“How is he?” she asks, interrupting our happy conversation.

“Numbers are looking good. Stable. At this point, no news is good news.”

She doesn’t seem pleased with this answer, and I see her lips tense into a thin line. It’s not that they want their loved one to die, but the waiting is torture. Living in this awful hospice limbo has to be exhausting.

“I’ll come back next week unless something comes up. You have my number.” I turn to my patient. He doesn’t like the bed the hospital delivered, so he’s parked in his Lazyboy. I place a gentle hand on his arm. “Get to the crockpot scene in ‘This is Us’, then watch Big Bang.”

“Nurse’s orders,” he says to his wife. She’s wringing her hands, looking at me like she can’t wait until I leave. And I get it. I’m in her house, but I want to see Mr. Yan smile one more time before I go, and when I look at him, he does.

No one tells you this part. The bond with your hospice patients is different. Stronger. And I never forget these smiles, not a single one. There’s something about being the last person someone bonds with, the last new person in someone’s life. It’s a heavy honor to carry. And even though I’ve only been visiting the Yans for a month, I’m already dreading the end. I’ll miss the way he squeezes my hand.

On my drive home, I keep the radio off. The silence is calming, and although the job doesn’t send me spiraling like it used to, I still need this part—the unwind.

Rolling down the windows, I let this warm ocean breeze blow off the dust of sadness. Since moving to Wickett over the summer, I haven’t spent a single day without driving with the windows down. It’s a waste to do otherwise. The weather here is so much more temperate than in Newport. On hot days, the breeze is cool. On cool days, the sunshine is warm.

Just before I pull into the small grocery store parking lot, my phone rings, my brother’s face showing up on the screen.

“Hello, Ezra,” I answer, holding my phone up to my face.

“How’s the new place?” he asks without greeting.

“You sound bitter.” I laugh as I walk across the parking lot to where the carts are stored. “I love being out here, and we couldn’t keep living together. It was killing your game.”

“I have no game.” He laughs.

“Exactly.”

When Ezra and I moved out here, we started out in one apartment, but I knew that wouldn’t last. I love my brother, but he suffocates me, constantly butting into my business. His guard is forever up, and he trusts no one, which means...dating for me is nonexistent.

So I recently got a place in the apartment complex near the coast. It’s quaint, but when you can hear the ocean from your bedroom window, you don’t need square footage.

“Just be careful. I know you work crazy hours and get home late. I just worry about you, that’s all,” he says. I can tell he’s in the car by the sound on the line. He’s been busy with work, doing pretty well for himself since he started running a souvenir shop on the boardwalk.