Animal Magnetism [Chris Evans]

Chapter 30

Amelia

And then he was gone.

For weeks I filled my days with work, meditation, and research into canine cancer treatment. My thirst for knowledge filled some of the smaller holes and I spent hours while the rest of the world slept making notes and reading journals, emailing and chatting online to specialists around the world about new trials. I consumed information until the words no longer made sense and when my pounding head hit the pillow I slept fitfully and barely long enough to make it through the next day and the next. Night shifts with high dependency patients became my favourites, I could spend a few hours with Adam and sit in on a surgery or two, visit Buddy and check in with Spencer, get in a few of my own patients and a meditation class before work and then collapse in a heap the next morning.
Christmas Day it all came crashing down when Jonathan and Jenna arrived with a tiny symbol of gigantic news – they were engaged. Being the fifth wheel at the table with mum and dad the heartache and loneliness hit me right in the guts and no one was surprised when I retired to my old bedroom for some alone time after lunch.
I sobbed, I wailed until my pillow was wet, I recovered and wiped all trace of sadness from my face in the tiny dresser mirror only to remember having Chris here and cry all over again. My phone was in my hand ready to call him, if I could just hear his voice, tell him Merry Christmas; he'd describe the snow and the noisy chaos of small children and his excitement would get me through another week or two.
But we promised. Clean break, no calling or texting, it would only make it hurt more. Like opening up a sore every time it scabs over so it never really heals, making the scar bigger every time the new skin is torn away.
Mum sat with me and rubbed my back without saying a word, just like she'd done when I was a teenager going through the worst heartbreak I'd ever known. Just like adults take more time to get over a cold or stomach flu, the pain seems exponentially worse all these years later, and yet I feel I should be better equipped to deal with it.
The fog of Christmas overindulgence cleared just in time for New Year's, celebrated at the waterfront with Kat and her boys. I don't usually make resolutions, but this year I needed something to pull me beyond midnight, to drag me forward and onward into something new. As the new year began with grey skies and thunder I pinned the admission requirements to my wall and planned a pathway to begin a three year residency in oncology with Sydney university, marking dates and deadlines on the calendar and drafting a transition plan to be sure I wasn't leaving Jess and Brad disadvantaged in my absence.

On Valentine's day I finally allowed Spencer to take me out to dinner – after he promised it was purely a thank you – to celebrate the success of Buddy's second round of chemotherapy. He didn't make me explain why the colour drained from my face when he told me we were going to Icebergs at Bondi, nor did he need to ask why I requested somewhere less public, he just made the change and took me to a beachside restaurant in Manly instead. He was effortlessly handsome and disarmed me with his understanding smiles, and with a bottle of wine and flowing conversation between us it almost started to feel normal. A year ago I'd have invited him in when he walked me to the door, let him kiss my lips instead of my cheek, but I'm a little more shy and less brave now, and as I slipped out of my dress and lacy underwear into that buttery soft Patriots t-shirt I wondered if I'd ever feel my body was mine to give away again.

On a blustery winter's day Brad held my gloved hand tight in his as we walked slowly toward the beating heart of Sydney for the third anniversary of our ordeal at the studios. The city fell quiet to remember the victims lost, we laid bouquets of statice and gladiolus flowers around the stone fountain, and as the rain came down we huddled and cried together while the wind sighed heavily between the towering buildings. I almost called Chris again that day, to thank him for guiding me through and into the city almost a year earlier. Up until that point I'd been doing ok, working on regular meditation to get me through the rough days, but that night I missed him more than ever. He'd been gone almost nine months and I realised late that night when all of the emotions from the day bubbled to the surface this was not a heartbreak I'd recover from quickly. It was the soul-destroying kind that leaves you a few pieces short of where you started. If I thought I could just take my mind off it by burying myself with other occupations I was only delaying the inevitable agony.
"I'm proud of you," Brad said on the ferry trip home, squeezing my shoulders with his arm. I wrapped my coat tighter around my chest and warmed my face in my scarf, the freezing salt spray stinging my already bloodshot eyes.
"Thanks. I put the application in to Sydney Uni yesterday, too. I should find out next month if I have an interview."
"You will. They're not going to knock you back with the experience you're getting with Adam. They'll snap you up."
I was working with Adam at every opportunity by then and he was teaching me some surgical techniques for delicate tumor removal, letting me assist and take some small steps on my own. His glowing referral letter would be the tipping point for me getting an interview, I was certain of it.