Lie, Lie Again - Stacy Wise Page 0,110
wearing a pink scrubs top with a purple unicorn pattern looked up as Riki approached the counter. A name tag pinned to her shirt said SAMANTHA. “Take some of these,” she said, pushing a box of tissues toward her. “Apply pressure, but don’t press in.” She adjusted the digital clock on the counter. “We close at three, and we’ve already taken our last patient.” She pursed her lips and tapped the desk. “That looks bad. Let me see what I can do. May I see your insurance card?”
“Yeah.” She dug her wallet from her purse and took out the card. “Here it is.”
“Okay. I’ll see if the doctor can squeeze you in when he finishes with his last patient. In the meantime, you can fill out these papers.” She slid a clipboard to her. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” Riki settled into a chair and focused on writing answers to the questions. Her neck throbbed, but she was too scared to pull away the old tissues. She just piled the new ones on top. Blood—especially her own—was something she didn’t want to see. If only Chris were here with her. She shivered. What if he didn’t call back? She’d be stuck here all night. Stealing a glance at the receptionist, she wondered if she’d be nice enough to give her a ride back to the condo. Not that Riki could give her directions. Oh, this was bad. But she couldn’t get ahead of herself. Panicking wouldn’t help. It wasn’t like she’d have to find a Starbucks where she’d set up camp while she waited for her parents to drive here. She let out a small laugh. Things weren’t that bad. Picking up the pen, she resumed filling in the form. Have you ever had or do you currently have: allergic rhinitis, anemia, aneurysm, anxiety . . . ? Ha! Not previously, but maybe now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sylvia was restless. It was Saturday, and she would be looking forward to a lovely evening with Hugh if he hadn’t turned out to be a complete and utter loser. It was despicable that he thought he could use her and toss her aside as soon as Sammy returned. Well, that and the fact that he’s married, she thought grimly. She picked up her phone and tapped on his name. Today would be the perfect day to send him the news. She began a text.
Guess who’s going to be the daddy of Irish twins? You, that’s who! Congrats. :)
After adding the video, she hit “Send.” A sigh whooshed from her. God, it felt like she’d been in a frantic prizefight, but now she’d been declared the winner, and she could finally catch her breath as she leaned in to the ropes, letting them support her.
Stretching her arms above her head, she moved them down slowly, her palms toward the floor. She could almost feel herself pushing the negativity to the ground. She padded to the sofa and lit the gardenia-scented candle on the coffee table. Settling into the cushions, she watched the flame and wondered how far it would burn before her phone chirped.
Closing her eyes, she pictured Hugh pulling his phone from his pocket when he felt the buzz of a text. He would be seated across from Lily as she fed the baby, and he’d sneak a look at the text. It’s work, he’d say apologetically. She would nod, a peaceful smile on her face, thinking, Oh, my hard-working husband. He deserves a break on the weekends!
Hugh’s face would burn red. His palms would itch, and he’d dash to the kitchen for a glass of water, gulping the cold liquid until he choked. He’d motion to his throat. Wrong pipe, he’d utter as he rushed for the privacy of the powder room. He would watch the video with the volume down, his stomach screaming with each passing second.
Her phone rang, and she jumped. She hadn’t expected such a quick response. She slid her finger across the screen and tucked her hair to one side before pressing the phone to her ear.
“Hello, Hugh.”
“What the hell, Sylvia?” he hissed. “What is this?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” she said pedantically, as though she were a manners teacher modeling the correct response. “And how are you?”
“No way! I’m not playing games. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
She waved a hand above the flame of the candle, daring it to reach her palm. It sounded like spittle had flown from his mouth as he spoke. That was so unlike him.
“You’re going