By the time Grace gets home, I’ve put baked macaroni and cheese—the only recipe I know how to make—into the oven, place the roses in a vase, and set them onto the table. She smiles as she sees the roses and kisses me on the cheek. She hands me a tiny box, wrapped in shiny red paper.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispers in my ear, her breath tickling my skin.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I murmur back. She wraps her arms around my waist and her lips touch the nape of my neck. I turn around to face her, putting my hands on her hips and pulling her close to me. I kiss her, tasting the cherry flavor of her lip balm. She steps back and hands me the box.
“I hope you like it,” she says. “I found it a few months ago.”
My phone vibrates, but I ignore it.
“I…”
“—don’t have anything,” she finishes, but I’m relieved to see that she’s smiling. “I know you, Samuel Meadows. It’s fine. You’re letting me stay at your home. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”
“We’ve been together for almost five months,” I say. “I think by now you might have been moved in…”
“I might have,” she says. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s still generous that you let me stay here. Thank you.”
I know she means everything she says as a compliment, but I can’t help but hear the insinuation that our relationship wouldn’t have developed this far if she hadn’t been forced to live with me because of the Schneiders’ bad attitudes.
The oven beeps as the timer goes off. I set down her present, slide on some oven mitts, and take out the baked macaroni and cheese.
“Are you going to open it?” she asks.
“Maybe. I just need some time to think about it,” I say, sarcasm rippling under my voice. She stares at me and folds her arms over her chest.
“Why don’t you just come out and say what you want to say?” she asks. “You’re mad because I said I wanted to wait to get married. You’re mad because you had expectations that I didn’t meet.”
“I’m not mad because you said you wanted to wait to get married. I’m mad because you rejected my proposal. If you had said yes, but wanted to wait to do the wedding, I would have been happy with that. But the fact that you outright rejected my proposal means that you don’t really see a future between us.”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she demands.
“You have nowhere else to go!” I shout.
Her whole face reddens.
“There are other places I could go,” she says, her voice low. “Don’t you dare think that I’m here because there is nowhere else to go. I could have stayed in my brother’s house. I could have gone to Kevin’s.”
I shake my head. “Forget I said that. Let’s just eat.”
“No, Sam,” she says. “We need to talk about this. You can’t just ignore a problem and hope it goes away. Problems like these don’t just disappear.”
“You’re the problem.”
The words rolls off my tongue like cherry bombs that explode as soon as they are out of my mouth. I immediately cover my mouth.
“I didn’t mean that,” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “No, you meant it. I am the problem.”
“Grace—”
“No,” she repeats. “You’re right. I’ve caused you pain, and then I stuck around. I should go.”
“Grace,” I say. “Come on. You can’t be serious.”
She ignores me, walking into our bedroom. By the time I walk in, her suitcase is already open and she’s throwing all of her clothes into it.
“You can’t leave on Valentine’s Day.”
“So, what? I should wait until midnight and leave then?” she asks. “It won’t be Valentine’s Day anymore.”
“I can make this up to you,” I say. “You know how I suck at communicating. I didn’t mean that in the way that I said it.”
She shuts the suitcase and zips it up. “I’ll come back for my school stuff tomorrow morning. I’ll leave my key on the kitchen counter.”
“Grace, you can’t just leave! You’re the one who said that we need to talk about this.”
She pivots on her heel to look directly at me. “Then talk. Tell me exactly how you feel.”
I open my mouth, but my mind goes blank. I don’t know how I feel. I love her—maybe to the point that it makes me stupid and reckless—but the pain of her rejection lingers as if it were burned into my palms and I feel it every time I touch her.
“That’s what I thought,” she says, before turning around again and walking out of the room. I watch every step she takes. She stops in the dining room to grab her bag and coat, and then keeps going toward the door. She opens the door and walks out. The door closes.
I watch it all, not moving, not protesting, not telling her that I know how I feel now.
I know that without her, my heart is suffering from transient apical ballooning syndrome. Transient apical ballooning syndrome, or takotsubo, is when the myocardium is suddenly and temporarily weakened. It can cause acute heart failure, arrhythmias, and ventricular ruptures. It’s also known as broken-heart syndrome.
I walk into the kitchen, my feet dragging with every step. I stop near the stove and pick up the present that Grace gave me. I contemplate giving it back to her unopened since I have no right to have it anymore, but curiosity gets the best of me.
I carefully peel off the tape until the paper falls away and all that is left is a watch. It’s a silver-tone, stainless steel band, but the most noticeable part is that under the glass, within the numbers, there’s a heart organ etched into it.
I put it on to remind myself what it’s like to have a heart.
Chapter Twenty
Grace, 2015
(Valentine’s Day; Waycroft Elementary School, Murray, Virginia)
I HAVE QUIT SMOKING so many times and failed in each attempt. I suppose it’s a metaphor. When times get rough, I put something known to cause cancer in my mouth, so I can die slowly and it will be my own damn fault.
The playground at Waycroft Elementary School is different at night. The laughter of children is gone and the recreational equipment—the slide, the swings, the seesaw, the merry-go-round, the monkey bars, the jungle gym, the chin-up bars—all seem ominous instead of fun.
I sit on the merry-go-round, continuing to smoke. Sam found me here last time on the swing set after he told the police about how Francis attacked me. He knew me so well back then, but now it seems like we have drifted so far apart that nothing could repair us.
“Grace?”
My head shoots up. It’s not Sam. It’s John Seoh, his best friend.
“Did Sam send you?” I ask as he approaches me. His nose crinkles.
“Why would Sam send me?” he asks. “Why aren’t you with Sam? I thought that’s what couples did on Valentine’s Day…spend the night together.”
John is a Korean American who was born and raised in Fairfax County, but moved out to Murray three years ago to open his own practice as a general practitioner. His wife, Kimi, refused to move with him. While they are still married, she continues to live in Fairfax County, within walking distance of his and her parents, while he stoically (and self-deprecatingly) carries the mortgage on two houses. His daughter, Lexi, works as one of Sam’s receptionists. I learned a few months ago that Sam and John met while playing a trivia game at a local bar. They won the game. It may be the nerdiest meeting story I’ve ever heard, and since I’m also a nerd, I’ve heard enough stories to judge them on it.
“Oh, you know…” I drop my cigarette to the ground and crush it with my shoe. I make sure it’s completely destroyed. I don’t need to read parents’ complaints in the local newspaper about how cigarette butts are ruining their children’s playtime. “Boy meets girl by saving her life. Boy and girl begin to fall in love. Girl kills serial killer. Girl rejects boy’s proposal. Boy never gets over it. Boy and girl break up.”
“Ah,” John says, sitting down beside me. �
��The rejection proposal. Of course.”
“You know?” I groan. “Did he tell everyone?”
“I think I’m the only one,” he says. “But I know it frustrated him, so I could be wrong.”
“He knows I love him, so I don’t know why he’s freaking out so much about this proposal thing. I’m sure at some point I will say yes. It just wasn’t the right time in December.”
“Do you know what Sam’s childhood was like?” John asks, leaning against the bars on the merry-go-round.
“Vaguely,” I say. “He and his father didn’t get along well, and his mother wasn’t very loving.”
“Wow. That is pretty vague.”
“You really shouldn’t be bragging about how you know him better than me right now.” I scoff, but give him a quick smile after.
“Well, Grace, there’s something called the Ferber Method, which was invented by a guy named Dr. Richard Ferber. I personally don’t think the method is effective and Dr. Ferber changed his mind on some of his ideas, but other doctors might tell you different. The main point of the method is to not touch the baby when they’re crying in the hope that they will learn how to calm themselves. Well, that is essentially how Sam was raised his whole life. Anytime he had a concern, a problem, or even good news, his parents mostly ignored it. As he explained it, his family essentially led individual lives in the same house. That creates a certain personality type. Sam is a private person. He doesn’t know how to comfort other people. He’s not good at communicating his feelings, concerns, problems, or…even good news. He’s a good man, but his upbringing causes him to be the kind of person who runs out of the room when he sees someone crying.”
I nod. “He is definitely that type.”
“He’s always had trouble with dating,” John Seoh says. “Dating creates a very intimate space and I am amazed that you two have lived together for this long. I would have thought one of you would have exploded by now. But…I’m telling you all of this because you need to make a decision. If you can’t handle the way that he is…you need to move on. He is not going to change. He loves you more than he has ever loved anyone, but his personality is too deeply engrained to change into something else. If you can handle it…if you can love him with all of his imperfections and asocial behavior…then hold on tight because he’s worth it. He’s a good friend when I need him to be a good friend, and I’m certain that he’s the same as a boyfriend.”
“He is,” I admit. I rub my hands together, the chill finally getting to them. “I just don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me for the proposal thing.”
“I’m sure he has by now,” John says.
“What makes you so sure?”
“If there is anything that makes Sam see what has worth in his life…it’s the sudden possibility of losing that thing.” John stands up. “That’s why he got back into contact with his father after years of not talking to him. That’s what made him realize he was in love with you after the whole Deacon-almost-murdering-you experience. He’s a bit oblivious at times, but he has epiphanies when there are risks involved.”
I stand up, too, and wrap my arms around John. He’s tense for a second, surprised by my reaction, before patting me on the back.
“Thank you, John, you’re a good friend.”
“I better be at the wedding,” he mutters.
“Someday.” John smiles as I promise him.
“You better go see Sam,” he says. “I’m sure that boy is about to tear out all of his hair and drink every kind of alcohol in his house. If he knows how to do anything, it’s diagnosing heart disease and self-destruction.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sam, 2015
(Valentine’s Day; Sam’s House, Murray, Virginia)
Beer before liquor, never sicker.
Liquor before beer, in the clear.
Gin before rum, soon I’m gonna be drunk.
Rum before gin, then we start over again.
I LINE THE BOTTLES up in front of me, my thoughts running away from the front of my mind. Honestly, I have a large collection of different kinds of alcohol, but not because I’m an alcoholic. It’s because I don’t drink and people always buy me bottles as gratitude gifts, Christmas gifts, or birthday presents. I suppose none of those people knew me very well.
I pour myself some more coffee liqueur and sip from it. Something is definitely wrong with me. I look down at the watch Grace bought for me. Why couldn’t I be the type of person who thought of personal presents to give to people? I should buy Grace something related to her being a teacher. Or helping kids. Or something that shows how much I love her. Literally, any of those things could have worked.
I should make her something.
I pick up the bouquet of roses and spread them out on the table. I pluck the petals off half of them. I form a heart with the petals and try to glue them all together. My fingers keep getting glued to the petals and the petals tear before I can get them to stick together.
Great. I failed at this, too.
I rest my head on the table and close my eyes. I just need to sleep. Hibernating would be an even better option. I’ll just sleep until spring and when I wake up, maybe some miracle will make none of this matter.
I’ve barely fallen asleep when I feel fingers caressing the back of my neck. My eyes flicker open and I see Grace.
“Grace?” I mumble.
“John was right,” she says. “You were drinking every kind of alcohol in the house.”
“I didn’t touch the beer.” I drawl. “Am I dreaming? Are you here?”
“I’m here,” she says. She slides onto my lap. I wrap my arms around her, feeling amazed at her corporeal appearance—feeling amazed that she returned. She gestures to the petals. “What’s going on here?”
“I was trying to make you something.” My voice sounds so small.
She smiles. “That’s so sweet.”
“I failed to actually make anything.”
“I still love it.”
I stare at her, amazed that she is still truly here and not just an alcohol-induced or sleep-deprived mirage.
“Why would you return?” I ask. “I mean, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m an ass and I completely don’t deserve you.”
She kisses me. “Because I love you.”
And that’s all I really need.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam, 2015
(April, Saturday Afternoon; Dr. Meadows’s Cardiology Office, Murray, Virginia)
AT MY CARDIOLOGY OFFICE, all I can think about is John Doe. This isn’t good for business when I’m supposed to be looking at an echocardiogram. The heart does more work than any other muscle in the body within anybody’s lifetime. It also delivers blood to almost every one of a person’s seventy-five trillion cells. It’s an amazing organ, but when amazing things fail, it tends to be noticeable and my patient, Donald Way, noticed he was having chest pains that weren’t related to his heartburn. Donald had taken a cardiac stress test to see if he has ischemic heart disease (more widely known as coronary artery disease). It doesn’t look good for Donald. His heart wasn’t getting enough blood flow while he was walking on the treadmill. I’ll have to get him to schedule an imaging stress test to make sure it’s not a different disease or simply poor fitness ability. It will be difficult to get him to do it because those tests aren’t cheap and this is a man who reuses floss.
“Dr. Meadows?” Lexi Seoh, my best friend’s daughter and one of my receptionists, asks as she knocks on the door. She pokes her head through the door. “Some lady is here to see you.”
The office isn’t opened today. Lexi and I are catching up on paperwork, so this lady has to be someone I know. Lexi knows who Grace is, so it can’t be Grace. It could be Mom, which would be a good enough reason to stay in my office.
“What does she look like?” I ask. “Is she older than me? Maybe in her midfifties?”
“Uh, no,” Lexi says. “She’s around your age. Tall for a woman. Beautiful. Brunette. Fancy
clothes.”
“Alicia,” I mutter, covering my face. Knowing her like I do, she wants to know if I decided on painting the house a new color and adding her decorations like she wanted. Her mind goes a thousand miles a minute, while mere mortals like myself can’t figure out if we should eat lunch or not.
“So, should I send her in?” Lexi asks.
I shake my head, standing up. “I’ll go see her. Thanks. We should all take a break for lunch anyway.”
She nods before skipping down the hall. I follow her out to the waiting room. Alicia stands in front of the desk, wearing a black pencil skirt and a red silk blouse.
“Sam!” She grins. “I figured I should see you here instead of the morgue again.”
“I know why you’re here,” I tell her. “And I’m not sure what I want to do, yet. I haven’t even talked to Grace about it.”
She pretends to pout, her lower lip sticking out. “Come on, Sam. It’s the best time to be selling a house and this will take time to do. Why don’t I take you to lunch and we can talk about it there? There’s a new place called Caesar’s American Villa that I want to try out.”
“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” I say. “I thought you didn’t want to become too involved because of Grace.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like we have an active work relationship here. I’m just trying to help you by giving you ideas, and because we should have a cordial relationship after our breakup that happened years ago. It’s not like she’s your wife, right?”
Her last comment stings, but she’s right. There’s nothing wrong with lunch and now that I haven’t thought about John Doe in the last three minutes, my stomach is growling.
Disturbed Mind (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Series Book 2) Page 7
