"She's not a piece of ass. It's not even close to being like that."

I faced the nursery, and when I grew quiet, she grew serious.

"So what is it then? What is the thing?"

"I don't know-hence, calling it a thing."

"Okay let's do a quick anatomy lesson, Third Year." She turned me to face her, as if we were bookends. "Look at my body and tell me if I were . . . wait, what's her name?"

"Everly." Everly. Everly. Everly.

"If I were Everly, what parts of my body get you all hot and flustered?"

"None because I refuse to look at any of your parts."

"Because my scary military husband will kill you, or, because this Everly is just so damn brilliant she doesn't need breasts and a vagina to turn you on?"

"I really don't like you right now."

She grinned. "Just name a body part and get over the weirdness of it being my parts we're using in a hypothetical conversation to uncover the mystery of your "thing"."

"All right I like you."

"Name a body part, Callum." She jutted out her chest.

"Oh, you lost me again."

Tatum groaned, which made me laugh. Her hands landed on my shoulders. "Fine. Tell me what part of you-awkward penis aside-feels this thing for Everly."

"I think it's the worst in my head . . . hypothetically."

"Like a throbbing pain?"

"Like . . . something sewed her into all of my thoughts. Even the pointless ones, like, what I'll eat for breakfast, or where I'll go for coffee. I start thinking about an omelet and then I'm thinking about what Everly is having for breakfast. I leave for a quick break and go to the same cafe I have walked to hundreds of times throughout my life, but every step is wondering if Everly Anne Brighton will be there waiting, and if she is waiting, is she waiting for me? Is it just a coincidence? You see-that look on your face-that is the same bewilderment I feel whenever this thing comes over me. What is it called?"

She smiled almost pitifully at me. "It's obvious, that's what it's called."

"I like her. I understand that part, Tatum. I'm trying to figure out how it happened. What kind of voodoo Everly Anne hones that could perform this level of evil shit during third year."

She shook with laughter. "You poor fool."

"I wanted to kill a stranger for touching her leg. I might have killed him if Noelle hadn't stopped me."

"You poor, poor fool."

"She's Brighton's daughter for Christ's sake. His nineteen year old daughter."

"You poor dead fool."

"I'm contemplating walking her home after class tomorrow as if this is 1945. I'm thinking of courting this girl, Tater. Do you hear what I am telling you? Do you hear these unfathomable thoughts that are coming out of my mouth?"

"I think it's gonna rain. Bring an umbrella."

One of the monitors suddenly flat-lined. And superfluous problems no longer carried weight.

The worst part of working in the hospital is obvious. No one wants to see anyone suffering, and no doctor wants to see a patient die on their watch. But these are two evils that exist so that doctors can exist, and it's an odd partnership you don't want, but can't become a doctor without.

We stood across the street from the hospital after Baby Violet died. Tatum dealt with death by smoking cigarettes. I dealt with death by swallowing it down in silence.

Standing on the curb I both understood and detested the robotic need some doctors carried. To feel each death would be the equivalent of shoving your head in a plastic bag and trying to breathe. Some cases you had to become a machine void of emotion, and when it came to dealing with sick children, dying children, and innocent deaths-my switch, for the sake of my sanity, had to be completely flipped off.

"I'll tell them," I said, leaving her on the curb with her cigarette.