DESTINED AFFECTION

FIFTHTEEN

Camila gathered up the paper plates and pizza box and whispered to Lauren, "I should go." She nodded in the direction of the sofa, where Kyle had fallen asleep. Lauren looked ready to join her.

Lauren had been drifting, her feet curled under her on the sofa, a baseball game on television. Camila sat on the floor, her back against the front of the couch, where she'd been since they'd finished the pizza an hour earlier. It had been an unexpectedly pleasant evening.

Voice still heavy with lassitude, Lauren said, "I still have to take Pooch for his nightly neighborhood reconnaissance. If you wait until I get Kyle upstairs, we'll walk you home,"

"Okay." Camila glanced down in the direction of her left arm, which was still restrained against her side. "I'd help carry her, but—"

"It's no problem. I'm used to it." Lauren smiled and got to her feet. "But thanks. If you could give Phyllis a hand taking that stuff into the kitchen, that would be great."

"Sure." Camila continued with the cleanup detail and watched as Lauren easily lifted Kyle, who curled up into her mother's arms without waking. It was obvious that the maneuver was second nature to them both. When Lauren headed upstairs, Camila went into the kitchen.

"Where should I put the trash?" she asked Phyllis.

"The bin is underneath that cabinet there to your right, but you don't have to do that, dear. Just leave it on the counter."

Camila shook her head. "It's no problem. I've got it."

"It was nice of you to have dinner delivered. And especially to bring the model for Kyle." Phyllis smiled fondly. "She loved it."

Faintly embarrassed, Camila shrugged. "It was the least I could do after all of your hospitality last night and this morning." And I wanted to see Lauren again.

"Well, you are very welcome, any time." Phyllis leaned against the counter and observed Camila with interest. "How old are you, dear?"

"Twenty-eight." Camila waited, curious.

"You seem older than that."

"Really? Why? Most people think I'm younger."

"Well, let's see—you just moved here, you just started a new job, and you suddenly find yourself temporarily incapacitated." Phyllis nodded toward Camila's shoulder and laughed. "Nevertheless, you seem to be taking it all in stride. That's pretty impressive."

"Not really." Camila laughed. "I'm still living out of cartons, I'm worried about missing work because of my shoulder, and even without that, Lauren might end up firing—" She broke off, blushing uncomfortably. "Uh..."

"As I said," Phyllis stated evenly, allowing the reference to Lauren and Camilla's professional business to pass, "you're remarkably calm."

Settling on the stool beside the table, Camila contemplated Phyllis's words. "I'm not sure I'm actually calm. I just seem to have this place inside me where things stop moving for a while. I go there, I guess, when everything outside of me is moving too fast."

Phyllis smiled softly at the simple way Camila described something so essential. "I think there are a lot of people who would pay a lot of money to find a way to do something like that. That must be helpful when you're performing surgery."

"Yes," Camila replied pensively. "In the operating room, even in the middle of a trauma, I can feel myself go there...everything becomes very clear and very sharp and very, very focused."

"A truly important skill, I imagine." Phyllis was captivated by Camila's expression, a look both amazed and sad at the same time.

"I don't know if it's a skill." Camila sighed softly, giving Phyllis a weary smile. "It just seems to be the way I'm made."