“What did he handle?”
Owen finally looked at me.
“At the review, they asked him why he operated on no sleep.”
“He could have said the on-call never answered.”
“He could have said my name.”
“He didn’t.”
“He said, ‘It was my judgment. My call. My mistake.'”
“That’s all he said.”
“Over and over.”
“And they let him take it.”
“They let him take every bit of it.”
“And you let him,” I said.
“And I let him.”
“I kept my job.”
“I kept my license.”
“I got sober in March.”
“The same week they suspended him.”
“He drove me to my first meeting.”
“Can you believe that?”
“The week they took his career, he drove me to a church basement.”
I couldn’t speak.
Behind me, I heard a small, sharp breath.
I turned.
Jess stood in the kitchen doorway.
Wyatt was asleep on her shoulder.
She’d heard.
I don’t know how much.
