The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,12
dead.
I swiveled the monitor in his direction, my own act of contrition.
He raised one eyebrow. “You’re really not sleeping.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
He rubbed his palm down his narrow face. Sharp cheekbones, sloped chin, light brown hair, and hazel eyes. When he was clean-shaven, he always got carded when we were out. Patients sometimes complained and requested an adult, though I knew he was almost thirty.
Looking at Bennett, it wasn’t hard to picture the child he once was. It was right there, close to the surface, and he embraced it. Didn’t try to dress it up in suits and facial hair. He was the youngest of five siblings and was accustomed to being viewed that way. I knew, even though I’d declined the Thanksgiving visit. He talked about his family constantly, whereas I tried at each opportunity to distance myself from the child I’d once been.
The most distinct feature, in the photos, on the news, had been that head of wavy brown hair, disproportionate on my small frame. So I’d highlighted the color to almost-blond ever since college, had blown it straight each morning. Every year older was another layer of removal between me and that girl. Until this morning, I’d thought she was unrecognizable. I’d thought I had made it, that my real life was now beginning.
“Me, too,” he said. “I overreacted. But things have been going missing from there, and . . .” A gesture of his hand. “Sorry I jumped to conclusions.” An accusation directed at someone else now.
“I get it, it looked bad.”
“Obviously, if you were trying to take something worth anything, you’d be in the locked drawers. Not the free shit.”
“I’ll make a note,” I said, then pointed at the screen. “But this? Is this a joke?”
He smirked. “Dr. Cal. That’s what he likes to be called, FYI. Or at least that’s what everyone calls him in the lounge. Just don’t make direct eye contact, and you’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t sure exactly where Bennett’s sexual attraction lay, only that it wasn’t with me. He was remarkably close-lipped about his personal life, which was part of the allure of a place like this. We could bring our history with us in the diplomas on the walls, or choose to keep our pasts to ourselves. We existed in the present. We looked to the future.
“What sort of deal with the devil does it take to be a doctor and look like this? And why have I never heard of him before?” I asked.
“Because you’re not in the lounge,” he said. “Trust me. He was all anyone could talk about for weeks. Just started last month.”
Which was probably why I hadn’t heard of him yet; he hadn’t shown up in any reports. A new hire also meant a decent chance of me getting in with a quick appointment.
“So, I’ll see you out tonight, right?” he asked, standing to leave.
I looked at him head-on. Bennett worked Saturdays, and he typically passed on the Friday-evening activities. Or refused to commit, occasionally dropped by for a quick drink before claiming he had to head home. Though from the way he checked his phone throughout the night, I sometimes assumed he was heading somewhere better. If I teased him about it—Hot date? Better offer?— he’d only smile. He basked in the mystery—and in my fury—like it was a game.
By this point, it sort of was.
“You planning to stay for more than one drink this time?” I asked.
“Just found out my ex is in town, I could use the reinforcements.”
And with that—the spark of curiosity making my back straighten, a grin of his own at my reaction—he knew he had me.
“An ex, huh?” I said, looking down at my computer. “I’ll be there if I can.” An echo of his usual answer. But I was serious. “I’m wiped.”
“Please don’t leave me alone with Elyse,” he said.
Elyse was new, and she leaned extra close when she spoke, hand on my arm and eyes wide, even just to say something benign, like The drinks are half-price. I had liked her immediately. She reminded me of those girls I watched in high school and college, asking each other Are we going out? and What do we want for lunch?, automatically including herself—and therefore me—in a partnership.
She’d started at the hospital back in the spring, had established this Friday-night meetup between us in her very first week—a routine I’d unsuccessfully attempted to loop Bennett into as well. Until, apparently, tonight.