The Wrong Mr. Darcy - Evelyn Lozada Page 0,74

find who you are looking for with only a first name. But here”—she pushed a ceramic pumpkin bowl across the counter—“take a piece of candy.”

Hara took a cellophane-wrapped hard candy—the same butterscotch candies her grandma kept in the pocket of her housecoat—and thanked the woman. She found a seat in the corner, needing a place to sit while she came up with a plan. How could it be that she still didn’t have anyone’s cell number? Except Naomi’s, and she wasn’t answering. Then brilliance struck. Sucking on her candy, she called Naomi’s number again and listened more closely to the message.

“Hello, dahlings! You’ve reached Naomi Martin’s voicemail because she’s too lazy to answer. Leave a message, or don’t, it’s up to you.”

Boom. Naomi Martin. One problem down, about twenty more to go.

A voice from behind her made Hara freeze.

“It’s done. She gets it. We don’t have to worry about Naomi.”

The recognizable voice was close, but on the other side of a potted plant. Peeking around the dusty fake ficus tree, Hara saw Madeline Bingley blaze past the little old ladies’ information desk, her resting bitch face on full wattage as she spoke into a cell phone.

Hara waited a few minutes in the lobby chairs, making sure the coast was clear. After getting Naomi’s room number, she hurried to the elevator, her suitcase bumping along behind. As she entered the small, sparse room, the young woman in the bed fluttered her eyes and then opened them.

“’Sup, Hara.” Naomi’s voice was weak, scratchy, her face a deep ash, her corkscrew spirals creating a wide halo against her pillow. Without makeup, and a hospital gown in place of sophisticated clothing, her youth was apparent. So was her weary sadness.

“I’m sorry to see you this way.” Hara went to her and lightly put a hand on Naomi’s arm, avoiding the IV. “I won’t ask how you feel. But can I bring you anything?”

“No, my dad is coming back later.” She cleared her throat. “They’re keeping me another night; they can’t seem to get the fluid out of my lungs.”

“I have a weird question to ask, but was O’Donnell’s assistant just here?”

Naomi closed her eyes. Her face seemed to sink in on itself.

“What’s going on, Naomi? Spill it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I … I signed something. I can’t talk about it.”

“That sounds bad.”

“The most I will say is that on the windowsill over there is an appointment card. I have a doctor’s appointment in the building next door. Take that as you will.”

Hara groaned. There was no denying what her friend meant. An abortion. Hara’s father had said not to trust O’Donnell, but this seemed like so much unnecessarily cruel meddling. “Did you make the appointment? Is that what you want?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m so confused. I just don’t know.” Thin tears spilled over her lower lashes, ran down into her ears. “I guess I do. But I don’t like having the decision made for me.”

“What happens if you don’t go?”

“My life changes, doesn’t it?” She reached out her hand. “Hara, please, don’t say anything to anybody, okay? Can I trust you?”

“Of course.” Charles had gotten a woman other than his girlfriend pregnant, and now she was being guilted into an abortion, his career hanging over her head. That wasn’t news. It was just goddamn sad.

A deep voice interrupted them. “Naomi?”

Hara swung around. A towering man in a hoodie, the thick cotton drawn low over his forehead, filled the doorway. He might have appeared menacing if his face, what was visible, hadn’t been so hangdog.

“Charles.” Naomi’s voice was small but tinged with joy.

The basketball player squeezed past Hara and sat on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on Naomi’s.

What have you done here, you son of a bitch? A wave of rage swept through Hara but evaporated quickly. Naomi was a big girl. She’d gone into this with open eyes. And Charles? He was here. They could work it out together. The ballplayer had other, bigger problems.

“I’m gonna go. Naomi, you call me if you need me. Please. I’ll be here.” But would she be here? She had a flight out that afternoon. Heading back to the lobby, she wasn’t sure where to go.

She could go home or she could take advantage of the opportunity in front of her, a story to look into, a real story. Hara just wished it didn’t involve Charles. Maybe she’d end up not running it, she decided, but there was no reason to walk away just