"I spent three hours today memorizing the insertion points of every muscle in the forearm," she signed one night as she also talked, rubbing her tired eyes. "If I see another diagram of a flexor carpi ulnaris, I might scream."
Mateo laughed, a genuine, unforced laugh. "I spent my afternoon learning about the Treaty of Versailles," he signed back. "I think your forearm muscles sound more interesting."
Their bond deepened with every call. They talked about everything and nothing. They shared their dreams, their fears, their frustrations. He told her about the stalker, Baum, and she listened with a fierce, protective anger.
She told him about a difficult patient she was working with in her practical training, and he listened with a quiet, supportive empathy. Their relationship was being forged in the crucible of their separate, demanding lives, an emotional connection that transcended the thousands of miles and the flickering pixels of a screen.
