrow."

"I can drive." Jackson shook his head. "I'm fine. I can drive."

A murmur reached him from room 304 — the door still cracked open, Lucy's voice, hoarse.

Tim uncrossed his arms. Both men went quiet before he even opened his mouth.

"I'm taking her home."

Nolan blinked.

"Tim, we were trying to—"

"I'm taking her home."

Jackson stared at him, jaw tight, eyelids heavy.

"She's my best friend, Tim..."

"And she's my rookie. How many hours of sleep did you get, West?"

Silence.

"That's what I thought. You fall asleep at the wheel with her in the car, I'll kill you myself."

Jackson didn't answer right away. Then his shoulders dropped. He held the bag out to Tim.

"Text me when she's settled in."

Tim was already heading toward room 304, the bag in one hand.

***

Tim pushed open the door to 304, the duffel bag hanging from his arm. Lucy flinched — sitting on the edge of the bed in a hospital gown, barefoot, her hair pulled to one side like she'd tried to untangle it with her fingers. She was watching the door, eyes narrowed toward the hallway.

"Jackson?" she whispered.

Then she saw him. "Tim?"

He set the bag down next to her, avoiding her eyes. "West was wiped. I'm driving you home."

She grabbed the bag, but her hands slipped on the zipper. Tim didn't move. She hissed through her teeth, pulled harder. The zipper gave.

"I'm gonna go change," she said, clutching the bag against her.

He nodded. Didn't move.

She disappeared behind the bathroom door. The lock clicked. Then the rustle of fabric, slow, clumsy — and the sound of a zipper that echoed too loud in the quiet of the room.

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. He wished he couldn't hear it — the cotton sliding, a held breath, then nothing for too long — but the door was too thin and the room was too silent. So he stood there, arms at his sides, staring at the wall across from him.

The door opened again. Lucy was wearing her sweatshirt and jeans. She stopped in the doorway.

"I'm good."

Tim pushed the door wide. Lucy stepped through, but her gaze caught on the visitor's chair. Nolan's pink teddy bear sat there, too big for the seat.

She turned back, picked it up with one hand. The stuffed animal pressed flat against her chest.

Tim reached for the duffel bag. "Give it."

She handed it over, holding the bear a little tighter.

"Got everything?"

She nodded, eyes down on the pink fur.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

***

At the discharge desk, the nurse slid a folder across the counter. Lucy signed with one hand, the pink bear tucked under her other arm.

Outside, the heat of the parking lot hit them all at once. Lucy blinked against the light, the bear pressed against her.

Tim unlocked his truck parked ten meters out. He opened the passenger door. The bear got in first — huge on Lucy's lap when she sat down, its pink head brushing the dashboard.

Tim walked around the hood, got behind the wheel. The engine hummed, the AC kicked in. He glanced over — she was staring at the stuffed animal, fingers dug into the fur.

His own hands gripped the steering wheel a little too hard. He loosened them, one knuckle at a time.

The truck pulled out of the lot.

The road stretched out ahead, straight, predictable. Tim liked that. Lucy's address was in her rookie file — he'd punched it into the GPS.

Next to him, Lucy hadn't said a word since they'd left the hospital. The bear on her lap, her forehead against the window.

Tim pulled up in front of Lucy's building, double-parked. The engine was still running when he got out, walked around the truck, opened her door.

Lucy didn't move right away. Her fingers let go of the pink fur, one by one, then she turned and set her feet on the curb. The bear slid off her lap — Tim caught it before it hit the ground.

She stood up, leaned against the door for a second. Tim handed her the bear. She tucked it against her chest.

He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, followed her to the building entrance. Lucy punched in the code. The lock buzzed.

Tim set the bag at her feet, on the threshold.

Lucy looked down at the bag, then back up at him. She opened her mouth, closed it. Then, very quietly:

"Thank you for coming."

Tim nodded. His hands found his pockets. He stepped back.

"Lock up behind you."

Lucy pulled the bag inside, the bear still pressed against her. The glass door closed between them. He watched her cross the lobby, her silhouette slightly hunched under the harsh light, the pink of the teddy bear too bright against the gray of the mailboxes.

She disappeared into the stairwell.

Tim walked back to his truck and got behind the wheel but didn't start the engine.

He pulled out his phone.

She's home.