Owen stood there shaking.
“I’m going to Voss,” he said.
“Dr. Voss?”
“Chief of Surgery.”
“I’m going to tell him.”
“When?”
“Friday.”
“Nate will try to stop you.”
“I know.”
“Nate will say you have a three-month-old.”
“I know.”
“He’ll say it’s not worth it.”
Owen looked at me.
“What do you say?”
I stood there.
For the first time in this whole mess, somebody was asking me.
“I say it’s not my decision,” I said.
“And it’s not Nate’s.”
“It’s yours.”
“Make it yourself.”
“For once, somebody in this family make their own choice.”
Nate came home at six-fifteen.
Again.
Like nothing.
Except this time, he wasn’t wearing scrubs.
Jeans.
A gray sweater.
No badge.
I had the laptop open on the kitchen table.
The college fund on the screen.
He saw it from the doorway.
He stopped.
“Forty-three thousand dollars,” I said.
He set down his keys.
Carefully this time.
