The Heart - Kate Stewart Page 0,11

buzzed with a picture from Dallas: a roadside sign showing they had just reached Shreveport. I knew she’d sent it so I wouldn’t worry, but I couldn’t help the fact that it only made me feel a bit shittier. All thoughts of sex dissipated. Suddenly feeling more restless than ever, I made a quick decision and pulled out my tablet. I clicked the links to locate my online piggy bank. I’d been saving in the account since I was seven. My father had started it for me and told me it was good practice for investing later on. I’d never touched it. I’d only added money as the years went by. I’d never needed it. But now, with all my earnings tied up in school, the house, and the center, I didn’t have much to spare. It took me a good thirty minutes to remember the password, and when I saw the balance, I jerked back in surprise.

Live a little.

This is an emotional purchase. There isn’t a damn thing wrong with your SUV, woman. Walk away, Rose.

After seeing the balance in my ancient piggy bank, I’d decided to go car shopping, and not exactly the kind of car shopping that a sensible doctor in debt for the next twenty plus years would do.

As soon as I was behind the wheel, all I could hear were those three words.

Soft leather cradled me as I breathed in its delicious scent. I trailed my fingers along the dash with reverence as the sales person did their best to sway me.

“I’ll take it,” I interrupted as the surprised rep eyed me behind the wheel with admiration. My confidence shot to new heights as I threw caution to the wind and bought my dream car. I signed on the dotted line and arranged to have my SUV delivered back to my house. And I wasn’t finished.

I celebrated with a belly full of rich pasta and a glass of wine at one of the hundred new restaurants that had popped up in Dallas while I’d been in a career coma. Though I cringed the whole time, I went shopping and bought clothes that could never resemble scrubs. I threw bags consisting of new designer jeans, two new dresses, and t-shirts that I could never afford to stain or replace in the back of my new convertible.

I stopped in a salon and got a Brazilian blowout and wax. The wax ended up being less adventure, more nightmare, especially after the lady who greeted me declared, “You so very hairy.” I twitched liked I was being electrocuted as my calloused, unattended feet were scrubbed raw and my toes were painted to match the color of my new car. Once pampered, if you could even call it that, I treated myself to a massage and facial. At twenty-eight years old, aside from the week before my wedding that never took place. I’d never given myself a day like that and instantly regretted it. I’d been a tree-climbing tomboy in my youth, an introvert in college and medical school, and at the moment, I had no idea who I was outside of being a surgeon. I knew that I’d always admired women who took pride in their appearance. Suddenly, I no longer had an excuse not to become one of them. But my newly polished outside had nothing to do with who I was now on the inside. For years, I’d felt broken to the point where who I’d become was the last of my worries. Only concentrating on getting through the day-to-day, self-discovery was the furthest thing from my mind. I loved food and rap music, but neither of those was a hobby.

I was in serious need of a life, one that existed outside of Dallas Memorial. My growing family and the center had managed to keep me busy in my off time, and though I was dedicated to them now more than ever, I was lacking. I’d often thought of leaving it all behind, exploring places I’d only seen in movies or read about in magazines. And though the idea appealed to me on some level, my feet were cemented in a dream that started long ago. Deciding that my trip to the city and a little self-indulgence was a good first step, I smiled, grateful for what I had because it was a hell of a lot.

Later that day, I pulled into the center just as the sun was setting. I sat idling in my new car