Page 58 of The Husband Diet
‘Doh’d, blease doh’d!’ she cried and threw herself on the phone as if her life depended on it. ‘Yes?’ she breathed and listened. ‘Yes. Where? I uddersdad. Thack you.’
‘What?’ I glared at her as she put the phone down, deadly pale. Paul was already dead, what the hell could be worse?
‘He’s dot here,’ she whispered.
‘Not here?’ I whispered back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He bust be id adudder borgue.’
Another morgue? I stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. ‘What? How many morgues are there in Boston?’
‘Several. Are you sure it was Bostod City Borgue and dot the Boston County Borgue?’ she asked, trying to be helpful.
I stared at her as my mind began to clear. ‘Why, which one is this?’
‘Dis is the Bostod City Borgue,’ she answered apologetically. ‘Baybe he’s at de Bostod County Borgue.’
Did I detect hope in her voice?
I fell into the chair again, my hands wrapped around my head. This was a nightmare. Not even death was simple anymore.
‘Baybe I could call for you, save you the trip?’ she suggested politely.
‘Why, you think he’s taken the bus home?’ I snapped, and she blushed and lowered her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I’m sorry for being a bitch, but you understand, right?’
Her eyes met mine. ‘Of course. I’b sorry, doo. Let be bake dat call.’
I sighed, my insides turning outside in frustration as my cellphone rang. I didn’t want to answer it, didn’t want to tell anybody about Paul yet, in case it wasn’t true, in case I’d dreamed this whole thing up and he was sitting in my backyard waiting for me with a couple of margaritas. I pushed my knuckles into my eyes and answered the damn phone.
‘Hello?’ I said, trying to clear my throat.
‘Hey, sunshine,’ came Paul’s voice. ‘What’s keeping you? Are you OK?’
20
Gaining a Lover?
I hated waking up with a headache. My whole face hurt, as well. I yawned, my mouth tasting like Scotch tape.
Above me were the worried faces of a man in scrubs, plus Paul and Julian. What the hell were they doing in my bedroom? Paul could have been a figment of my hopeful imagination and Julian the usual guest star of my dreams. But a doctor?
‘Are you OK, sweetie?’ Twin voices, one deep and one effeminate, penetrated my foggy brain.
I tried to sit up and Julian supported my shoulders, along with Paul, whose arm was in a sling. Had I been dreaming?
‘You scared us for a minute, sunshine!’ Paul grinned, taking my head in his good hand and kissing me.
I looked at him, trying to make sense of his words, but my mind was foggy. ‘You’re not dead?’ I squeaked.
‘Do I look dead, sunshine? When you didn’t arrive, I thought you’d be, well… somewhere more exciting, so I called Julian’s school,’ Paul explained.
I looked up, back and forth between them. Clear as mud.
‘Paul had a car accident. But you misunderstood and went to the wrong place, thinking Paul had died.’ Julian added. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’
I looked up at the three of them. Paul, here, alive? This wasn’t making sense. ‘I went to the wrong morgue.’
‘Forget it, we’ll explain on the way home,’ Julian whispered, and I clutched his sleeve.
