Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“I’ll do that,” she says, outwardly content to relax and try to figure it out later.
Chapter Thirty-One
I miss Fitz.
I miss Melissa.
Maren and Will.
Evette and Gary.
Living by myself seemed like a good idea. I thought I’d make friends at work. Instead, I have coworkers. Acquaintances. And Edith, who only makes me miss Fitz more. Maybe it’s the monotony of my life. Whatever it is, I feel lonely. And that loneliness makes me think nonstop about Fitz.
“Have you seen Samantha?” Dwight asks while I wait for him to take his medication.
He’s not eating today or interested in his meds. However, he’s more lucid than I have ever seen him. Focused eyes. Clear speech. If he weren’t assuming I’m his wife or daughter, I’d say he no longer belongs here.
I yawn. The couple down the hall from my apartment fought all night. “Who’s Samantha?”
“My sister. Your aunt.”
I guess I’m his daughter today. “I have not seen Samantha.”
“She has the prettiest brown eyes.” He points to the edge of one of his and draws a line down his face. “She has a scar from the corner of her eye to her jawbone.”
I trace the same line from my eye to my cheek.
He nods.
I clear my throat. “Interesting. My mom had a scar there too. How did your sister get hers?”
He squints, confusion creeping into his whole face. “I’m not sure. She’s older than me. I don’t remember it happening.” He rubs his temples.
“You’ve remembered a lot today. I wouldn’t worry about that little detail. Maybe you don’t remember because you were so young when it happened.”
“Did she tell you?”
I hand him his yogurt, hoping he’ll eat now. “No.”
“You should ask her when you see her.” He takes a bite of the yogurt as if on instinct. I’ve found he eats when he’s not forced to focus on his food.
He grins while swallowing. “She used to stutter, so our mom made her take singing lessons. She had an awful voice, but Mom was right. It fixed her stutter.”
What?
A wave of lightheadedness and nausea overtakes me. Did he really say that? “H-here. Take these.” I hand him his pills.
“You’re shaking.” He squints, accepting the pills.
I fist my hand and slide it into the pocket of my pants. “I haven’t eaten today. Can you just”—I nod toward his water—“take them for me, please?”
Dwight frowns but complies. “I’ll take them for you. You’d better go.”
I nod a half-dozen times. Without a goodbye, I stagger toward the bathroom.
“Jamie?” One of the other nurses tries to stop me, but I keep going.
When I reach the toilet, I retch, but nothing comes out. Sweat beads along my forehead. With clammy hands, I pull my hair away from my face.
“Jamie, are you okay?” She rests her hand on my back.
“No.” I grit my teeth, hugging my stomach.
“I’ll get someone to cover. Go home, hon. Do you need me to get you a ride?”
The room spins when I stand upright. My hands reach for the sides of the stall. It’s a coincidence—an improbable coincidence—but not impossible.
“Jamie?”
I shake my head with each wobbly step toward the sink. Turning the cold water on to splash it onto my face.
She hands me a wad of paper towels.
“Thank you.” I blot my face. “I can drive.”
“You sure?”
I nod.
“Okay. Feel better.”
When she leaves me alone, I stare at my reflection; all I see is my mom. I have her brown eyes. My finger slides along my face where she had her scar.
“It can’t be,” I whisper.
As soon as I get to my car, I call Melissa. She doesn’t answer, so I text her.
Jaymes: Call me right away!!!!
Two blocks from the hospital, Melissa calls me.
“Mel—”
“Jesus, is everything all right?” Panic strangles her voice.
“No. I-I don’t know. A patient said something.” I grip the steering wheel tighter to stop my hands from shaking. “He’s the bear guy.” I press the heel of my hand to my chest. My heart won’t stop racing. It doesn’t feel right.
“The bear guy?”
“A bear killed his wife, and he started this huge fire, and he’s thought I’m his wife. Then his daughter—”
“Jaymes, slow down, babe. Breathe.”
I nod. “Breathe. Yes. Breathe.” It’s hard to breathe. I have to figure this out. It doesn’t make sense.
“Where are you?” she asks.
“On my way home.”
“Maybe you should pull over.”
I shake my head. “I-I’m almost there.”
“Why don’t you call me back when you’re at your apartment? Focus on getting there safely. Okay?”
“Yeah. O-okay.”
Just as she disconnects, I slam on my brakes. My seat belt locks.
“Oh my god. Oh my god!” I cover my mouth, gaze affixed to the biker I nearly hit.
He flips me the bird as the car behind me honks. I drive slower than fifteen miles per hour the rest of the way. When I get to my apartment safely, I rest my head on the steering wheel and just breathe.