Sunday Rules

The rain had started before the alarm I didn’t set. At seven Hank took my phone off the nightstand, walked it to the kitchen, and set it in the drawer under the tea towels. I heard the wood catch. That sound was the start of the day, same as it had been for six years.

I came out in yesterday’s shirt. Hank was already at the stove in his work pants, barefoot, one shoulder turned to the window. Eggs were in the pan. Coffee sat in the pot. Rain ran down the glass and blurred the harbor into a gray line.

“Blue sweater,” he said. “The one on the chair in the bedroom. Sit in the chair by the window when you come back.”

“The blue one’s itchy.”

“You like the itch once it’s on.” He didn’t look over. “And you’re reading the novel. The one you left facedown on the arm.”

I went back, pulled the sweater on, and sat where he’d said. The wool caught at my neck. My shoulders had been up around my ears since Thursday; I felt them drop half an inch and hated that he could do that with a chair and a sweater. He set a plate in front of me. Eggs, toast, nothing else. He poured coffee into my mug and water into his own.

“Hardware store,” he said. “Washer for the kitchen faucet. I’ll be back before the eggs get cold on your plate if you eat like a person.”

“I am a person.”

“Eat.” He bent and kissed the top of my head, a quick dry press, then took his keys off the hook. The truck door slammed. I watched the taillights smear in the rain until the bend hid them.

The house went quiet except for the gutter. I ate three bites. I opened the novel and read the same paragraph twice. The drawer was right there, under the towels, and I knew the shape of the phone through the cotton without touching it.

I lasted eleven minutes. I timed it on the stove clock because I wanted a number I could defend later. At seven twenty-two I stood up, opened the drawer, and took the phone out. Forty messages. Three missed calls from the night supervisor. The staffing board for Monday was a hole where two nurses and a charge should have been, and the night note said the float pool was already burned through.

I called the supervisor first. She talked fast. I talked faster. Second call was the float pool lead, who had nothing left and said so. Third call was the deputy on his day off. I had him on speaker, phone on the counter, sleeve pushed up, when the truck turned into the drive. Gravel under the tires. I should have hung up. I heard the engine cut and I kept talking.

“Tell them I’ll come in at six if we can’t close the gap,” I said. “I’ll do the board myself.”

The back door opened. Rain came in on Hank’s shoulders. He had a paper bag in one hand and a small cardboard box in the other. He set both on the counter, wiped his palm on his pants, and held that hand out. He didn’t say a word.

The deputy was still on the line. “Julian? You there?”

I looked at Hank’s hand. Big, damp from the rain, palm up. I said, “I’ll call you back,” and ended it too late for either of us to pretend. I put the phone in Hank’s palm. His fingers closed around it.

“It’s a real hole,” I said. “Monday morning. Two call-outs and the float pool is empty. Real people, real shifts. If nobody covers, the floor runs short and somebody gets hurt, or somebody quits, and that’s on me either way.”

He set the phone on the counter between us, screen down, and opened the bag. A rubber washer. A new handle. He lined them up like he was going to start the job right then.

“Who’s covering right now,” he said.

“Nobody. That’s the point. Night is hanging on until seven, and then—”

“Who did you call.”

“Supervisor. Float pool. Then Marcus.”

Hank nodded once. “I texted Marcus from the truck. Ten minutes ago. He said he’d take the first four hours and pull Priya for the back half. He knows the board. He said not to call him again until tomorrow.”

I stared at him. “You don’t have his number.”

“I’ve had it since the ice storm. You gave it to me in case the house lost power and you were stuck on a shift.” He rinsed his hands at the sink. The faucet spat and knocked, the same knock he’d gone out to fix. “He answered. It’s handled.”

“You can’t just—” I stopped, because he could, and he had, and the anger didn’t have anywhere clean to land. “You were supposed to be buying a washer.”

“I bought a washer.” He dried his hands on the towel and leaned a hip against the counter. He wasn’t loud. He never was. “Talk.”

The rain hit the window harder. I picked at a crumb on the plate and put it down again. “Sundays are the only day I sleep. I know that. You make the eggs and I sit where you say and my head gets quiet. That’s the deal. I broke it.”

“You broke it on purpose,” he said. Not a question.

My face went hot. I looked at the drawer, still open, towels pushed aside. “Partly. The hole is real. I wasn’t making that up. But I also wanted to see if you’d catch it. If you’d come back and do something about it. I don’t know what that says about me.”

“It says you wanted me to notice.” He reached over and shut the drawer without the phone in it, then opened it again. “I notice. Every Sunday. That’s the work.”

“Marcus really said he’d cover.”

“He did. You can read the text tomorrow. Not today.”

I laughed once, short, and it came out thinner than I meant. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m here.” He picked up the phone, put it in the drawer, and shut it. The catch clicked. He stepped in close enough that I had to tip my head back. One big hand came up and took my face, thumb along my cheek, the rest of his fingers in my hair at the temple. He kissed me. I kissed him back. My hand found his wrist and stayed there. His other hand covered mine, warm, and held it against his pulse until the kiss ended on its own.

He didn’t move his hand off my face right away. Rain ticked on the roof. The faucet knocked once behind him.

“Bedroom,” he said. “Leave the door open. I’m going to finish fixing this faucet first.”

I went. I sat on the edge of the bed in the blue sweater, facing the open door, and listened. In the kitchen a wrench turned, metal on metal, steady and unhurried. The drawer stayed shut. My shoulders dropped the rest of the way, and I waited for him to be done.