It's Definitely Not You - Abby Brooks Page 0,23

again. “Worried about your inheritance?”

“For shit’s sake, Joe…” It was the first time I’d said his name to his face and it hung in the air like a helium balloon of surprise.

Neither of us spoke.

Or knew what to do.

Or how to move forward with it between us.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, popping the moment. Thankful for anywhere else to spend my energy, I whipped it out and froze.

Dorothy: We have a code Toto. Repeat, code Toto.

While I didn’t quite follow her logic code-wise, I understood what she wanted to convey. Shane Samuels was at the clinic again.

“Shit.”

Joe looked oddly concerned as he stepped closer. “Everything okay?”

I waved him off. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I was a bitch about the noise. Hammer away.” I sprinted for my car, and hopped in, paying zero attention to the posted speed or the music coming over my speakers as I sped across town.

When I arrived at the clinic, Dorothy skipped our customary greeting and waved me over. “I have Toto stashed in room one. Doctor Fitzgerald doesn’t even know he’s here.”

“Toto?” I whispered in return, still trying to connect the dots on her choice of code words.

Dorothy leaned even closer. “Shane Samuels,” she hissed dramatically.

I laughed. “I got that far. I don’t get how…” I waved the rest of my statement away. “Never mind. We’ll talk about it later.”

Hurrying back to room one, I realized that like it or not, good at it or not, I’d dropped myself into a life of subterfuge. Wouldn’t Nan be surprised to find I was pulling it off? Though, maybe it was too early to congratulate myself on success. After all, I’d thought I could drag her through my apartment without tipping her off that I was up to something. What obvious pitfalls was I missing with Shane?

I knocked quietly on the door, then stepped inside. “Hey there, buddy.”

“Where’s your white coat?”

I stared down at my yoga pants and oversized tee. “I forgot it at home. When I heard you were waiting for me, I got here as fast as I could.”

My words earned me one of those hummingbird smiles.

I perched on my stool, assessing the kid from head to toe. The bandage was off on his finger. The wound looked like it was healing. His eyes seemed bright. Coloring good. Hands clean. Shoes tied. Shane seemed healthy and whole. “What brought you here today?”

“You said to find you if I have a problem.”

His hesitance had me reassessing my conclusion. What wasn’t I seeing?

“I sure did say that. What can I help you with?”

He picked at the hem of his shirt, hunching in on himself so much he reminded me of a hedgehog. “Mom’s at work and I’m real hungry.”

I slow-blinked, more confused by his statement than a nose boop from a coworker. “Don’t you have any food at your house?”

He shook his head. “Mom gets paid tomorrow.”

I slow-blinked again. My instinct was to take the kid to the store and stock his cupboards, but I didn’t have enough information about his mother. Would he get in trouble if she came home to a full kitchen? Would that keep him from showing up if he needed help again? Two bone-jarring thoughts interrupted my concern for the boy in front of me.

What if this wasn’t a Shane-specific problem?

What if more of my patients ignored rumbling bellies until payday?

Promising I’d think more on that later, I pondered the ramifications of taking Shane out to eat. Was it kidnapping if I had good intentions? For that matter, did I even care what they called it? There wasn’t a chance I would let the kid walk around hungry.

“Tell you what.” I slapped my thighs. “I just realized I’m starved. You like hamburgers?”

I took Shane through a drive-thru and loaded him up on cheap calories. Hamburgers. French fries. Milkshakes. Notice the plurals. Bags of food filled my passenger seat.

“Remember to put those in the fridge when you get home so you and Mom can have some dinner. Next time you come see me, she should come with you. I’d love to meet her.”

Shane nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

Following his directions, I drove him home. He guided me with the confidence of someone much older, which only sent my mind hurtling down more uncomfortable paths.

After watching Shane let himself into a dilapidated duplex, I headed to the grocery and filled my cart with fresh fruit, vegetables, bottled water, potato chips, cookies. Whatever I found that looked moderately interesting made the cut. Balancing a