Sweetest in the Gale - Olivia Dade Page 0,68
when she sees abnormalities, most of the time it’s nothing. Calcifications or a cyst or something harmless. A simple biopsy can tell you one way or another.”
Cailyn’s voice had become a little higher, the pace of her words a little more rapid, probably because she wasn’t supposed to say any of these things to a patient. But she was young and concerned and not experienced enough to disguise either.
“So don’t wor—” The other woman cut herself off. “Anyway, you should hear soon. Let’s take one more image, and then get you back into your nice, warm sweater.”
Elizabeth was pretty sure she’d never be warm again.
Another slight repositioning, another held breath, and it was done. She walked to the dressing area, her sweater held in front of her exposed flesh like a shield. Behind the cloth curtain, she peeled off the too-tight gown, hooked her bra, slicked on the deodorant stashed in her purse, and pulled the sweater over her head, tugging it past her hips.
Then she braced her hands against the wall and dropped her head to her chest.
After a few minutes, Cailyn spoke on the other side of the curtain, her tone gentle. “Are you okay, Ms. Stone?”
The poor kid had asked that question before, and the answer would be the same. The answers, really.
Not at all. Not for months, and definitely not now.
“I’m fine,” Elizabeth said.
Later that afternoon, as Cailyn had promised, the call came.
Two
James glanced at the dashboard clock, the numbers bright green and accusatory in the twilit gloom. Ten minutes to six. Dammit, he was going to be late, and he didn’t have time to pull over and call Elizabeth.
That last job at the Keplinger house had taken way more time than he’d anticipated, largely because the new kid on his crew had ordered the wrong damn paint for the living room, a semi-gloss blue instead of a matte yellow. An extra early-morning trip to get the right color and finish had set James behind all day.
He’d intended to shower and change before the town hall. Elizabeth wouldn’t protest, of course. She’d never been overly concerned with appearances. And Lord knew he didn’t give a fuck what some jackass congressman or his supporters thought about him. But meeting his old friend in a paint-splattered sweatshirt and jeans, his hair plastered to his skull by the wool cap he’d worn during trips outside, pained him anyway.
In their better years, his ex had teased him about it sometimes, how meticulously he tried to straighten himself before they gave final instructions to the babysitter and met Elizabeth—with or without one of her boyfriends—for dinner.
“We lived with her in a tiny apartment for two years,” Viv would say, rolling her eyes as he ran a comb through his hair and ironed his shirt. “She’s seen you passed out on a stained sofa with dicks Sharpied on your face. I think she can handle uncombed hair.”
“That was in our university days,” he’d tell her. “Over a decade ago.”
What he carefully neglected to add: Back when I was drinking too.
Then, behind the closed door of their bedroom, he’d catch Viv by the waist, press her against the wall, and remind her that the only woman he cared to impress was her. All while hoping he wouldn’t taste tequila on her tongue.
In their worse years, when they’d moved cross-country and her drinking had become a constant in their lives, their visits home to Marysburg and occasional dinners with Elizabeth had turned fraught.
“You don’t prep like this for our other friends.” Viv would watch him in the hotel mirror, her mouth a hyphen.
He’d inhale through his nose, struggling for patience. “There was never anything between Elizabeth and me. You know that. You and I were already together when we lived with her.”
Viv would nod, but she wouldn’t look convinced. At dinner, she’d go through an entire bottle of wine or half a dozen margaritas and try to drum up arguments with either him or an ever-calm Elizabeth. And once they got out to the car, the slurred accusations and screamed invectives would begin.
Finally, he’d stopped suggesting dinner with their old friend and former roommate during visits to Marysburg. Just another way he’d contorted his life, his relationships, everything he did and was, around his ex-wife’s alcoholism. But after the divorce, once he’d returned to his hometown for good, he’d called Elizabeth and apologized. Asked for forgiveness and company at their favorite diner that night.
She’d accepted him back into her life without questions or recriminations.