Chapter 2 - The Terms of Engagement
Lena answered the ringing phone on the second chime, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Mrs. Gable?" Lena breathed into the receiver, stepping away from Caleb and Tasha toward the quiet end of the break room.
"Lena, dear, I hate to call you at two in the morning," Mrs. Gable’s thin voice crackled through the speaker. "But Maddie had a night terror. She woke up screaming about yellow blankets again. I gave her the warm milk with honey like you said, and she’s holding her plastic triceratops, but she’s sitting in the dark near the front door waiting for you. I couldn't get her back to bed."
A knot formed in Lena's chest. "I’ll be home as soon as my shift ends at six, Mrs. Gable. Please tell her I'm almost done saving giraffes."
"She knows, dear. Just wanted you to know. Take care."
Lena ended the call and rested her forehead against the cool stainless steel of the refrigerator. When she turned back around, Tasha had quietly slipped out, leaving only Dr. Caleb Warren standing near the doorway. His sharp gray eyes rested on her, completely stripped of their usual clinical distance.
"Your sister?" Caleb asked softly.
"She’s eight," Lena said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "She’s been through more in two years than most adults go through in a lifetime. If she goes to Tacoma, Elaine will put her in private school, hire a nanny, buy her brand-new clothes, and completely erase everything our mother gave us. Elaine thinks love is something you buy in matching leather luggage sets."
Caleb took two measured steps toward her. He unbuttoned his white coat, pulled a pen from his breast pocket, and grabbed a paper napkin from the counter.
"What are you doing?" Lena asked.
"Setting terms," Caleb replied plainly, his tone shifting back to his signature precise efficiency. "If we are going to do this, we are going to do it impeccably. Social workers look for inconsistency. They look for hesitation. If Nora Fields asks me what side of the bed you sleep on, I need to know without thinking."
Lena blinked, taken aback. "You’re agreeing to this?"
"I am agreeing to prevent an injustice," Caleb corrected, writing bullet points on the napkin with precise handwriting. "Condition one: This stays strictly professional between us. Condition two: We establish a airtight background narrative before 8:00 a.m. Monday. Condition three: I move a bag of my belongings into your apartment tomorrow afternoon so the place looks like a cohabiting married couple's residence."
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Lena stared at him in disbelief. "You're serious."
"I am the Director of Pediatric Services, Nurse Brooks," Caleb said, looking up from the napkin. "I do not do things half-heartedly. Meet me at the coffee shop across from the hospital at noon tomorrow after your shift. Bring a list of your sister's favorite things, your routine, and whatever details I need to know so I don't look like a stranger in your living room."
