GLASS_ A Standalone Novel - Arianne Richmonde Page 0,105
looking good.”
“Oh my God, I pray he’s okay.” I was hoping that Remy had hit a bar somewhere, and was simply conked out on someone’s couch for the night. My mind wandered to Kristin’s other illegal wrongdoings. “What about Natasha’s will? You got any news on that? The forgery handwriting experts?”
“Kristin’s been given the all clear on that, too. They say the will is genuine.”
“Really? And these are experts you trust?”
“They’re supposedly the best.”
“Damn, this woman’s clever.”
“That’s what Alessandra says. She still refuses to believe Kristin’s innocent.”
“And your mom? What does she think?”
“There are some jealousy issues going on. She’s accusing Alessandra of having been Natasha’s girlfriend and still being in love with her.”
“But Natasha’s dead! How can she be jealous of a dead woman?” I realized she wasn’t the only one jealous of Natasha . . . I’d nursed my fair share of that green-eyed disease also.
“Yup, I know. That’s my mom for you. This information’s between you and me, by the way, Janie.”
“My lips are sealed.” I had visions of two unquenchable flames in a raging lesbian bonfire: hot-bloodied Italian actress Alessandra, and poison dart-eyed Sophie. Plates flying around the room? Smashed furniture? Scary . . .
Elodie exhaled a pent-up breath that spoke of exhaustion and exasperation. “Look, I need to get off the line and locate Remy.”
“Good luck, I so hope you find him. Look, my friend Star’s here and is keen to help, but I have to get going to the hospital.”
“I know Star. I’ve got her number. I’ll call. Well, good luck to you, too, at the hospital. By the way . . . a warning, just so you know . . . ”
Scalding adrenaline pumped like liquid molten into my heart. “What?”
“Daniel’s mom? She really likes Kristin. Adored Natasha apparently.”
“Didn’t she know that Natasha was in love with another man? That her marriage to Daniel was a joke?”
“Nope. His mom thinks that she was the perfect wife for Daniel.”
“So basically, in everyone’s eyes—except for ours—Kristin Jürgen and Natasha Jürgen are fucking saints?”
“Looks that way.”
“So who’s there right now at the hospital with Daniel?”
“His mom, Kristin, our doctor, Doctor Nadil, and the usual nurses.”
“I need to get there immediately.”
“Janie, be careful. Don’t get yourself kicked out of there. Remember, you are not ‘family,’ and until Daniel wakes up, it’s at their discretion to let you visit.”
Silence while I took in Elodie’s wake-up-and-smell-the-coffee words. What a mess.
“Look, Janie, I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.”
As I was brushing my teeth, Dad suddenly called, wondering how Daniel was doing. I had to bite my tongue and not let on about the nightmare I was going through. Having him worry about me wouldn’t help the situation.
“That accident changed Will,” Dad revealed. “But in a good way. It’s almost as if he’s more focused now. He’s applied to do an internship in New York with a stockbroker, or maybe it’s a hedge fund manager—something to do with money, anyway.”
“Is that a good idea?” I said, knowing that Will had a propensity to become obsessive when he dealt with numbers. I tapped my foot with agitation—right now wasn’t the moment to discuss Will’s future—I couldn’t give it the time or attention it deserved—all I could think about was Daniel.
“You know what?” Dad went on. “I think it is. It could be a real career for him.”
I had to hold back my tears. I wanted to burst out crying and tell my father everything. “Dad, I miss you so much.”
“Me too, honey.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, baby, is everything okay? You’re still staying at Daniel’s apartment?”
“Yes,” I choked, swallowing my lie. “It’s all fine . . . I mean, I’m crossing my fingers about Daniel, but I’m okay. Don’t worry about me, Dad, I’ll be fine. I’d better go. Give Will a big hug from me.”
13
Daniel.
“HOW’S THE PATIENT doing?”
The voice is gruff and low. A man. He’s new, I haven’t heard that voice before.
“I think he’s on the mend, Dr. Nadil.” Oh fuck, it’s her . . . she’s back.
I can feel his large hands on my pulse. Steady hands of a man I can trust. Relief at last. But he mumbles something I can’t hear about lowering the dosage . . . his footsteps getting quieter, and then a closing door. Fuck, he’s gone. The room is silent for a beat, and then . . .
“Honestly, Bettina, there’s no need for Daniel to be transferred to LA. He’s in good hands here. Who better to look after him