Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Back in the Hummer, I head for the children’s 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 cancer 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 in the children’s hospital?”
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.”
I don’t even argue with the egotistical part, because Jess just said she loves me. Did that really just happen?
“Where is your knitting?” Jess asks. “I wanted to see how the hat turned out.”
With the practiced ease of someone who’s been here way too long, Leila reaches over to open the hospital bedside drawer. She pulls out a somewhat lumpy hat in a burgundy color with yellow stripes. “Do you think it needs a pom-pom? What do you think of the bind-off?”
Jess takes the hat and admires it. “The ribbing turned out perfect. And your bind-off is great. Not too tight.”
“I was worried about that.”
“It’s perfect. He’s going to love it. Do you have extra yarn so we could try a pom-pom?”
“Sure.”
They get out the yarn, and Jess shows Leila how to wrap it around spread-out fingers. Or something. My gaze wanders around the room to the collection of get well cards on the windowsill. There are a million of them.
Jess and Leila make a gold-colored pom-pom, one of them holding the tuft of wrapped threads, the other tying a knot around them tightly. Their two heads are bent together in concentration.