Page 69 of About Last Night

"Derek, Janine's juggling three jobs, and she only comes home to sleep."

He looked at his watch, estimating the time he could be in Atlanta. "Where will she be in three hours?"

"She'll be at the clinic this afternoon and evening. Got a pencil?"

Derek grabbed five.

Chapter 19

JANINE JOGGEDthrough the parking lot toward the clinic—late again. Darn the traffic, she was going to be fired for sure if she didn't find a better shortcut. The commute from the urgent-care center to the clinic was always a bit iffy, but she usually made it on time. This week, however, she'd already clocked in late twice.

By the time she reached the entrance steps, she was winded, and her feet felt like anvils. She groaned under her breath—another twelve flights of concrete stairs awaited her inside. Well, at least her legs were getting stronger, not to mention her bank account. She'd be able to send Mrs. Larsen a respectable amount for the first payment on the ring.

The woman had been doubly devastated, first by the cancellation of the wedding, then by the loss of her mother's ring. Janine had paid her a visit and they had cried together. Mrs. Larsen blamed Steve to some extent because he hadn't properly insured the ring, but Janine knew exactly where the fault lay. She'd insisted on sending regular payments until the appraisal value had been met... all fifty-seven thousand, four hundred dollars of it.

This first month, she'd be paying off the four hundred. Only fifty-seven thousand to go, and at this rate, she'd have it paid off in a little less than eight years. Mrs. Stillman had graciously suspended any interest, probably because she doubted Janine would even make a dent in the principal.

But she absolutely, positively would not only make a dent, Janine promised herself, she would pay off every penny to rid herself of the psychological obligation to Steve Larsen.

If she lived that long, she thought, stopping to flex her calf muscles, stiff from standing all day, and objecting already to the next eight-hour shift ahead of her. After entering the building, she crossed the lobby, then slowed at the elevator bank, noting how quickly the cars seemed to zip through the floors. Maybe she could take the elevator just this once. Her decision was made when the doors to a car slid open. She was the only one waiting, so she stepped inside and quickly located the door-close button, lest the car fill up with big, pushing bodies.

When the door slid closed, she moved to the rear wall in the center and leaned back, grateful for a few seconds of rest, and blocking out the fact that she was in a small, moving box.

She closed her eyes, and as was customary, Derek's face popped into her mind. In the beginning, fresh from Steve's ugliness and suffering under her own guilt, she had squelched all thoughts of Derek as soon as they entered her head. But gradually, she'd come to realize that remembering their times together made her happy, and darn it, she needed a little happiness in her life. At moments like these, she especially felt like indulging.

His smiling brown eyes, his big, gentle hands, his dry sense of humor. She loved him, a feeling so intense she was embarrassed that she'd imagined herself to be in love with Steve. She wondered if she ever crossed Derek's mind.

Suddenly the car lurched to a halt. Her eyes flew open and her heart fell to her aching feet. She waited for a floor to light up and the door to slide open, but the machinery seemed strangely silent. "Oh no," she whispered, her knees going weak. "Oh, please no."

She stumbled to the control panel and stabbed the door-open button, along with several floor buttons, but none of them lit or produced any kind of movement. Hating the implication, she opened the little door on the box that held a red phone, then picked up the handset. Immediately, the operator answered and assured Janine they would have the elevator moving soon. With her chest heaving, she asked that her supervisor be contacted and gave the operator her name. After hanging up the phone, she shrank to the back wall, forcing herself to stare at the blue-carpeted floor, all too aware of the sickly sweet odor in the air that permeated most medical facilities.

She slid down the wall to sit with her legs sprawled in front of her and bowed her head to cry—the worst thing a person could do with the onset of a panic attack imminent. But her stupidity, her broken heart and her exhaustion converged into this moment, and she recognized her body's need for emotional release.

Burying her head in her folded arms, she let the tears flow and pushed at the black walls that seemed to be collapsing around her. Steel bands wrapped around her chest and began to contract, as if they were alive.

She gasped for air. Inhale, exhale. Her life certainly wasn't horrid—she met seriously ill people every day on her jobs who would gladly trade places with her. But she felt so... so cheated to have fallen in love with a man who would forever remember her as a wanton woman with a penchant for trouble. Most of her life she hadn't been overly concerned about what people thought of her. But worrying and wondering what Derek thought of her kept her awake most nights, even when her body throbbed with fatigue.

She knew Marie was worried about her. She'd lost weight and rarely socialized. Most of her free time to date had been consumed with returning gifts with cards of apology. Steve hadmade one spiteful phone call to her the day after she'd talked to his mother about paying for the ring. He'd told her she'd shamed the family, and he would never forgive her for her outrageous behavior. In response, she had suggested that his assistant Sandy might be a more suitable companion, then proceeded to read him the note the woman had left in the gift he'd given her. Steve hadn't called again.

Derek's connection to Steve presented yet another complication she didn't want to pursue, not in this lifetime. The friendship perplexed her—the two men seemed so different.

Her heart raced. She knew she needed to focus on her breathing, but she felt so weak, physically and mentally. Her throat constricted, forcing her to swallow convulsively for relief. A glance at her watch revealed she'd been at a standstill in the elevator for over twenty minutes. She needed to get out. Now. Struggling to her feet, she pounded on the steel doors with as much energy as she could muster. "Help! Can anyone hear me? I have to get out, please... help... me!"

The phone rang, the peal so loud in the small space that she shrieked. She knelt to pick up the handset, her hand trembling, her lungs quivering. "Please... get me... out of here."

"We're working on it, Pinky."

Her sharp inhale turned into a hiccup. "D-Derek?" she whispered.

"I'm in the lobby, and just in time, it seems. You know, this could be a full-time job, getting you out of scrapes."

"But how—"

"We'll have plenty of time to talk later. Right now, you need to relax and breathe."

Just knowing he was out there made her feel even more trapped. She had to get to him, had to explain how things had gotten so messed up. Her chest pumped up and down, like a bellows sucking the air out of her.

"Breathe, Janine, breathe. They'll have you out of there in no time. Don't think about where you are, just concentrate and breathe. Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth."

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