Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Kent took a chance that Palmer was home and drove to her place. He found parking along the street, paid the meter, and noticed there was a thirty-minute limit on the parking spot. If it took longer than thirty minutes to convince Palmer of his idea, he’d happily take the parking ticket or feed the meter and hope there wasn’t an attendant paying attention to his car.
Instead of waiting for the elevator, Kent took the stairs. Adrenaline coursed through his veins at the idea of helping Palmer. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why she stood out more than any other patient. Maybe it was because she’d helped him at the bank or because she was determined to fight this battle alone. Either way, he wanted to be there for her.
Out of breath, he knocked on her door, and then rested his hands on his knees. He didn’t realize he was out of shape until now. He should start using the workout equipment at the facility, especially the treadmill. Kent used to run five miles a day, and he bet he couldn’t do that now.
Palmer answered her door, surprise in her eyes. “Mr. Wagner. I didn’t call 911.” He had it in his mind she would look frail and sickly. She didn’t. Palmer looked exactly the way she did at the bank, and he had to remind himself that when he saw her last, she was sick and not the best version of herself.
“Kent,” he wheezed and then shook his head. “Call me Kent. And I know you didn’t.” The air whooshed out of his lungs. He needed to get back into the gym. He was ridiculously and embarrassingly out of shape.
“Are you okay, Kent?”
He nodded and rested his hand on the doorjamb. “I just ran up four flights of stairs. I need a moment to catch my breath.” He felt ridiculous.
Palmer leaned out the door and looked down the hall. “Is the elevator broken? I can call maintenance.”
“No, nothing like that,” he said with another deep inhale. His heart rate settled back into a normal rhythm. Kent cleared his throat and smiled. “I didn’t want to wait to see you.”
Palmer looked at Kent with inquisitive eyes. “Why?”
“May I come in?”
She stepped back and let him into her apartment. He looked around and noticed that a painting that had been over the sofa the other night was now gone. “Where’d your painting go?”
“I donated it.”
“How come?” he asked. He wished he could take his question back. “Never mind.”
“It’s okay,” she told him. “I’ve come to terms with my death.”
“I can’t imagine.” He paused and shook his head. “Have you made any arrangements?”
“Not really.” Palmer crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her sweater closed. “Why are you here?”
“Can we talk?” Kent motioned to the couch, and Palmer nodded.
“Would you like something to drink? I have water, soda, or juice.”
“Water would be great.”
Palmer went into the kitchen and returned with a glass filled with water and ice. Crushed ice. He loved crushed ice. “Thank you.” He drank greedily and sighed.
“Kent, why are you here?” Palmer asked again.
“Right.” Kent put his glass down on a coaster. He took a deep breath and leveled his gaze at her. He realized she was more than a patient to him; at some point in the last week or so, she had become important to him. She was someone he wanted to spend time with and help fulfill her journey. “I have a proposal for you. Today, while doing laundry, I came across the note I found on your table when Damian and I responded to your call. Technically, I should’ve given it back to you, but I forgot, or I wasn’t meant to because there’s something bigger at play here. While I read it today, I got this sense . . .” He paused and shook his head. “Do you remember when I told you I went to the Alamo, and it wasn’t what I thought it would be?”
Palmer nodded.
“The way you wrote your list, the things you wanted to experience versus places to go. Like, you want to visit a large farmers market, but you didn’t say where. I know there’s a massive market on Saturdays in Portland, Oregon, and I want to take you.”
“To a market in Portland?” she asked.
“Yes, and to the other places on your list. With my schedule, we can do something every other day. I work twenty-four hours and then I’m off for forty-eight. I also have a ton of vacation time. We can hit the places on the East Coast, and we can go to New Mexico. My friend lives there, and his family has a roadside food stand. Exactly what you’re looking for.”
Palmer stared at Kent for a long time, and Kent squirmed under the intensity. “Why?” she finally asked.