You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Arm...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Usually, the subway threatens to rock you to sleep after your night shifts. It is rather quiet in comparison to the trains headed into Manhattan, filled to the brim with workers of all kinds who are headed in from the boroughs. A bonus of working nights has been the less crowded and frenzied rides as you are heading out of the city while everyone else is going in. But this morning, every time you close your eyes, those brilliant yet stormy sapphires stare back at you with amusement. You can't even focus on the book you've brought without your mind wandering back to the strange encounter with Elvis, wondering why he'd chosen you of all people to bother.
Heat flares through you again at how maddening he was in such a short amount of time, but you are self-aware to recognize that while the heat is mostly frustration at his actions and the repercussions they caused you, it also speaks the tiniest bit of how his pointed, beautiful gaze made you feel a little off kilter. You are annoyed that you can't seem to forget how lovely he looked asleep in the bed.
Not asleep. Unconscious.
And that reminder strikes dread in your heart. The words in his chart (which I shouldn't have looked at in the first place) make you feel uneasy because this secret is likely to cause untold repercussions if discovered. Considering the fervor surrounding his draft into the Army, you can only imagine the emotions of the female populace if they learn the truth about their beloved idol's health.
You shift in your seat uncomfortably, the weight of your knowledge an unwelcome pressure on your psyche. It's your own fault of course. But the empathy that serves you well in the hospital also has you feeling sad for the poor man, despite your annoyance. You may not be a fan, but you can't deny the man's talent and impact on the world. Thousands, millions even, will be devastated when...
No. It's none of your business. You shouldn't even know who the VIP is, much less be worrying about the man's future. You have much more pressing things to worry about.
Those worries take hold with each step towards the house where you live. It's certainly not a home, not anymore, and hasn't been for a very, very long time. Your mother's untimely death assured that.
Part of the excitement of getting into nursing school, even one as close as Bellevue, was that you were required to live in the dormitory. Four whole years in a tiny closet of a room, clad with only a single bed and a tiny desk and a small sink. For many of the girls it was torture but for you it was sweet relief. Peace. Safety.
But the day after graduation, you'd been forced right back into the viper's nest, unable to find a place to share with anyone else, certainly not before you'd secured the job you now are desperate to hang onto, the one thing that will hopefully secure that freedom for you.
A heaviness settles over you the moment you hit the doorway and you say a silent prayer that you are late enough to have missed breakfast. Another bonus to nights is the fact that you have a viable excuse to not interact with your volatile father, Pop, because he, along with your younger brothers, are often gone by the time you trudge through the door.
