Megan ‘I know where you work now.
Call me.
Or come see me.
There’s a motel off Route 17, about an hour from your hospital.
We’re staying there for two days.
If you don’t come, I’ll find you myself.
And this time, Megan, I won’t just find your number.’ My mouth dried up.
I sat in my office, staring at the message while gripping my phone too strongly.
The screen went dark, still the phone remained in my hand and my eyes on it.
Of course she has found me.
I was not a fool.
I knew she would, but I had hoped for a few more years.
Maybe a couple more.
A few more months?
Geez, I’d even take a couple more weeks.
That would make me lucky.
With my mother, I was never lucky.
Finally able to, I set the phone facedown on my desk, and continued to stare at it.
Four years.
Four whole years I’d managed to put that life behind me, managed to put her behind me, yet somehow, she had resurfaced and was asking—demanding—that I go see her.
Her invitation was a threat after all.
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.
Why was my life like this?
Why couldn’t things ever work out for me?
Last night had been good.
It had been more than good.
It had been perfect.
For the first time since I could remember I had slept over at a friend’s place.
I had seen a movie, had shared the warmth of a blanket with someone else and had fallen asleep between two women I’d known for barely any time, in a comfort that I had not worked for, or earned.
Maybe that was the problem.
I got complacent and my past came calling to remind me that I must not wish for more.
That I was better alone and that I should have stayed alone.
And I had!
Until Riley.
She had forced her way into my life with a crutch, a sarcastic mouth, and absolutely no respect for personal boundaries.
I’d finally dared to be happy and the joykiller returned.
It wasn’t fair.
This was not fair!
I opened my eyes.
The white walls of the office closed in around me.
My desk had open patient files and a half-empty cup of coffee.
The bottom corner of my computer screen was blinking, notifying me of a message.
I didn’t check.
I didn’t want to check.
Instead, my eyes dropped to the shirt I was wearing.
Riley’s shirt.
All three of us had woken up late that morning, later than we were supposed to.
Of course it was expected after the night we had.
I was already very late for my shift and the crick in my neck had not been helpful.
I never intended to really wear Riley’s shirt even though she had mentioned it the night before, but lateness and pride did not go hand-in-hand sometimes.
She had insisted strongly, so I’d ended up in a simple navy shirt, one that fit surprisingly well, my pants from last night, and a pair of flats she’d insisted I take.
I was beautiful in it.
I felt beautiful in it.
It was all useless now.
Now, every joy in me, every energy I’d used to work since I got in had been siphoned out by her message.
How had she ruined my almost perfect life, you ask?
Simple.
She had reached out.
I knew what she wanted.
Money.
It was always money.
I thought of my bank account.
I could afford to give her something even though that wasn’t the point.
She’d finally found me, there was no way she’d leave empty-handed.
If I dared to ignore her, she could show up at the hospital.
I couldn’t risk that.
There had never been a winning choice with her.
Only choices that hurt less.
The afternoon shift was already busy and I couldn’t just disappear, but I couldn’t stay either.
I replaced my hospital coat with my jacket and left my office.
Michael was sitting at the nurse’s station typing something into a computer when I passed by.
“I’m going out for a moment, Michael.
If Dr Peterson asks, tell him his file is on my desk.
I’ve finished it.” He didn’t look up.
“Don’t you think it’s high time you told him to start writing up his own reports?” I would have agreed if I wasn’t in such a hurry.
“By the way, Dr Locke asked about you this morning.
Just before you came in.
He was passing coffee around after his shift.” That was not my current worry.
I nodded, walking on.
Fast.
The hospital doors opened, and the warm afternoon sunlight hit my face.
It was painfully bright, but it didn’t melt the dread inside me.
A cab pulled up when I raised my hand and I slid into the back seat.
“Where to, ma’am?” I pulled out my phone.
The motel’s address was still in the message.
My stomach tightened.
“Um… Maple Ridge Motor Inn,” I said quietly.
“Off Route 17 in Paramus, New Jersey.” The driver nodded and pulled into traffic.
Slowly, New York disappeared behind us as I made my way to the woman I had evaded for four years.
*** I knocked on the door of the motel room and waited.
For a few seconds, there was nothing.
Then I heard movement.
A lock turned and the door pulled open.
I swallowed bitterly when the face of the woman who had been a constant pain in my life turned up.
She looked older than I remembered.
Not old though, just tired and sleep deprived.
Her hair, the same light blond I remembered, was unkempt and pulled into a careless knot, with strands falling around her face.
Her skin was dull, her lips were cracked, and there were shadows beneath her eyes, and wrinkles along the sides.
But her gaze was exactly the same.
Mean, hard and glazed over.
“Well, well.
If it isn’t the great Doctor Holt,” she mocked, stepping aside to let me in.
I entered.