races as we drive toward the center. I don’t even know why I’m nervous. I’ve suffered on my own for so long that having other people who might understand what I’m going through seems like too much of a luxury.
Plus, if I show up there, I’ll surely be recognized. I haven’t told the public about my diagnosis yet, and I’m sure Felicity would want to do it in a professional, official way.
A part of me is sick of hiding, though.
Why should I hide my diagnosis? Why should I live in fear of what the future holds?
If the past couple of months have taught me anything, it’s that I’m able to survive on my own. I’m stronger than I thought I was, and I can face my disease instead of hiding away from it.
Still, when we pull up outside a small shopfront with a temporary sign hanging up above it, my heart stutters. I sit there for a few moments, staring.
“Would you like me to come in with you, Miss LeBlanc?” my driver asks.
I shake my head, forcing a smile. “That’s all right. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”
“How will you get home?”
“I’ll find a way,” I grin. “I can Uber or taxi or call Ivy. It’ll be fine. Please. Take the day.”
The driver’s face splits into a smile. He nods, thanking me before helping me out of the back seat. Every movement is difficult. I’ve had to get all slip-on shoes now, because I can’t even tie my own laces. I take a deep breath, painting a smile on face as I watch him get back into the car and drive away.
Then, I turn to the building’s door and push it open.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it isn’t this. I’m greeted with a moderate-sized, inviting room. Three couches are set up on one side, with comfortable-looking cushions and throws on them. Baskets of books and magazines are dotted around the place, and soft music is playing over a small speaker. A tabletop water feature is bubbling on a side table, with more books lined up beside it. A half-finished crossword is on the coffee table with a pen lying across it, ready to be completed by the next waiting person.
A woman, probably in her late forties or early fifties, is hanging a picture on a wall. She turns to look at me when I step inside.
Her face breaks into a smile, and her kind, brown eyes soften.
“Hello, there. Welcome to the Huntington’s Disease Society of Farcliff.” She shakes her head. “News sure does travel fast. We only opened today.”
I lift up the pamphlet. “I saw this.”
“Oh,” she says, smiling as she frowns. “I didn’t know those had been distributed yet. Maybe Dante did it.”
My heart stops. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, pardon me,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Vicky. I’m the director of the New York chapter of the Society in America, just here to help set up the organization in your Kingdom. We won’t be affiliated, but I felt that I could help.” She frowns, tilting her head. “You look familiar.”
“Margot,” I answer, extending a hand.
She shakes it, glancing down at my stomach. “Congratulations.”
I nod in thanks, smiling. I clear my throat as my heart starts to thump. “Sorry, you said that someone had distributed the pamphlets? Did you say Dante?”
Vicky’s cheeks redden and she waves a hand. “Dave. I said Dave. He’s setting up the center here. Lovely young man.”
The woman averts her eyes, taking a few steps away from me. “Tea? Coffee?”
“No, thanks. Are you sure you didn’t say Dante?”
She gulps, shaking her head. “His name is Dave. He’s out at the moment, but he might be back later. He likes to stay in the background, though. Would you like to sit down? I can tell you about the services we offer.”
She smiles at me, motioning to one of the couches. I nod, taking a seat, but I can’t quite let it go.
Am I just hearing things? I’m sure she said Dante’s name.
But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
What would Dante have to do with any of this?
I’m just hung up on him, so I’m hearing his name and seeing his face everywhere. It’s not him. It’s Dave.
Then, the front door opens and a man steps through, carrying a large box. His hood is flipped up, but something in the way his body moves makes a lump form in my throat.
“Oh, Dant—Dave,” Vicky says, glancing at me quickly.