Cynda and the City Doctor - Theodora Taylor Page 0,43

to a raucous 90-minute event sport with cheerleaders and rabid fans.

Then he places his hand on my knee.

Just liked he used to.

It’s still raining outside. But suddenly my heart is flooded with sunshine.

No, I still don’t fully understand what just happened. Or if trying to be friends with Rhys is a good idea.

But whatever this new peace between us feels good.

And right.

At least in this moment.

Chapter Fifteen

“Hey, Cynda, how are you?” Billie says, her voice a little too bright when she answers my call. “Is everything okay?”

About a week into my quarantine, I scrunch my face at the phone. Billie looks…not like herself. Her sisterlocks are down and flowing as opposed to pulled back into the tight bun she started wearing them in after becoming an accountant. Also, she’s wearing a very un-Billie like sundress instead of the usual blouse and skinny jeans she refers to as her after work look. And, she’s smiling as if she just finished laughing at something.

I can barely hear her over a sound I can’t quite identify in the background.

“Are you okay?” I ask her. “I’m returning your call from earlier. Also, why’s it so noisy.”

“Oh, sorry, it’s the ocean. Here, let me step inside.”

The phone switches to a view of what looks like light brown balcony slats, as she says to someone I can’t see, “I have to go inside to take this. It’s my friend and she can’t hear me.”

“Your friend? Same friend who got you in trouble. Perhaps it is time for introduction.”

Perhaps indeed. I can’t see whoever wants to meet me, but his voice is deep and resonates enough to cut through all the ocean noise. It also sounds like he has an accent. Russian maybe?

But Billie says something I can’t quite hear and a few moments later the noisy sound of waves crashing instantly disappears. There’s the sound of her flip-flops lightly thwacking against more hardwood floors.

And the next time I see Billie, she’s sitting in front of one of those white cabinets people install over toilets. She must have closed herself up in the bathroom.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask. I’d thought I would have the most explaining to do before going outside to return Billie’s call. But now I’m asking my friend, “Who was that? And why are you at the ocean?”

“Long story,” she answers. “And that’s not why I called. Tommy came by my condo a few days ago. He was demanding to know where Gina was like I was hiding her from him or something. The conversation got weird and threatening.”

“What?” Suddenly all thoughts of the mysterious Russian disappear. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry,” Billie says with a dismissive shake of her head.

As if not worrying about her after Gina’s boyfriend threatened her was even possible.

“Is that why you’re staying near the ocean now?” I ask. Suddenly her switch from city to oceanside living makes sense.

“Yeah, sort of. Like I said, it’s a long story. But I’m safe. I’m just worried about Gina.”

I narrow my eyes. Gina had been with Tommy for a while. He’d even moved her into his house in Jonesboro after she’d finished college, which meant she no longer had to strip to pay her bills.

But Billie and I weren’t big fans. As the years went by, she’d stopped complaining about him or telling us about their arguments. Technically that was a good thing, but the less she told us, the quieter she got. And though she had gotten her college degree in art and design, she never did put it to use.

The friend who had dreamed of becoming an interior designer when we met had morphed into a permanent future bride who was supposedly too busy planning her wedding to look for work.

She also claimed that she and Tommy were going to start trying for a baby just as soon as they got married. But I’d been sending her birth control pills ever since she lost her insurance. She’d never asked me to stop mailing them. In fact, she’d sent me a private email after she announced her move asking me to send them to her hairdresser instead of her new address at Tommy’s house.

Speaking of emails….

“You didn’t tell him about the email, did you?” I ask.

Gina had missed the last two monthly calls with us and then failed to return any of our texts. But just when Billie was fixing to drive from South Carolina to Georgia to go see about her, she’d sent us a rushed email.

Sorry, guys,