Page 68 of Paging Dr. Hart
I desperately gasp for breath, my chest a gaping, painful wound.
If heartbreak can kill you, then I’m going to die.
56
It’s not me who dies.
It’s my mother.
One month after Shelly and Rafe leave, she loses her battle with cancer.
Her rose-covered casket goes into the ground and, with it, my heart.
57
You have to eat, my dear.” Mr. Chen leaves the steamed dumplings, my favorite, on the nightstand. It sits there, next to an ever-growing pile of dirty dishes with barely-picked-at food and half-drunk drinks.
I’ve fallen apart. Broken into pieces like a plate thrown at a wall. Spending as much time as I can in bed, I stare up at the ceiling fan as it spins lazily over my head. I’m getting bad grades, ruining my chance to be valedictorian and any hope of being accepted into an Ivy League college. Those dreams have blown away like dandelion seeds on the wind.
I can’t even bother to be upset by it. Everything feels distant. My life is a dream that someone else is having—or, more likely, a nightmare. Idly, I wonder if the police are ever going to come to arrest me. I almost hope they do. My guilt over Stewart and how I used him demands payment. If I go to jail, it will all be so simple. No more worrying about school or looking over my shoulder waiting for the handcuffs.
But no flashing sirens pull into the apartment parking lot. No one comes for me. How did I get away with it? Surely they have discovered the empty safe by now? The only answer seems the least probable, that someone covered for me. The person with that kind of access and power is Stewart, but he wouldn’t protect me after the way I’d treated him. Would he?
I’ve kept an eye on the newspapers, waiting to see my name in the headlines. There’s been no mention of the robbery. The death of Johnny the Shark has been widely reported on, however. His killer, the older man I saw, died in a shoot-out with the police when he tried to escape the penthouse. I imagine that long hallway with mirrors in the ceiling and the marble floor covered in blood.
Apparently, the murderer was a leading member of a rival mob. Thenewspapers report that the fight was over disputed territory in New York, where the gangs and mobsters each wanted their own piece of the drug trade.
“Tiffany, eat,” Mr. Chen chides again.
I don’t bother to answer. Pulling the covers over my head, I roll away from him and shut out the world.
Enemies and Lovers
58
Present, Orlando, Florida
The conference is boring. With the lights down low and considering how tired I am from yesterday, it’s a struggle to stay awake. I’m into my third cup of coffee but can’t stop yawning. The only thing keeping me from falling into a complete stupor is Ethan’s presence beside me. Sneakily glancing at him in the dark, with only the glow from the presenter’s screen at the front of the room, I trace the lines of his face as my daydreaming mind wanders. Those straight eyebrows, the tiny scar. That cleft chin and stubble-covered jaw. That full bottom lip. What would he taste like? How would he feel? My gaze travels to his powerful arms and broad chest, remembering how solid he was sleeping next to me last night. Large hands with ropy veins along the back. What those hands could do.…
Without looking over, Ethan writes on a napkin and slides it across to me.Why are you staring at me like I’m candy and you’re a kid on Halloween?
With an embarrassed intake of breath, I rip my eyes off him and whip my body to face forward. In my peripheral vision, I see his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Annoyed that he called me out, I scoot my chair a few inches away with a disgruntledhmph. I cross my arms over my chest and glare ahead, tuning into the lecture on inhalational lung disease.
Ethan’s laughter becomes louder, and a few heads glance our way. “Don’t be like that, Tiffy,” he whispers and reaches out to grab hold of my chair. With one quick tug, he easily pulls me back over to him. Now we’re sitting even closer, our shoulders almost touching. Ethan snatches the napkin and flips it over to the blank side. He bends his head over it, scribbling furiously. Curiosity makes me crane my head around, trying to see what he’s doing.
He finishes writing and slides the note across the table like a blackjack dealer.
I’m bored. When can we leave?
I take the pen from his hand and write back.
The lectures are done at three.
Ethan pulls the pen from my hand almost before I’m finished writing.
I’m not going to make it. Let’s get out of here.
I take the pen, noting how warm it is from Ethan’s fingers.
