Chapter 3 - THE ENVELOPE I REFUSED TO OPEN
The envelope appeared in my locker two days later.
Cream-colored paper.
My name written in elegant black ink.
Inside was a thank-you card from Eleanor.
And a check.
I stared at the amount.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
My knees nearly gave way.
I checked the name again.
Eleanor Bellamy.
Then I checked the amount.
Still twenty-five thousand.
I sat down.
For a moment, I imagined what that money could do.
Pay off my student loans.
Repair the leaking ceiling in my apartment.
Help my younger brother finish his last semester of college.
Buy groceries without calculating every item.
Then I folded the check and placed it back inside the envelope.
That afternoon, I returned it.
Eleanor looked offended.
“Bianca, it's a gift.”
“It's very generous.”
“Then keep it.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
I sat beside her bed.
“Because I was doing my job.”
She frowned.
“You saved my life.”
“The whole medical team helped you.”
“You noticed something was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“And acted.”
“That's what nurses do.”
Eleanor studied me.
Then smiled.
“You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
“Myself, before I married into all this nonsense.”
I laughed.
She took my hand.
“Then let me ask something different.”
I waited.
“Would you visit me after I'm discharged? Not as my nurse. As a friend.”
My expression softened.
“That I can do.”
Tristan arrived just as I was leaving.
He glanced at the envelope in my hand.
“My mother tried to give you money?”
I nodded.
He sighed.
“She does that.”
I smiled.
“She's persuasive.”
“Terrifyingly.”
We walked toward the elevator.
Then he asked:
“Why didn't you keep it?”
I looked at him.
“Because accepting money from a patient's family can create complications. And I don't want my care to feel like something that can be purchased.”
He nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
I wasn't sure he did.
Men like Tristan Bellamy lived in a world where almost every problem could be approached with money.
I lived in a world where money was usually the problem.
When the elevator arrived, Tristan held the door.
“Bianca.”
“Yes?”
“Would you have coffee with me sometime?”
I stared.
“Coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Like a meeting?”
He smiled.
“Like coffee.”
I looked down at my scrubs.
“Mr. Bellamy—”
“Tristan.”
“Tristan, your mother is still my patient.”
His expression became serious.
“Of course.”
“I don't think it would be appropriate.”
He nodded.
“Then I won't ask again while she's under your care.”
I smiled faintly.
“Thank you.”
The elevator doors began closing.
Then he said:
“But when she's discharged, I hope you'll consider it.”
I looked at him.
May you like
And before I could stop myself, I smiled.
“I'll consider it.”
