End Game
Wes says, avoiding eye contact with me.
“Yeah,” I agree. “It’s not a permanent position or anything. Just two years of the program and then he’ll be a certified trauma surgeon. I think. I’m not sure how that all works.” I let out a breath. We stop at the first storefront and Jackson gets in line to get candy. Mom sees someone she knows, which isn’t hard to do in Eastwood, and goes over to talk to her. My mind is whirling, and my due date hangs above me like a ticking time bomb. I can move after Emma is born, I know, but I’d like to figure this out before then if possible.