7

A+2NORAHA+5

Nor found herself reminiscing through the familiar halls, recalling the seven-fold insecurity of her student years. Back then, she’d never held a caseload, let alone a dying human’s hand. And though her fire for advocacy roared with life, the glares of seasoned professionals doused her with unworthiness, even today.

Who am I to talk to others about pain and healing?

But then there was Dexteras.

Despite his vast life, experience, and wisdom, he didn’t crush her with superiority. At her side, his fine suit shone with the greens and gold of the Mediterranean Sea whilst his fingers polished the chain of his pocket watch like rosary beads. His subtle limp gave a bob to his wavy mane. His gentle blue eyes beneath drank in everything at all times. He was dashing and lovely, a towering presence that magnetized each eye towards him. But if a staff member returned his gaze as they passed, his chin fell to his chest and his hands found their way to his pockets.

Some beheld him with cold and critical stares, but most were speculative, akin to the glares HR gave her the week prior when she mentioned him for the job. They didn’t recall the crippled man in their hospital, nor were they keen on the liability that his blurry history could imply. But despite the past, they had no evidence or qualms to justify the board’s skepticism.

So, seeing as his credentials were up to date, they allowed him a trial run beneath Norah, who would provide a thorough report throughout. They’d be submitting a long-term records request to view his medical files of discharge for any “red flags” to ensure the “safety of our patients here.” They’d have to ravage the ancient catacombs of hard-copy records, demanding quite some time before they’d surface.

But Dexteras Doe was kind, gentle, empathetic, and communicative. He was perfect. He had a quiet energy that made you want to know him more deeply and speak with him transparently. Even Norah craved to understand him and be understood by him.

But she wasn’t there yet. She couldn’t even properly navigate his expression most moments. He didn’t wear discomfort, but rather, an uncertainty… as though he weren’t quite sure if he belonged where he stood, or upon this Earth at all.

Having arrived at their patient’s room, Nor gave a preparatory nod to her new partner and knocked upon the door frame.

“Alina, visitor!”

A delicate greeting hummed from within, and they pushed past the curtains to reveal a tiny child. Alina was sitting on the ledge of her large window, fidgeting with a bouquet of tubes that connected her body to a mobility cart. Her frail skin was adorned with rose-colored hospital clothes and rubber-soled socks. Her hair was auburn, and her skin was a deep, sandy tone. Her eyes were large, dark-lashed, and somehow smiling despite all they’d known.

They waved with kind grins from the threshold. It always took a brief mental reset when Nor entered the rooms of the children’s ward. She blinked against the vibrant colors, a welcome, but jarring shock to the grayscale of the hospital.

Alina’s room was catered to childish whimsy and life. The walls and bed sheets were royal, princess purple, and the wall beneath her television was muraled with jewel-toned castles and faraway lands topped with knights and unicorns. A large stuffed unicorn was sitting on the ledge of her window, passing judgement over the gloomy city below.

The glass was framed with sky-blue curtains. The only elements that stood out amidst the candy-colored scene were the blood-red sharps box, the visitor’s chairs with their red cushions, and the gray rolling table and drawers.

Norah stepped forward and introduced herself, sitting in a bedside chair. Dex followed suit.

He cleared the nervous gravel from his throat and transitioned to Ukrainian with soft, syrupy tones. His gestures were inviting and kind, and his expression was compassionate. He was a natural at holding space.

Nor nodded to the retractable ID clipped to his suspender with a tall brow, and he hurriedly nodded with a stutter on his lips. She gently pulled it from his chest and stretched it far from him in comic grandeur. The child squinted upon it and then sputtered with laughter, followed by wet, thick coughing.

“This is my friend Dexteras,” said Nor, returning the badge. “He’s going to help us talk to one another.”

The child agreed with a small nod, bobbed hair and eyes shimmering. She responded with a raspy voice, pitched with childish chirps.

Her words then left Dex as though they were his own, delivered verbatim as though he were a ventriloquist dummy of sorts. His timing was measured and patient. His tones were low and rolling like a breeze, just strong enough to sweep your hair behind your shoulders. As the conversation giant, one easily forgot he was in the room. He was good at blending in with the pale fluorescent lights.

“In therapy, you can talk about anything at all. Any feelings, thoughts, questions. It’s a safe place. Everything you say stays between us three.”

The child’s eyes widened, and she sat upright. Then, questions spewed from her chapped lips like an eager stream breaching a dam.

Now that her unashamed curiosity could be fully understood and received, Dex’s talents were put to the test.

“Do you live in the hospital?”

“How old are you?”

“Are you her dad?”

“Are there animals here?”

“Did you fly here from Ukraine?” she asked Dex with wide eyes.

“Do you have pets? What’re their names? Are they big?”

And as they progressed, the discussion became more sobering.

“Where is Mama and brother?”

Dexteras’ shoulders were braced against his ears, likely sensing the room’s tangible grief. Norah noticed a pulsing muscle along his jaw as he gnashed on his teeth. For someone who’d been disconnected from clinical work, this was a heavy first case for him.

Nor took a deep and audible breath, modeling its power for her anxious colleague.

“It sounds like your mother was doing everything she could to keep you and your brother safe and healthy,” said Nor. “But I know that doesn’t change how much it hurts to have them gone right now.”

Nor always had a fascination with fathers. Guardians. Protectors, parents. Scolding their small humans, wiping sticky fingers, clutching tiny hands, and pressing children into awkward hugs around their thighs.

She wondered if Alina now had the same infatuation with mothers.

“Am I still sick?” the child asked through Dexteras’ translating tongue.

Nor nodded. “Yes. Your body has been battling cancer for some time. I bet you’re tired of all that fighting.”

The child acknowledged this with distant nods, eyes glued to the artwork that danced up Dex’s arms.

“Do you have drawing stuff?”

Nor rummaged through her canvas messenger bag punctured with its enamel pins and inspirational patches. Most of these had come from the incense-saturated hippie shops near her first college when she’d studied states away. They depicted illustrated brains, flowers, teapots, and cats, bearing quotes like, “Your anxiety is lying to you,” “Don’t believe everything you think,” “I didn’t come this far, to only come this far,” and “Fall in love with healing yourself.”

She withdrew a spare sketchbook from the bag’s depths and gave it to the child with a handful of clattering, colored pencils, their vibrant wood shining.

“You’re always welcome to make art whenever you’d like.”

Alina spilled the supplies across her lap, glossy colors filling her hands.

“What do your tattoos mean? Are they real? Did they hurt? Did you cry?” she asked, touching Dex’s arm. His muscles bulked instinctively, but he remained still and smiled.

Before he could answer, Alina prodded onwards, “Are we going to talk about dying?”

“I think that would be a really good idea,” said Norah. “What about you?”

Dex replicated Norah’s confidence in his translation.

Alina nodded before erupting into more bleats of aggressive coughing. Wheezing scraped at her voice box and drew clinging fingers to her throat. Her air strained in squeaks until she gasped.

Norah slid to the hall and hollered for Scott, their attending nurse. He assessed the child’s oxygen levels and hung a pumping hose below her flaring nostrils. He ushered in cold water and ice and assured the worried pair he’d notify the doctor of her levels.

As they gave their hoarse patient a moment to settle, Dex hovered with ruffled feathers, fingers massaging themselves.

“How you doing, girl?” asked Nor.

Alina managed a curt nod, ice chunks gnashing between her bared teeth. She swallowed with strain.

Nor turned to the old translator. His brows were bent, but her gaze stilled his fidgeting.

“We should let her rest. The med team will need to assess things. But this was a great introduction.”

They thanked the small girl for her time.

“I’d love to see you again tomorrow, Alina. What do you think?”

The child’s head bobbed, eyes trailing the line of a teal pencil down her page.

“Can Dex come?” she whispered.

Dex’s face fell with that “lost” expression he often wore. “I’d be honored,” he said.

Alina extended a tiny fist to Dex.

He presented his own and allowed her to box against his knuckles playfully. He sparkled with life, eyes piled in wrinkles as he grinned.

Norah marveled at their already blossoming therapeutic bond.

The child then pitter-pattered on bare feet across the laminate floor to hug him at his hip.

“Oh!” His bones creaked as he crouched to embrace her fully.

Though his ivory hair shadowed his face, Nor was certain his eyes blinked wistful and wet.