Heart Conditions (The Breakup Doctor Series Book 3)

by Phoebe Fox

  “I am so sorry,” she said, hastening over to me as I opened the connecting door. “She just pushed past me and went in there and locked the door. I told her you weren’t in yet. I’ve been trying to pick the lock since she went in, but that’s much harder than it looks on TV. I didn’t know what to do.” She was in an unprecedented dither, her hands flying out as she talked and her usual tight twist mussed from where she’d clearly pulled the pins out of it, presumably to try them in the lock.

  “Okay, it’s okay,” I said soothingly. “Who’s in there?”

  “Lisa Albrecht.”

  Ah. Lisa, my editor at the Tropic Times, was never known for her tact or diplomacy. She’d started out as a client—my first as the Breakup Doctor, actually—when her husband, whom she’d supported financially for years, walked out on her and her two sons with no notice. For a much younger woman. Lisa, to say the least, had not handled it well, but lately she seemed to have finally gotten past her hurt and rage. This new explosion of fury couldn’t be good.

  I needed to know just what I was dealing with before I went in there. Lisa was a tough customer on a good day. And technically she was also my boss.

  “Did she say anything when she came in?” I asked Paige.

  She nodded. “Yes. She said, ‘Where’s Brook?’ and when I said you weren’t in the office yet, she said, ‘Then get her in here.’ I asked her to wait while I called you, but she was in your office and slammed the door before I could get out from behind the desk. I’m sorry, Brook. I’m so sorry.” She looked utterly crushed.

  I put a hand on her shoulder, and she froze, blinking up at me like a cornered fox. “It’s not your fault. You did everything right. Lisa is…well, she has her own way of approaching people. Sometimes there’s not much you can do about it.” I didn’t want her beating herself up over Lisa Albrecht’s sense of entitlement, but clearly physical contact was not the way to comfort Paige. I dropped my hand and she visibly relaxed.

  She took a breath and nodded. “I just feel terrible. She’s in so much pain.”

  I stopped halfway to my office door and turned back around. “That’s what’s bothering you? Not that she’s in my office?”

  “Well, yes, I mean, I know that’s bad, and I should have stopped her. But she’s obviously upset and uncomfortable feeling all that pain, and it’s making her react aggressively.”

  I couldn’t help the smile that drew up the corners of my mouth. “You’re going to be a good therapist, Paige.”

  Her bemused expression was the last thing I saw before I turned back around and knocked lightly on my own door. “Lisa, it’s Brook. I’m coming in.” I put my key in the doorknob and pushed open the door.

  Lisa was lounging on my chaise, one leg tented up, her arms crossed behind her head, looking for all the world as if I were late to a cozy girls’ tête-à-tête.

  “I thought about lighting up a cigarette, but you don’t have any ashtrays,” she said.

  “I prefer no smoking in here. And you don’t smoke anyway, Lisa.” I calmly walked past her and took my usual seat across from the chaise, waiting for her to explain. Rising to Lisa’s provocation only resulted in heightened dramatics.

  “Yes, but I’m thinking of starting. I mean, why not? My lungs will forgive me, right? It doesn’t matter how bad anything I do is—apparently all I have to do is let it go and magically it’s all okay. At least, that’s what I just read.”

  Ah. Lisa was unhappy about the column I’d turned in last night.

  “Forgiveness is about emotions, Lisa. Our psychological well-being. It doesn’t really affect physical ailments.”

  She shot upright, sudden fury pulsing from her so strongly I could almost feel waves of it hitting me. “It doesn’t work for any ‘ailments,’ Deepak Chopra,” she spat. “What, so people can do whatever they want to you, and all you have to do is forgive it and it’s like it never happened? A big get-out-of-jail-free card? A license to hurt anyone, in any way, and poof! All is forgiven? That’s crap. I don’t pay you for that kind of New Age bullshit. And I’m not running it.”

  I nodded. “Okay. If you didn’t like the column, all you had to do was call me. I’m happy to rewrite it.”

  “I don’t want you to rewrite it. I want you to trash it. It’s irresponsible! It’s quackery!”

  I frowned. “I’m not sure I see—”

  “You want to give people carte blanche for bad behavior! You want me to publish something that’s going to make anyone who’s ever been angry over what someone did to hurt them—rightfully angry—feel bad about themselves because they can’t just wave their magic wand and feel better and say, ‘No problem that you stomped on me…I forgive you.’” She said the word as if it were coated in slime.

  And I finally thought I saw what she was so upset about. Paige was right: Lisa was uncomfortable with anything that made her feel vulnerable. Her first reaction was to strike back—but what was underneath was simply raw, naked pain that terrified her.

  “Lisa,” I said gently, “that article was inspired by something in my own life. I needed to be able to forgive someone—my ex-fiancé who jilted me, actually”—I thought it might help if I let her have a glimpse into my own embarrassing past—“so I could finally be able to move on. But that doesn’t mean I think what he did was okay.”

  “That’s sure as hell what it sounded like.”

  I didn’t actually think so, but I considered the possibility that Lisa was right. “What part sounded like I was absolving people who hurt others?”

  But she didn’t seem to hear me. “What if my asshole ex sees it? What if my kids see it? Then I’m the jerk who can’t forgive their dad, and he’s the angel, right? I’m raising sons, Brook. Men. What am I supposed to teach them—that it’s okay to do anything they want to a woman, because ultimately there’s forgiveness?”

  And suddenly my stomach unclenched. Lisa was usually so fiercely defensive and dedicated to her own point of view, she didn’t have a lot of concern for anyone else. But now I realized what was troubling her—she was personally offended, yes. But mostly she didn’t want to raise her sons to do to some woman what their father did to her. What Michael had done to me.

  And that was downright…compassionate.

  I let out a long breath. “I see your point. Let’s not run this column, and I’ll get you a replacement by end of day.”

  But Lisa didn’t jump up with a vindicated smirk, as I’d half expected. Instead she sat back against the cushion, her brows pulled together.

  “When did you get jilted?” she asked.

  It took me a beat to find an answer—conversations with Lisa tended to be exclusively one-way. “Two years ago,” I said. “A month before the wedding.”

  She winced. “And this jerk, he asked you to forgive him for that?”

  “He didn’t ask outright. Actually, I never saw him again after the breakup—he left town. But I realized when he came back and wanted to see me recently that I needed to forgive what he did or I’d never move past it.” I chewed on my lip, thinking. Why did Michael come back?

  “And you did? You just let it all go?”

  I pulled my attention back to Lisa. “I don’t know. Probably not entirely, but yeah, mostly I guess I did. Holding on to it has caused me a lot of…issues.” I had no intention of telling Lisa about my meltdown after breaking up with my rebound boyfriend after Michael, or the mortifying evening in jail that followed, let alone about Ben. It was foolish to show my throat to the lion.

  She grunted and pushed up off the chaise. “I have to get to work.” Our little moment of connection was over, apparently. “I’ll let you know by lunchtime if I need another column from you.”

  The door had closed behind her before I could even react to the unprecedented act of Lisa actually softening a position.

  I was antsy for
the rest of the day, a low-grade static buzz that left me feeling anxious, especially in between clients, when I couldn’t distract myself by focusing on someone else. I thought perhaps my nerves were about waiting for Lisa to let me know whether my article would be buried and I’d have to throw together another one last-minute, but Intern Paige left after my one o’clock client checked in—she had late classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays—and Lisa still hadn’t called.

  Was it about Michael? Lisa’s interrogation had me questioning what I hadn’t before: Michael’s motives in coming back to Fort Myers, seeking me out. He couldn’t be moving back now that he was working as a band promoter, given that our local music scene was mostly made up of workmanlike musicians doing Jimmy Buffett covers for the tourists.

  Was it just to get my forgiveness, as Lisa had suggested? He’d specifically said he wasn’t asking for that, but I wasn’t putting total trust in his word anymore, for obvious reasons. Maybe he just wanted to clear his conscience, or—like me—finally put closure on our unfinished last chapter. But it would have been easier to do that via a heartfelt letter or email, especially since he had no reason to expect that I’d have anything to do with him if he did make face-to-face contact.

  A new suspicion bloomed in my mind, simultaneously filling my belly with ice and my chest with heat.

  Did Michael come back to rekindle something between us?

  He had to know that that wasn’t a remote possibility. I could forgive, yes, but I would never forget a betrayal as thorough and foundational as his. How could I ever trust again that he’d stick around?

  Even if he did seem to have changed.

  And anyway, if that were a possible motive, Sasha would have jumped all over it—she wouldn’t cut Michael one inch of slack as far as his intentions went, and she’d have lit into me about being on guard. I’d call her tonight, though, and ask her directly.

  Tonight. Ben was coming home from New York, and I would see him tonight when I dropped off Jake.

  The sudden fizzing feeling in my belly told me I’d finally lit directly on what had been making me so jumpy all day long. I was going to see Ben. Hearing him and Perfect Pamela tell me all about their trip wasn’t exactly top of my list for anticipatory events.

  The light on my wall that signaled an arriving client lit up, saving me from further useless ruminating, and I moved to the door to invite my next appointment inside, grateful for the chance to get out of my own head and into someone else’s.

  By way of being a dog, Jake got to act out the reaction I had to stifle when Ben opened his door and the two of us first caught sight of him: The dog let out one loud yip of excitement before his tail started wagging so hard it blurred. Two bunny hops and a lot of whining followed, and then Jake charged him like a bull, Ben putting his hands out in a futile effort to slow the oncoming train before the big white dog hurled himself full-length into him on his hind legs, wrapping his big shaggy paws around his shoulders and licking his face.

  Lucky dog.

  “Should I leave you two alone?” I joked.

  “Okay, buddy, no jumping,” Ben said soothingly, easing the dog’s paws back to the floor before grasping Jake’s head in his hands and assiduously rubbing his ears. “How’s my boy? How’s my Jake?”

  Jake was excellent, he wanted Ben to know, as he pressed his entire body against his master, but had clearly been starved for attention.

  “As you can see, I’ve spoiled him rotten and there’s been utterly no discipline at my house,” I said. “Sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay—it was a vacation for you too, right, Jake?” Ben straightened to face me and did a double take. “You look nice.”

  “Oh…I just threw on some old jeans.” I brushed an indifferent hand over the outfit Sasha had carefully curated last weekend. I felt a little foolish standing on his front porch holding a bag of dog food and wearing sky-high pumps, but I couldn’t take the idea of facing Ben and Pamela without putting a little more effort than usual into things.

  “Let me get that for you. Has he eaten?” he asked, tipping his head toward Jake as he reached to take the dog food from me, his fingers brushing the skin of my arm.

  I shook my head.

  “Not yet.”

  “Come on back,” he said, and disappeared toward the kitchen, Jake scrambling after him.

  I froze for a beat at the unexpected invitation, then took a deep breath and followed, planting a welcoming smile across my face for Perfect Pamela. But Ben was pouring food into Jake’s bowl while the dog sat patiently at his feet, and there was no sign of her.

  “Where’s Pamela?” I ventured, broadening my smile so wide I could actually see my cheeks. “I’d love to hear how her interview went.” Almost as much as I’d love to stick egg beaters in my eyes and whisk.

  “Dropped her off at home on the way from the airport. She’s got an early surgery tomorrow,” Ben said.

  Of course. “Oh,” I said eloquently. “So, is she off to save the world?” I heard the pettiness at the edge of the words as soon as I said them, but Ben didn’t seem to notice.

  “She won’t know right away. You’d be amazed how particular Doctors Without Borders is about their volunteers—they only take the best of the best.”

  “Well…I’m sure she’ll be chosen then,” I gushed. My overcompensation thudded into the silence that fell after it, and Ben just looked at me for a moment, as if I were a particularly obscure passage of building code.

  “Do you know about the High Line on the West Side?” he asked finally.

  I stared for a moment, trying to make sense of his question. “You mean the pedestrian park in New York that used to be an elevated train track?”

  He nodded. “That thing’s amazing. I walked it from one end to the other while I had time on my hands. It’s transformed that area by the Hudson docks—it’s all planted up and beautiful—and it’s added really needed public space to that area. Plus they’re reusing what were idle resources, and avoiding the waste of having to demolish the old track infrastructure.”

  I loved listening to Ben talk about architecture and green building. His passion for what he did was part of what had initially attracted me to him, and his enthusiasm was contagious. While we were dating I’d started to see my surroundings through his eyes—the beauty and potential in places people had forgotten about: abandoned homes, old warehouses, stretches of land or beachfront where hurricane-damaged buildings still littered the landscape. He always saw the hidden value in things other people had written off.

  “You think there’s a way to do something like that here?” I guessed, knowing the way his mind worked.

  He nodded. “Those old defunct Seaboard Railway tracks? They’d make a fantastic hiking and biking trail, and the parts that run through town could be turned into a similar kind of park. They did something like that in Tampa, and—”

  Jake’s bark cut him off. The dog had finished his dinner and brushed past me on the way to the back door—he always had to poop immediately after eating—and I automatically reached to unlock it and let him out into the yard.

  “Thanks,” Ben said, but the easy rhythm of our conversation had been broken. We stood there in silence for a few moments, until it grew awkward. There was no reason for me to stay longer—I knew that—but standing here in Ben’s home, alone with him, I was reluctant to go.

  I couldn’t put off the inevitable. I pushed myself away from the counter.

  “Hey, did…Does everything seem okay to you?” Ben asked, peering at me.

  I stopped. “What…How do you mean?” I asked cautiously, my heartbeat seeming to pick up force and hammer at my ribs.

  “With Jake. Did you happen to notice if he’s acting weird?”

  I blew out the breath I’d been holding. “Weirder than normal, you mean?”

  Ben gave
a half smile. “Yeah. Does he seem lethargic to you, or…well, depressed?”

  I leaned back again, grateful for the momentary reprieve. “Jake?” Looking out the kitchen window to the backyard, I could clearly see the dog running in frenzied circles around the majestic live oak in Ben’s backyard, his gaze fixed upward, barking excitedly at something in the uppermost branches, or God. “I wouldn’t say depressed, no,” I said wryly. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I sort of thought he was acting strange the week before I left. He’d just lie around, and he looked…this sounds dumb, I know…but he looked sad.” Ben looked a bit sheepish himself at the words, but my heart swelled at the tenderness he showed the dog.

  “I wasn’t watching for anything like that, but he was with me pretty much nonstop,” I said. “I probably would have noticed if he was acting so different from his usual manic-manic disorder.”

  Ben gave an embarrassed laugh. “Right. Helicopter parent—sorry.”

  Don’t apologize. It’s adorable. But I didn’t say it out loud. “If you’re worried about him, I could take him to the vet for you,” I blurted. “I mean…if you’re too busy with work.”

  “Really? I hate to ask, but if you have time…”

  “Of course I will.”

  When he moved close beside me to share Jake’s vet info on his phone, I breathed in his scent—cedar and citrus. We transferred the contact info to my phone, and Ben said he’d call the front desk tomorrow to let them know I was authorized to get treatment for the dog. Too soon he stepped away, and again I pushed myself away from the counter.

  “I’ll leave a key hidden outside for you, so you can pick Jake up and drop him off at your convenience,” Ben said.

  “Sure,” I said nonchalantly, but I was fighting the urge to smile. It wasn’t quite giving me a key to his house, but it still felt…I didn’t know. Like something.