He was, but still he stepped toward her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Vera

Vera wriggled into her black scrubs and double knotted the dangling white string at her waist. Her shift started in an hour. She was a part-time “food service assistant,” an overly official title for someone who delivered meals to hospital patients. Last year, during her first week on the job, her boss suggested she wear scrubs in “a cheery color!” like lavender or salmon; Vera chose black. She realized this was leaning in to her Cruella de Vil reputation in town, but she didn’t think it was her responsibility to skip about in sunny yellow just so strangers would stop prejudging her. She wore what she wanted.

Vera bounded down the creaky stairs, her hand skimming the banister. Morning light glinted through the stained-glass windows that were the primary reason her parents had bought the house. Right in the center of the staircase, where the landing pivoted toward the living room, were three slender windows featuring artful glass patterns in ruby, sapphire, emerald, and amber. It was like living in a church, which was where her parents spent most of their time anyway, so why not bring their work home with them?

“Aunt Tilda, I’m leaving!” she called on her way to the door.

“Breakfast!” her aunt hollered, emerging from the kitchen with a spatula coated in egg. “I don’t want you touching hospital food.”

“That’s literally my job.” Vera cocked her head.

Her aunt rejected all forms of hospitals, doctors, pharmaceuticals, Western medicine, Eastern medicine. She believed in God. God will cure all. God’s will be done.

Vera once told her that God created chemo; her aunt left the room.

Obviously, Vera believed in a higher power. She couldn’t grow up in a family like hers, seeing the things she’d seen, and not believe there were other forces at work. She had faith, but that faith also extended to science. Whenever Vera wheeled her squeaky cart into a hospital room and saw a family collapsed in a puddle of helplessness, Vera dreamt of med school and one day being able to help sop up the mess.

“I’m gonna be late.” Vera dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of toast and a sausage link. “I’ll eat a good lunch,” she promised as she raced from the house, ignoring her aunt’s pleas.

The front door yawned as she thudded across the porch toward her beat-up sedan. It was a guilt gift from her parents on her sixteenth birthday. The door was dented, and it slumped every time she opened it. The car also took two turns of her key to get it started, and the gas gauge didn’t really work, but it had four wheels and drove. Vera loved it.

She navigated herself to work on autopilot and methodically moved through her day—fill the tray, serve the food, collect the dishes. Repeat. The smiles got her through the monotony, and the proximity to the medical world kept her coming back. Plus, every paycheck took her a little further out of Roaring Creek.