Part 13 (1/2)

I dropped down into a squat, fisting my hands in my hair. Why the f.u.c.k didn't I answer my phone? How did I not hear an ambulance that was at my house when I was only a little more than a football field away? Could I have done anything? Could I have gotten him in my car and raced him to the hospital faster than the ambulance that got to our house and took him?

I stood back up, but left my stomach on the floor. I traded a look with Ben but wasn't quite sure if I imagined the blame that shot through his gaze. His eyes softened, and he did something completely uncharacteristic: he hugged me. Squeezing me so tight that my ribs protested and I had a hard time drawing in a breath. It felt like I swallowed a rock, and it'd gotten lodged right at the base of my throat.

Ben resumed his pacing, and I sat. My legs bounced up and down because I couldn't keep still. I leaned back, sat forward, got up, sat back down, switched chairs, crossed my legs, and finally got back up again. Ben laid tracks down between one row of chairs, and I took the other. Rachel, Mom, and Maggie stayed in exactly the same spot, not moving.

The gla.s.s door squealed as it opened, and a man with small, round gla.s.ses and a white coat walked through. ”Mrs. Mathis?”

The dynamics in the room switched. The women scrambled toward the doctor, but I couldn't even take a step. My feet cemented themselves to the ground the moment he walked through the door. He hadn't said a word, but I knew. I knew.

”Mrs. Mathis, when your husband was brought into the emergency room, he had lost consciousness and we were unable to find a pulse. We did everything we could, but despite our best efforts, we were unable to revive him. I'm very sorry, ma'am.”

The room swam in front of me and a ringing pierced through my ears, so loud and insistent that it drowned out nearly everything else in the room. Ben stood less than three feet away, his grief-stricken expression carved in stone. His steps were faltering, stumbling, like it was the very first time he was trying to walk. Reaching an arm around Mom's shoulders, his face blanked of expression as he questioned the doctor. The only words I caught were ”sudden cardiac death,” before the ringing roared back to life with such a vengeance I thought my ears would start bleeding.

I crumpled to the ground when my legs wouldn't hold me up any longer. The linoleum was cold underneath my hands, and the smell of lemon air freshener was suddenly overpowering. I couldn't tell how long I sat there, caved in on myself on the dirty floor of the hospital waiting room. My head throbbed and my stomach heaved, and finally, finally, the ringing stopped.

Someone was sobbing. Sobbing so hard that their breaths sounded painful, and any words they were trying to utter were only a horrific, pathetic moaning. My eyes searched through the blurred scenery in front of me trying to find Mom, so sure that it was her who was coming apart at the seams. But it wasn't her.

It was me.

Chapter 21: Bianca.

I slapped a wet rag on the scarred surface of the table, scrubbing until the dried-on patch of ketchup flaked off. There was something wonderful about the things here at Blackrose, all of them had dents and dings that spoke of being well-used and well-loved.

”You ready to head out?” Harper called from the other side of the restaurant, stuffing her tips in her wallet. The next s.h.i.+ft had wandered in fifteen or so minutes ago and was already setting about taking orders.

I nodded and tossed the washcloth behind the bar, stooping to grab my purse. I double-checked the time to make sure I was still on schedule. So far, so good. There wasn't any way I was going to be late for tonight's Yankees game after how much money I spent on these tickets.

The autumn breeze whispered over my face, tickling the damp strands of hair at the base of my neck as I pushed open the front door. There's nothing quite like fall in the Northeast. The trees burned with leaves of red and gold, littering the sidewalk with such vibrant colors it was like walking through fire. Shorts and flip-flops had been traded for scarves and boots as summer wardrobes were packed away. Barring everyone's obsession with pumpkin-flavored everything, fall was by far my favorite season.

When I turned left and still heard Harper's footsteps beside me, I frowned in her direction. ”Where are you going?”

She shrugged, batting down her scarf as it flew up on a gust of wind into her face. ”Your place?”

”Don't you have a date tonight with tattoo guy?”

”His name is Brand, geez.” She gave me an exaggerated eye roll.

”You see the irony in the fact that his name is Brand and he's a tattoo artist, right?” I lifted an eyebrow at her. ”So, what happened? You cancel?”

”Not cancelled, just rescheduled.” We hurried across the street while the light was red, picking up our conversation when we reached the safety of the sidewalk. ”He forgot he had his niece's dance recital tonight.”

I laughed at the thought of big, burly Brand, covered in ink, surrounded by tutus and glitter. I'd been to more than my fair share of dance recitals, experiencing firsthand their craziness. It spoke volumes about his character that he was not only willing to go to the recital but that he took a rain check on Harper to do so.

Unlocking my front door, I flicked my gaze to the clock on the microwave. The game started at seven-fifteen, and Ian insisted that we had to be there an hour ahead of time for batting practice. Calculating in travel time and possible subway delays, that left me with exactly fifty-seven minutes to get ready.

Harper's voice drifted in as I rifled through my dresser drawers. ”Are these the tickets?”

Tucking the pile of clothes under my arm, I strode out of my bedroom and toward the bathroom. I caught her holding my phone, a guilty smile sitting on her face.

”What'd you do?”

”Nothing. I may have just sent Ian a quick text showing him how freaking fantastic these tickets are.”

At a price that more than covered a month's worth of rent, the things needed to be plated in gold. I leveled a finger in her direction. ”No more texts.”

”Yes, Mom.”

I kicked the bathroom door shut behind me, and it rebounded off the broken latch and hovered open a few inches. Shedding my clothes, I hopped in the shower and pulled the curtain closed with a metallic screech.

”So, am I ever gonna get to meet Ian?” Harper's voice echoed around the bathroom.

Whipping the shower curtain, I squinted through shampoo suds.

”Relax,” she said with a laugh. ”I'm on the other side of the door.”

I craned my neck a little more and just managed to make out her fingers as she wiggled them at me through the crack in the door.

”Seriously though, are you hiding him from me?”

”Yup. I'm seriously convinced he's going to fall head over heels in love with you the minute he sees you, so I'm making sure the two of you never cross paths.”

”That's harsh, B, keeping me from my soul mate like that.”

The great thing about Harper was that she always made me laugh. She chased away all the insecurities and depressing memories that twisted around me like cobwebs. Even something as little as calling me B, rather than Bianca, was huge. Never, ever, ever were nicknames permitted. My name was Bianca, no abbreviations, no alternate p.r.o.nunciations, nothing.

I dipped my head under the water to rinse, letting the water run into my ears and drown out the sounds around me. As I reached for the loofah, Harper snapped her fingers.

”I've got it. He's ugly. Or old. He's old and ugly. He's a seventy-three-year-old with a mullet and dentures. I'm right, right?”

”You got me.”

”Wait, I know!” Harper's feet slapped against the floor, fading out and then racing back toward me. ”I can't believe I didn't think of this before-Facebook. What's his last name again? I can just look him up and . . . oh d.a.m.n.”

Shutting off the water, I wrung out my hair and wrapped myself in a scratchy, green towel. ”Harper?”

”Do you have clothes on in there?”

”Umm . . . no?”

The door swung open, and I clutched the towel tighter underneath my armpits. Harper walked cautiously forward, one hand clamped tightly over her eyes, the other holding out my phone in front of her. I took it from her and glanced down.

Ian: I am so, so sorry. I've got a stomach virus or food poisoning or the plague. My face hasn't left the toilet all day. I'm not gonna make it tonight. I'll make it up to you, I swear.