The Breakaway(49)

“I’m fine!” Eileen said, her tone excessively bright and cheerful. Abby wondered how much she’d picked up on what was going on with Sebastian, or whether she’d start reminding Abby about her as-yet-unsettled future, or casually asking if she’d made any decisions about renewing her lease. But Eileen, blessedly, kept quiet.

As she rode Abby was remembering how it had felt when she’d reunited with Mark, and how she’d thought that relationship would spell an end to all the questions that had plagued her since she’d left college… and that it had. Until it hadn’t.

She’d been working that week as a counselor for a camp run by her friend Gabriella, who was a librarian in Kensington, right in the middle of Philadelphia’s most notorious open-air drug market. Gabi spent her days planning programming, helping patrons with their tax forms or their job hunts or their Internet searches. She’d check out books, read stories to little kids, monitor the public computer terminals, and, occasionally, barge into the bathrooms or race to the park across the street to revive someone who’d overdosed on heroin or fentanyl. The Philadelphia Inquirer had done a story about the heroic librarians of Kensington, who’d become as proficient with Narcan as they were with the Dewey decimal system. Inevitably, a GoFundMe had been set up and donations had arrived, along with volunteers who came to the park each morning to remove needles from the dirt and the grass, and to direct drug users to local soup kitchens, counseling centers, and needle exchanges.

Gabi had used some of the money to launch Camp Kensington, so that kids who lived in the neighborhood would have something to do during vacations when school wasn’t in session. She’d recruited friends, including Abby, to work as counselors, and put out the call to a local hospital asking for doctors and dentists and nurses to volunteer.

Over spring break, at the end of March, Abby had been assigned to the littlest kids. That afternoon, it had been warm enough to be outside. Abby had set up a table in the park and been helping her campers twist colorful yarn around Popsicle sticks to make pendants, when she’d noticed the fourth-grade counselor shepherding a trio of girls across the street.

“We’re going to see the doctor,” the counselor said, giving Abby a wink. Twenty minutes later, Abby had seen the sixth-grade counselor making the same trek. “Troy is having an asthma attack,” the counselor said. This appeared to be news to Troy, whose inhaler was still in his back pocket, but they were across the street and gone before Abby could ask any questions. Then, less than an hour later, she’d seen the fourth-grade counselor going back with a new group of kids.

At lunchtime, Abby cornered her friend to ask what was happening.

“Go take a look at the doctor,” Gabi had said, smirking. “Then you’ll understand.”

Abby waited until the day was over before drifting over to the library, where she found herself stuck by the checkout desk, at the end of a line. She’d almost gone home. But the library was cozy, and she’d ridden her bike to work, which meant she didn’t need to worry about catching the subway or a bus. So she’d refilled her water bottle and waited, bemused, outside of Gabi’s office, until she was close enough to see a young man crouched down in front of a girl while the girl’s mother stood by.

From her spot by the door, Abby couldn’t see more than dark hair, a white coat, a masked face, and a trim body, neatly dressed. She appreciated both the consideration of the doctor getting himself to a six-year-old’s eye level, and the quad strength required to maintain the position.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” the man asked, cupping the girl’s elbow in his hand as he turned her arm to the left. His voice was a pleasant tenor, and something about him felt familiar, although Abby was sure she’d never seen him before.

The girl shook her head.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” He turned her arm to the right. Again, she shook her head.

“Okay. Does it hurt when I do this?” He tapped the tip of her nose. The girl giggled, shaking her head.

“Excellent! Well, your nose is in fine condition, and I think your arm is going to stop hurting very soon. You banged what’s called your funny bone, which is why it feels kind of tingly.”

“My funny bone?” the girl repeated.

“Yup. It’s not actually the bone that’s making it feel the way it feels, it’s a nerve that goes right by it.” He traced the nerve’s path with his fingertip, before straightening up and reaching for a glass jar of lollipops. He pulled off the lid with a flourish. “I’ve got cherry, lime, and grape, my personal favorite.” The girl said something quiet, and the doctor said, “Of course you can take one for your brother! You’re very thoughtful to ask.”

He’d sent the girl on her way, then turned toward the door, calling, “Who’s next?”

And then he’d stared at her, looking as shocked as she felt. “Abby?” he’d said. A smile was spreading across his face, crinkling his dark-brown eyes. “Abby Stern?”

“Mark,” she’d said, her voice high and squeaky as she finally recognized her summer-camp boyfriend, who appeared to have lost half of his body weight.

His haircut was different. No more bangs combed low over his forehead and hair raked toward his cheeks to disguise as much of his face as he could. Now Mark’s hair was cut short and combed back from his face. He’d traded his baggy sweatshirts and billowing basketball shorts for trim-fitting khakis, a crisp button-down with the cuffs rolled up to display lean, sinewy forearms, and a pair of leather dress shoes that she knew were stylish and assumed were expensive. But Mark Medoff’s kind eyes, and the awed way he looked at her, were both exactly as they’d been when they’d both been teenagers.