Page 83 of The Doctor's Truth

That makes her smile. My heart leaps.

I pull us up the driveway. My mother is waiting for us. She’s bundled up in an olive-green coat, thick mittens, and a scarf around her face. Even from the car, I can tell her cheeks are rosy. How long has she been standing in the cold waiting for us?

She eagerly waves a gloved hand as I park the car in the driveway and kill the engine.

The three of us step out, and the first thing I do is scoop my mom in a quick hug. She’s too short and I’m too tall, which worked out for me in high school when I could easily avoid her embarrassing gestures of affection. Now, I have to bend down to press a small kiss to the side of her face and tell her, “Happy New Year.”

“Oh, Happy New Year, my darling. It’s so good to see you.”

Her grip is always too tight, and it hurts in a way I can’t describe. Since her kids flew the nest, she doesn’t have a lot to hold on to, and my dad is crap at emotional support.

I make a mental note to push him to get a dog.

“Come on in!” she says. “It’s freezing!”

We all head inside. It’s warm in here and brightly lit. I can smell the cooking from the kitchen—notes of roasted vegetables and onion lingering in the air.

My dad stands in the foyer, lips pressed in a thin smile. I nod to him. “Happy New Year.”

He nods back. This is as close as we’ll get all night.

“I brought some friends—you guys remember Kenzi?” I put both hands on Kenzi’s shoulders to take her coat.

“My uh…mom used to be married to Terry Blake. We were here a few years ago.”

“Oh! Yes!” My mom clasps her hands excitedly, even though I can tell by her glassy stare that she doesn’t recall Kenzi at all. “Of course—how is your mother doing now?”

“Fine, actually…”

“Donovan.” My father clasps Donovan’s hand. “Always good to see you, son.”

Donovan shakes his hand. “You too, Mr. King.”

I’m not going to lie—the way my father looks at Donovan?

It’s with pride. It’s the son-I-never-had look.

And it stings. For reasons that feel like taffy on my molars.

Can’t win them all.

But I’ve got to admit—as someone who always had top grades, the best time on the swim team, the best everything, it’s hard to come second place in the eyes of my own father.

That’s a burn you can’t fix.

“I’m glad your friends could join us,” my father says. There’s something behind his tone, however, like a razor blade between the teeth. I can’t place it. And then he continues. “We had a surprise guest stop in. She’ll be joining us for dinner as well.”

“Who—?” I start, but then the glass doorway to the back patio slides open, and she steps inside.

My tongue rolls down my throat. My testicles retreat into my body. My toenails recede into my skin.

“Nadine,” I say, and the word cracks between my teeth like a tasteless, unsalted cracker.

When Nadine smiles, it’s with all of her teeth. “So nice to see you,” she says, addressing the crowd like a politician. When she sees me, her gaze flickers over me, from head to toe. “All of you.”

“Oh, no,” Donovan groans audibly. “The wicked bitch of the west.”

When he notices us all starting at him, he blinks.

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