Down the Hidden Path by Heather Burch

The edge of his letter caught after a billow of smoke slithered over the page. Miah rubbed his hands on his face, trying to wake up. In a couple hours, he had an important meeting.
    The hospital in River Rock was a small facility compared to the center in Tampa. Jeremiah’d come here after a shower and shot of coffee. A fresh wave of anxiety hit as he waited for the nurse. He’d scheduled an appointment with her once he knew he could bring Caleb home. Between his fingers, he rolled the pamphlet on traumatic brain injuries, nerves—a constant companion for him these days—getting the better of him. He’d read a thousand of these little leaflets and could probably write one himself now. After three months, he’d have thought he’d be used to this. But one never really got used to planning and executing things one should never have to for his baby brother. He thought back over the months. Seeing Caleb for the first time, head half shaved, swollen, bruised. Miah choked back the tightness in his throat and curled the paper a little tighter.
    The woman sitting across from him was a kind head nurse named Jamille. She ran the physical and occupational therapy departments of the facility. Smiles, looks of sympathy and sorrow crossed her face at specific times as he’d explained Caleb’s situation to her and the reason for his visit.
    She spoke. “I think at-home care would be in order. The problem will be finding someone qualified for the therapy he’ll need.”
    There was someone qualified, and he’d learned that little tidbit of information from his sister. “I was hoping maybe an occupational therapist working here might be interested in picking up some extra work.”
    She leaned her forearms on the desk, her left getting stuck on a manila folder. There were a few dozen more like it littering her desk. She shook loose from the file. “They told us automated was the way to go for our records. All on computer, it’ll be so much easier, they said. Now I have twice the paperwork and none of the help doing it.”
    Miah offered as much of a smile as he could muster. “Has anyone asked about extra work?”
    Gray worked part time here, from what Charlee had told him, so his inquiry wasn’t completely without some foreknowledge. He even felt a little bad about not going directly to the source, but the way Gray had acted when they’d run into one another didn’t really suggest a desire to reconnect. But things were different now. He needed her. He needed someone. She fit the bill and whether she wanted to admit it or not, making a living on a part-time wage couldn’t be easy.
    Jamille shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone here at the hospital who’s looking for more work. Have you tried an agency in Laver?”
    “No, ma’am. I was really hoping you might know of someone local.” He leaned forward in the stiff chair and shot her his best smile. “Please. If you can think of anyone. Anyone at all.” One blink. Two.
    The older woman stopped breathing, brows rising, eyes widening just a slight bit.
    Oh yeah. He had her.
    Then all the air left her lungs and she leaned out of his trajectory and shrugged. “Wish to heaven I could help you, but . . .” The shrug again.
    Huh. He must be losing his touch. “Sorry for wasting your time.” Miah stood and even he could sense the desperation he oozed. He stepped to the door, fighting that sense of hopelessness that continually threatened to take him. He dropped his head. “It’s just that it’s my baby brother.” He practically whispered the words because even now, it was hard, no, nearly impossible, to talk about this stuff.
    “How long has he been at Tampa?”
    She came around the desk and took hold of Miah’s arm as he was pre paring to open the door to leave. This had been a mistake. “Three months.”
    She motioned for him to sit back down. When he did, she propped her weight on the edge of her desk, a half grin on her face. “I’ve got one