“I called from a payphone. I don’t want you tracing this.”
“It’s 2017—where did you find a payphone?”
“That’s irrelevant. Listen, we haven’t seen each other in a long time, and I wanted to break the ice. I don’t want things to get ugly tomorrow.”
“I don’t have any clue what you’re talking about. I’m looking forward to working together, Lucas.”
“Y’know, after all these years, I can still tell when you’re lying—but it doesn’t matter. This is your chance to bow out, Daisy. Gracefully. You can tell everyone you got another job.”
“You’ll be the one bowing, Lucas, when Dr. McCormick sees the mistake he’s made in hiring you.”
“Not likely.”
“I’m going to bring him snickerdoodles. Dr. McCormick loves snickerdoodles.”
“We’re going golfing on Saturday and I’m going to let him win.”
“You hate losing.”
“Only to you.”
“Well then the next few months won’t be very pleasant for you.”
“Are you done? I’m about to have to put in another quarter.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t call collect and make me pay.”
I think I hear him chuckle, but it could be a crackle from the ancient payphone.
“I’ll see you in the morning then, Dr. Bell.”
I open my mouth, but then decide to end the call without dignifying him with a response.
Not if I see you first.
Chapter Three
It was a shock to no one that Lucas and I both took the pre-med track in college. What career path is worth pursuing more than medicine? Perhaps law, but neither of us had enjoyed the mock trials we suffered through in Ms. Pace’s ninth grade history class. The only reason we’d put any effort into it at all was because we were pitted against one another, opposing counsel. I’d won, offering up a closing argument so good Atticus Finch would have been proud. Ms. Pace had consumed a heroic amount of Excedrin that year.
Our senior year of high school, Lucas was offered a full ride to Stanford. Duke extended me the same. The fact that our universities were on opposite coasts further cemented our choices. In fact, I’d have gone all the way to New Zealand if they had offered me a full ride.
After I moved away for college, information about Lucas was only offered up by Madeleine. We had an unspoken rule wherein I never asked about him and she brought him up often, as if I cared what he was doing with his life. She was the one to tell me when he was visiting home so I could stagger my visits. Once I confirmed that Lucas was away, I’d return home in short, anxiety-ridden bursts. The idea of him popping up in our small town at any time made it impossible to enjoy the holidays.
Due to my careful planning and Madeleine’s incredibly detailed calendar, I haven’t seen Lucas in 11 years, not even in photos. I don’t use Facebook. One night in college, I decided I didn’t need the distraction any longer and disabled my account. Sure, earlier that same night Lucas had been tagged in a photo with a pretty blonde at a winter formal at Stanford, but that was unrelated to my decision. It really is a stupid website.
The fact that I’m going to come face to face with Lucas after so many years apart makes it impossible to sleep, so I don’t bother. I get out of bed at the crack of dawn and get ready for work. My outfit—fitted gray cigarette pants, black blouse, and matching ballet flats—is professional, but also comfortable enough for a long day filled with appointments. Once my hair and makeup are done, I ride my bike the short distance to Hamilton Brew. The coffee shop is right across the street from the office and I have a perfect vantage point to watch for when Lucas arrives. I think it’s important that I see him before he sees me; I want every advantage I can get.
The barista brings me two coffees (one for me and one for Dr. McCormick) and makes a joke about my morning read: The American Journal of Medicine. It’s no Cosmo, but the articles will distract me for a little while. My heart is racing and I haven’t even had caffeine yet. I blame it on my bike ride.
“Daisy Bell, is that you?”
I turn and stare up into the face of a girl I haven’t seen since my high school graduation.
“Hannah?” I toss out hopefully. Without Facebook, I have to rely on my memory.
She beams and I know I’m right.
“How are you?” she asks, stepping closer with a big, confident smile.
I nod. “I’m good, yeah. How about you?”
I see her diamond-studded hand rubbing her very pregnant belly.
“I’m good. Eight months along and not really sleeping much at the moment.”
That’s why she’s at the coffee shop at a time usually reserved for shift workers and crazy doctors staking out their nemeses.
“Congratulations, you look great.”
She rolls her eyes in disbelief.
“Well that’s polite of you to say. Todd says I’ve never looked better, but I think he’s just saying—”
“Todd Buchanan?!”
She nods with a laugh. “The same! We got married a few years back.”
I feel like I’ve stepped into the twilight zone. My classmates are getting married and having children. I’m 28 and have never declared my love for a significant other. My biggest commitment so far is buying a Roomba. How is this possible? How am I so behind?
“That’s great,” I croak.