Anaya quickened her pace, the layers of red oak leaves on the sidewalk crunching under her leather boots. Her black chemise and skinny pants were hardly suitable attire for the cutting winds of fall, and the cloud-veiled sun did nothing to dispel the mid-morning chill. Cursing, she removed her bag from her shoulder to massage her left arm. Any time the temperature dropped, that damn ache echoed through her bones, an ongoing reminder of the compound fracture she'd suffered in her early twenties.

Late, again.

Anaya shook her head. She hadn't been able to get more than a few hours' sleep last night. Unwilling to take a cab after what had happened, she'd walked the rest of the way home. Nothing had helped her relax, not a warm bath, hot herbal tea, or even her white noise machine. She'd been experimenting with light doses of mood stabilizers, antipsychotics, and antidepressants, but she was no expert by any stretch of the medical term.

Hurrying through the well-tended grounds and landscaped courtyards of St. Jude's Retirement Home, she headed up the cobbled pathway to the main entrance. It was a sprawling estate, spread over three acres in a relatively uncommercialized corner of Emberswick. Once the summer residence of a wealthy steel magnate, it had been donated to the state in memory of his mother. She'd spent her last years comfortably in residence there, as she lost first her memories and then her life to the complications of Alzheimer's. St. Jude had been the saint she had prayed to save her soul at the end.

It now boasted a chapel, a games and entertainment room, an exercise and yoga area, and even a small cinema. Amenities such as these were a significant part of her decision to join the St. Jude's team as their physical therapist. Anaya's own time as a patient in a different kind of institution hadn't included such niceties.

But those doctors saved my life.

A sudden glint caught her eye as she was about to go inside. Anaya's scattered senses pulled together in an instant, her vision sharpened and honed in like a sniper's.

She let out a long, shuddering breath when she recognized who it was.

Gregory.

He was sitting by the pond, the focal point of the front lawn. Decked out in his signature navy turtleneck and dark wash jeans, he tossed bread crumbs from that morning's uneaten toast to feed the fish as he did every day. Today, a wide-brimmed fishing hat covered his wild, black hair which miraculously had only a smattering of silver, and he sported a beard to match. He waved again, the metal band of his watch reflecting yet another stray glimmer of sunlight.

He's waiting for me and I forgot him.

She lowered her head and trudged over to him, frustrated with herself all over again.

Leaves rustled as two skylarks flew off a branch nearby. Anaya watched as they dove towards the gurgling fountain set in the center of the pond, perched on the birdbath, and filled the air with a familiar duet. She settled onto the lemon-yellow bench beside Gregory. Although made of cedar, which was resistant to weather damage and decay, the bench still looked faded and worn.

Just like me.

Gregory Augustine had been one of her first patients at St. Jude's when she'd taken up the physical therapist residency program thirteen months ago. All residents had mandatory weekly checkups, but most of her cases involved patients who'd suffered strokes or other injuries that restricted their movements. Anaya labored day and night to compile the best plans she could for them and tailor their rehabilitation to suit their personalities.

But even when she'd been Gregory's personal therapist, Anaya had found him sounder of body and mind than she was. After only a few months, she'd decided that outdoors and nature would work better for him than a sterile therapy room. They'd settled for taking tranquil walks through the gardens and would always end up talking, unfiltered and undisturbed.

"Still not warming up to the new doctor, Greg?"

Gregory just smiled and took a folded Harrington jacket from his lap and placed it casually between them. "I have been here a long time, but never quite acclimated. To the cold, of course, so I always come prepared. You are quite welcome to it," he said. His speech was deliberate and flawless. There was no lilt or twang to his accent. And he avoided abbreviations like they were communicable diseases.

How'd he know I was cold?

Anaya hadn't lied when she told Sasha that she liked the change of her new rotation. She got far too attached and felt personally liable for anyone she invested too much time on. But Gregory just hadn't accepted it yet. He'd just waited for her right here, every day as if nothing had changed.

Resistance to Change 101.

The jacket fluttered in a new gust of wind as if reminding Anaya it was hers for the taking. She considered declining the offer but remembered something her estranged father always used to say.

Never kick a gift horse in the teeth. Or something like that.

Whatever it was, Anaya's own chattering teeth agreed.

"You always think of everything." She threw the jacket over her shoulders and bobbed her head in thanks. "How are you today?" she asked, turning the conversation to him.

"I am well. Surely better than the alternative." He laughed, throwing one last handful of crumbs into the pond. A gurgle of bubbles popped around the floating bread as the fish pushed each other out of the way, vying for their shot at the morning meal.

Anaya sighed through her nose. What she needed more than anything, was a two-hour nap. But there was work to do.

"I'm afraid I only have a few minutes to spare today. My appointments start at noon."

"That is fine. I have all the time in the world."

Gregory kept his body angled towards the pond, his eyes on the water. "And how about you, Ana? You look as if you had a rather taxing night."

"Thanks a lot." Anaya mumbled the words but sat up a little straighter.

It was just an observation.

That was how it'd been with Gregory since she'd stopped being his doctor. There was no longer any read tape involved. If she was honest with him, he would open up to her. Give and take.

"I'm drained, Greg. One day, I'm doing better. The next, it takes every ounce of energy I can muster just to get dressed and out the door."

"We so often continue down the same path without consideration. Are you still not seeing the truth behind the image in the mirror?" Gregory turned towards Anaya, his eyes boring into hers.

Anaya stiffened. She'd hoped for a slice of empathy or at least a morsel of sympathy, and then a comparative story of his own. It was how they knew so much about each other. That was their quid pro quo... only today, it was all "quid."

I'm too tired for this.

She shut her eyes to stop him looking into her soul. "Today's not the day."

But Gregory persisted. When she opened her eyes, he was doing just that. Even as Anaya drew back a little from the intensity of his gaze, she couldn't help but notice that his eyes, usually a deep and saturated blue, now gleamed almost purple.

"Self-medicating is dangerous, Ana. Not to mention unethical in your profession. You may be a doctor, but you are not the right physician for yourself."

And there, he'd said it. He'd encapsulated not only her life but also her demons, all in one breath.

Anaya shivered again, this time not from the cold. She'd been diagnosed with depression a long time ago and was still being treated for it. That much was common knowledge, at least to those who had access to her records. But as the years progressed and her medical knowledge amassed, she was increasingly convinced that it was more than that. Yet she still couldn't face it and seek the help she desperately needed.

Why?

Gregory's words cut through her thoughts like a razor. "What do you fear will happen?"

"I already feel like a loser. I don't need to declare to the world that my mental health is failing me, too." She hadn't wanted to tell Gregory about her illness, either. But one particularly difficult day, she'd snapped. She'd told him about her racing thoughts, sudden bursts of energy, bouts of invincibility... and that they were all symptoms of hypomania.

Anaya knew she had bipolar II, and had been dealing with it by herself ever since. If you could call writing prescriptions for herself and testing their effects on herself "research", which she couldn't.

Gregory glared at her, ignoring her feeble excuse. "What are you afraid of, truly? That you will lose your job? Do you think because you provide care for others you are exempt from seeking the same for yourself? Are you supposed to be immune to mental illness? You contract the common cold just as easily as the layman, so why would sickness of the heart or mind be any different?"

She had no answer for that. She'd heard that more than a quarter of her fellow med students suffered from stress, anxiety, and depression. Less than half of them had sought treatment and even fewer still had taken the time to heal.

"Maybe, someday." Her noncommittal reply sounded utterly insincere even to her own ears.

Gregory's hand shot to hers, tightening around her wrist. "Talk to me, Ana. What is it you want, child?"

Anaya bristled at his words. He sounded like he genuinely wanted to know, but the condescension still stung. She was the doctor. He was no longer her responsibility, but she was still supposed to be in control of this situation.

"I gave you my truth for the day. It's your turn next... but it will have to wait until I have more time. I'm beyond late."

Gregory held onto her a few seconds more, as if unwilling to leave the conversation unfinished. "What if all we have is today?"

"Then I guess you'll be off the hook. But if the sun does rise for us tomorrow, you'd better talk."

Gregory clearly didn't want that. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand. "Ask what you will, but for once, choose wisely."

Anaya bit down on a few choice remarks that came to mind. She looked him over, long and hard. "I have to go, Greg. But when I see you next, make sure you tell me something you'd rather the rest of the world didn't know, either." Anaya's tone brooked no room for argument.

Without a further syllable of dispute, he relented. "I promise." His eyes returned to the fish. They'd swum away.

She snorted and reached for her bag. "I'm going to hold you to it."

Gregory nodded slowly, dejection written all over his frowning face. "Anytime. I have a lot of that on my hands. More than I desire."

Anaya jumped out of her seat, jolted back to reality. "What time is it?" The mention of time sparked her memory. She'd promised herself she'd get back on her meds last night. She had to go to the off-site pharmacy for that since she wanted no one here finding out. Bending over her bag, she rummaged through it for her phone. She winced when she saw it was dead, battery drained and useless.

"Eleven forty-five," he said, not even bothering to check. "High time you possessed a watch."

She ignored the jibe. Anaya knew he'd been a watchmaker before he retired. For him, puns about time were probably an occupational hazard. Her mind was just going into overdrive. A simple answer would do.

"Why? My cellphone has a clock. And an alarm... when I remember to set it."

Or charge it.

"For you," Gregory said as he slipped off his own watch and held it out to her.

Anaya took a moment to register what he was implying. It was a strange gesture after the conversation they'd just had. She might even go so far as to call it their first "fight."

"Oh, no," she protested, sharply. "I couldn't—"

"Please," he continued. "You need it more than I do."

"But this is the one you always wear." She couldn't take it from him. It was his last and most prized creation in his career, he'd once told her.

"We are friends, are we not? It would be my honor."

Anaya paused.

Would it insult him to refuse? And embarrass me? And then make everything worse... yet again?

She stopped herself from rejecting his offer once more and reached for the timepiece.

The silvery hour and minute came alive against the vibrant matte amethyst dial. Long, fragile hands ticked ceaselessly by. The bezel was meticulously hashed all the way around, a job that would have taken countless hours to complete. Sitting right on top, the tachymeter claimed prominence, as if asserting that distance traveled over time should be of paramount importance. It was an instrument that had perfectly captured the sheer pace and inevitability of time.

Carefully, Anaya put it on. She watched, mesmerized, as it appeared to coil magnetically around her wrist when she fattened the clasp. Exactly like Gregory's hand had minutes ago. Her eyes refocused on the figures and she broke from her trance.

"Eleven fifty." She'd spent more time here than she had to spare.

It was Gregory who pushed her now. "You have to go. If you are still adamant on meting out treatment to yourself, you would need to leave for the pharmacy now."

I didn't tell him anything about that, did I?

"How did you—?" She wasn't going to fall for it.

He will not get away by distracting me.

"We'll speak more about this later." She gave him her best no-nonsense look to drive the point home.

But his eyes had grown distant, as if she weren't there any longer. She knew that look as well as her own name. Regret, decades full.

"I know," was all he said.

With a final look at Gregory, Anaya hastened across the grass towards the other side of the street. The pharmacy was a few blocks away from there, but far enough from work to protect her privacy.

Anaya's eyes wandered to the unfamiliar weight on her wrist. It felt out of place there, like when she'd played dress up with her mom's jewelry when she was little. If Gregory had given it to her out of some misplaced sense of responsibility to set her straight, she could hold on to the watch for a little while. And then it and the jacket would go right back to him. Back where it belonged. But the way he'd been acting today... she'd have to talk to Sasha. Perhaps phrase things differently so as not to betray Gregory's confidence, but she had to do something.

Resolved, Anaya stepped out onto the clear pedestrian walkway. She was halfway across the street when she heard a sudden screech and the skid of car tires heading in her direction.

A dirt-encrusted white minivan swerved around the corner, heaving to the side from the speed and momentum.

Anaya saw the vehicle barreling toward her. Each fiber of every muscle froze solid, blocking any move towards self-preservation. Her eyes flicked to the horrified driver as he hurtled closer.

People say that when you know you're going to die, everything slows down and you see your life and loved ones flash by in high-definition clarity.

That was not how it happened for her.

The van rammed into her full-tilt.

It slammed into the lamppost, the impact nearly cutting it in two as the front and back wrapped around the pole.

Anaya didn't see the entirety of her life flash before her eyes. She had no last thoughts of anyone near and dear.

There was no time, even for that.