“So late in the season?” she asks, then gets out of her chair. Quickly coming to my side, she rests the back of her hand on my forehead. “You’re so pale, and you feel a little warm. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”
“I don’t think so,” I tell her.
“You know what? I’ll get you some chicken noodle soup for lunch. It’s hot out, but I’m sure it’ll help. You need to have something in your stomach. You’ve not been eating at all this past couple of weeks. It’s not healthy. And trust me, I’m starting to feel guilty, stuffing my face every day by myself.” she jokes.
“Sure, I’ll have the soup.” I smile up at her. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Don’t mention it. Everything will be fine.”
I don’t know why she says that last part. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, or it could just be the nurturing tone in her soothing voice. My eyes start to well up again and this time, I grab a bunch of tissue from the box and hurry out of our shared office. But in the hallway, I run into Mom on her way back from a meeting.
Shit.
“Hi!” I greet her, swallowing down the wave of raw emotion. “You’re back. How did it go?”
“Not bad,” she answers, studying my face. “Actually, do you have a moment?”
I point down the hallway as though the gesture is enough of an explanation. Then I add, “One sec. Ladies room.”
“Sure. I’ll be in my office.”
“Great!” I tell her and hurry to make my getaway before she noticed the redness in my eyes.
In the restroom, I splash some water on my face, thankful that I rarely wear makeup to work so there’s nothing to reapply. I take a moment to settle my nerves, then head to Mom’s office. As it’s so close to our lunch hour, I decide that if she probes too intensely, I’ll make something up and leave the office so she can’t have too much time to press any further. It’s the last thing I need today.
“What’s up,” I ask from her office door.
Mom gives me a concerned look. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course. I’m great. Can I help you with something?”
She glances at the computer monitor on her desk, then returns her gaze to me. “Well, aside from the reports I thought I’d have by now, no. It’s not work-related.”
I’m not in the state of mind to listen to what’s on her mind, so I focus on the job. “Oh those. I’m working on the analysis reports now. I’ll have them in your inbox by tomorrow morning.”
“All right. So… about this weekend…”
And there it is. I start to feel a little sick as I stand there. I’m not prepared for a lecture or personal discussion. My brain and stomach can’t handle it.
“You don’t have to go over that, Mom. If you’re talking about the Hamptons, don’t worry at all. I already told Knox that I’ll be there.”
“It’s not about that. Well it is, but there’s more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look, we don’t have all the details, but Morris may be ill. I think he plans to talk to us about it on the weekend.”
“Ill? How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. But you know how small this town can be. Louise Denali swears that she saw him leaving the oncology unit at Mount Sinai.”
I brace my hand against the doorway. Rumor mill in their circle can turn out to be nothing, but my belly does a flip. Maybe this is what Knox was trying to tell me about that night in the limo.
“I think we need to hold off on diagnosing Mr. Steele until he says something,” I tell her, even though deep down, I believe the rumor might be true. “Anyway, duty calls, Mom.” I push off the doorway and begin to turn. “We’ll have all weekend to speculate.”
It takes all my energy to get back to my desk without looking like my knees are about to buckle. As I take a seat, my cellphone lights up on my desk with a text from Knox.
Knox: How’s your day going?
My heart tightens in my chest as I unlock the screen to reply.
Me: Hi. Good! You?
Knox: Busy lately.
Me: Can’t wait for the long weekend.
Knox: So, you’re coming?
Me: To the Hamptons? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Knox: Great. That’ll give us time to talk.
Me: Awesome. Gotta get back to work. Ttyl.
I drop the phone on the desk and take the entire box of tissues with me as I leave for the restroom again. Dread overcomes me. It’s going to be a long long weekend.
12
Isabelle
I press my palms tightly together between my knees and try to ignore the knot growing in my stomach. The universe has been conspiring hard to get Knox and me together. By universe, I mean my parents, and in all likelihood, Knox’s grandfather. I know this because of where we are right now—in his Mercedes convertible, driving together to the Hamptons on the night before the long weekend. Mr. Steele left a day early, and my father had an unexpected event to attend upstate, so Mom suggested—strongly—that I’d be better off catching a ride with Knox tonight.
Better off.
Right.
I glance over at him as he focuses on the mostly dark freeway, lit up by only his headlights in some sections, and wonder if I can take another mile of silence. My chest is weighted down, tight with anticipation, heavy with uncertainty.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
Sliding my seatbelt past my shoulder, I duck my head down between my legs and hope I won’t puke. Not that there’s anything that’ll come up. I barely ate at lunch, had no dinner while I packed, and now, it’s after nine at night. Maybe it’s hunger.
“Hang on, I’ll pull over.” He flicks on the turn signal, checks his rearview mirror, and changes lanes from the fast lane to
