2015

2015

by Teo

Eileen snips the final thread of gauze, peels off the third gooey cross-section of a finger. He grimaces. "Is it bad?"

"Wouldn't wager Abby'd come if it wasn't." Way-jah.

"There's your accent."

"I miss yours," she teases. (They're both right.)

(She's been in the States forever; he, in Israel too long.)

"I'm… I'm thinking about quitting."

Silence. Then, "Surprising, how few do."

"Quit?"

"Think about it, first."

"Thought Abby sees the veterans."

"I comfort their children."

(You see, she had promised too: No bringing ghosts home. Not Danielle's. Not even Munin's from the well.)

Honestly, then. "You'll make a good mother."

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