Free Our Last Time: A Novel by Cristy Marie Poplin

a nice ass, but it was Kennedy’s ass. I wasn’t supposed to like the way it looked.
    I wouldn’t lose Kennedy just because he saw me naked, and I saw his ass. That couldn’t happen.
    We’d always be just Willow and Kennedy.

August 24 th , 2006, 9:46a.m.
    Willow
     
     
     
    I wasn’t dreading work today, because I had two new patients to distract me from Wyatt. I wouldn’t be as stressed, and I’d feel more like a nurse rather than a slave. Tessa had four patients to care for, and she had told me she should have taken Wyatt because she cared for him before, and would know how to handle him. I told her it was too late now, because he was set on having no one but my attention. I hadn’t known why he was set on me. Maybe it was because he hated me for some reason, and wanted to see me with red eyes and satanic demon coursing through my veins. He’d gotten his wish, if that were the case. I’d felt like I was ready to murder by the end of all of my shifts.
    I had my hair up today in a small ponytail. A few strands settled on the back of my neck, because my hair was too short to be in a ponytail, really. I hadn’t minded it. I no longer had bangs like I’d had when I was a teenager. My hair was layered now, which made it harder to put it up any type of way. My face was bare, and I was exhausted from lack of sleep. I was going to be sluggish today, and Wyatt was going to have to deal with it.
    Karrie Timmons was my first patient to arrive; she came in sometime in the middle of the night. She was only twenty-two years old, and she had a visitor with her who appeared to be a boyfriend or maybe a husband. She had to get her stomach pumped because she accidentally overdosed on pain killers when she had too much to drink. She had claimed it was an accident. I believed she had suicidal thoughts, and hadn’t wanted to admit it in front of her visitor. I’d talk to her alone later, when she felt like talking to me. She’d probably be leaving sometime around noon, but that only depended on what she’d tell me when we’d talk.
    Farrah Albrooks was my second patient; she arrived this morning a few hours before I came in. She was thirty-four, and had been four months pregnant. Her husband was with her, and I noticed the grief held under both of their features - they were sad. She had complained about overly discomforting cramps, and an excessive blood discharge. It was something out of the ordinary, she’d said. I knew what was wrong after the mentioning of cramps, and blood in one sentence. She had a miscarriage. I noted for Doctor Venice to check her out immediately. I was fairly certain she had lost her baby, and I felt for her. It was sad, and it was terrible how often women would come in with this same problem, same tragedy. I wouldn’t have a soul left within me if I were to lose my Annette.
    It was now time for me to go and check on Wyatt, and I was surprised he hadn’t been calling my name so far this morning. Maybe he had a visitor, I thought. That would relieve me significantly. I was ready for him to be taken out of here, and dealt with by someone else. Someone that loved him - if only I could convince myself that someone out there had loved him enough to take care of him. If he had a mother, I hoped she was close, so she’d eventually realize what had happened to him, and take him off my hands. Only a mother’s love could be strong enough to love Wyatt Blanquette, I believed.
    I opened 209 ’s door after knocking, hoping to see someone sitting in one of the chairs on the far side of Wyatt’s bed. I came to find something very different from that. It was something I was starting to believe to be impossible.
    “Hey, Willow.”
    He was smiling at me. He said Hey to me, and he was actually smiling. I was freaking out on the inside. Was he playing a trick, or was he truly happy to see me? Why hadn’t he called my name - screamed it? He’d always be screaming my name when I came in for work. I approached his