Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,4
sigh filling my ears.
I’d known him long enough, intimately enough, to detect the regret in his current downcast expression. But it was done. He had done this, somehow maneuvered us into this situation.
But why?
Was this really happening?
Under different circumstances, I would find many things funny about this moment. For years, when I’d conjured this scene in my imagination, there had been accompanying music. The reel in my mind’s eye always played at half-speed, the better to display the bliss blanketing both our faces as we ran toward one another through a field of wildflowers, or in an airport, or someplace dramatic. We’d be delirious with joy, relieved to be together again.
Somehow, some way, he’d explain it had all been a mistake. Or he’d had amnesia. Or he’d been taken hostage by flat-earthers.
It was hard to imagine a scene that contrasted more sharply than this present moment. The reunion I’d yearned for with Nick featured instead a burned-out, shrewish, confused, funky version of me wearing the sharp tang of eau de sweat.
Nick and I stared at each other. As strangers. All under the prying eyes of folks who had no idea of what we’d once been to each other, who had no idea we’d once promised our futures and hearts. They had no way of knowing that, mere months before he vanished like smoke, Nick Armstrong slipped a ring on my finger and asked me to marry him. The uncomfortable silence and blank stares from my colleagues grew to the point they became unbearable. My ears filled with the sound of my own breathing. Acid seared the walls of my belly.
There had to be a script. This had to be a sick prank. Somewhere, there had to be rules and expectations for hideous moments like this. I was expected to say something, to behave in accordance with social rules, when that was already one of my greatest weaknesses. They expected me to slap on a polite mask and perform while blood drained from the ripped-open fissures in my heart. I couldn’t help the brief, desperate glance I sent around the room and over their heads. Was this the part when a benevolent puppet master would show up, take over and animate me through the niceties?
Lord knows, I had absolutely no idea of how to proceed, of how to survive this moment.
I’d heard of silence being described as “thick.” This was definitely it. This was molasses. The other two people in the room shifted from foot to foot as Nick and I continued to eye each other.
“Thank you for allowing us to drop by unexpectedly,” the dean of the medical school interjected through our tense standoff. Peter Gould, or Ghoul, as many called him, attempted a smile. The expression was unnerving on his perpetually pinched features. Erin Soller, my department’s chair, looked on with widened eyes from the relative safety of the hallway. We exchanged a quick glance, a nonverbal “What the hell?” Erin’s shoulders lifted quizzically.
Dr. Gould inched closer to the doorway and Nellie moved aside to make room. “Dr. Leffersbee,” he started sternly, his tone dripping with meaning, “Mr. Rossi mentioned wanting to meet you at some point during his visit. Of course, we knew you’d be happy to oblige.”
Oh? Is that so?
“We thought he’d gotten lost when he went to the men’s room.” Nellie’s sunny smile countered her chiding tone, as did her chuckle.
“Seems he’s good at disappearing,” I quipped, unable to dial back the sarcasm.
The muscle at Nick’s jaw flexed. I ignored his half-lidded glare, instead glancing away, studying my overstuffed bookshelf.
I wondered how Nick had eluded her, even briefly. Nellie was a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out donations. The greater the potential, the deeper her commitment to the trail. Donors never escaped her clutches. God bless her.
Nellie cleared her throat. “Yes. Well. Anyway. We plan to get our surgical residents on board as part of the team, and we’re approaching some of our primary care physicians.”
My mind was working on a delay, mere moments from shutting down in light of this crisis. “Team? Surgical residents?”
Nellie frowned at me—like I confused her—as her head tilted to one side. Clearly, I’d missed something. But when I looked to Nick, he’d wiped his face of all expression. I continued to stare at him, distracted, searching for some sign, some flicker of who was inside. I wondered if there was any trace of my Nick—the one I would have died for—in this devastatingly handsome creature with empty eyes.