Page 66 of The Healer

The apartment block across from her played a silent tune, switching window lights off and on in a strange synchronicity. The air flowing through her apartment cooled the sweat on her skin without removing the crisp fragrance of the pine freshener. Savoring it all, she thought of Rhys and how addictive his cologne was.

With a shove, she was off the couch to dig her dead phone out of her bag and plug it in to charge. She switched it on and cringed at the litany of pings. Tons of texts from Evie, colleagues, and the one or two ‘friends’ she had retained during med school as well as a missed call from Dr. Olson.

Ilona typed quick texts to Gran to tell her she had arrived, and to Evie letting her know she hadn’t died from a weird pathogen. Tomorrow, after a ‘good’ night’s rest, Ilona would call Olson and discuss her options.

When the starless night sky offered her no comfort, she played out what she had said to the doctor who had interviewed her. Her naïveté and firm belief that the world was a good, decent place had reflected in her serene composure and bright, eager smile. Perched on the edge of the visitor’s chair, she had answered the questions with confidence. What a fool she had been.

With a steaming cup of green tea in hand, she sat on her couch, tucked a leg under her, and stared at the boxes towering in the corner. Since moving in years ago, she had yet to unpack. It made no sense when her choice of hospitals hadn’t been confirmed. Either way, staying for long near Amity was never on the cards. Now, she didn’t have much to pack. And whatever was in those boxes meant nothing to her if she hadn’t touched them. Hell, she couldn’t even remember what she had put in them.

Sighing, she unfurled her limbs, and rose. Placing the untouched tea on the scarred coffee table, she popped the top box open. The smell of home hit her, dust with stale popcorn and cotton candy. A scream raced a sob up her throat, and she unfolded her maroon-gold high school scarf, clutched it to her chest, then slid to the floor on a whimper.

Her wail turned silent, as her shoulders shuddered under grief’s overpowering heaviness. The pain cinched her chest, faltered her breathing, and with a slow mewling, she crumple to the unforgiving tiles.

Part of her wished she could burn everything, stop the onslaught of memories, and remove anything that could trigger it. But the quiet, calm voice of reason whispered she would regret it.

Cool air washed across her damp cheeks, and while suppressing a shiver, she got to her feet, tossed the scarf into the box, and flipped the lid shut. No, she wasn’t ready to deal with any of this. Staying in Coedwig would have been safer but also the coward’s route. A long soak and the familiar scent of her bed called to her.

Running the bath, the testing of the water’s temperature, the sprinkle of wild orchid bath salts, and the laying out of her nightgown was on autopilot. She rested her phone on the edge of the tub, and sank into the water, sighing as it melted the tension from her muscles. Any remnants of her illness faded, and she sank deeper until her chin submerged.

Her phone rang at eight. The unknown prefix on the number said Coedwig. Tempted to shut it off, she raised a finger, hovered for a few seconds on the red button, then touched the green. Gran could be in trouble.

“Lona?”

Hearing Rhys’s baritone comforted her, as if he cared. She tried to shove that down, but it bubbled to the surface. Memories of his blue eyes, broad shoulders, and dimpled smile fluttered her heartbeat.

“I didn’t think you would answer.” The pain in his voice shouldn’t affect her like it did, shouldn’t lash guilt across her.

Touching her cheek disturbed the water, but she ignored the surging waves and traced the scar with a gentle finger. She was as much a fool as he was. To think he could shift his affections for Callie to Ilona, or for her to hope he wouldn’t see her scar, that he might like her, the ex-doctor, and the wounded woman she now was?

Foolish. “Hello, Rhys.”

His breath caught. “Fuck, I love your voice.”

His rumbled with a sexual tension her body recognized. Heat infused her cheeks, and she clenched her thighs to ease the new ache burning between them.

He cleared his throat. “You got home all right?”

She nodded, then sighed, realizing he couldn’t see her. “Yes, I texted Gran.” Trailing an invisible pattern on the porcelain tub, she left the implication unsaid. He meant nothing to her, and therefore, didn’t deserve a text.

“She said so. Where are you now?”

So, Gran had chosen sides? Ilona gritted her teeth, ready to phone the woman and lambaste her.

“At my apartment. I’ve yet to visit my parents’ house to deal with the mountain of packing awaiting me. I’ll start in the morning, maybe with the kitchen.” She shivered. Holding the least amount of memorabilia, it seemed the safest.

“Wise.” An awkward silence fell, peppered only by his breathing. Still, she could listen to him all night. “You could get an auction house to pack up what you don’t want.”

She sat up, splashing water over the sides and smiled at the suggestion. “Good idea. What will I do with two toasters?”

The company could pack up her apartment too. A storage locker somewhere was an option. The expense would be negligible. The thick down blanket, a layer of pink insulation, and several meters of fog surrounded her heart. The thought of navigating that, tearing it open to sift through her parents’ stuff and her pre-scar life, drained the energy from every cell in her body.

“Have you eaten?”

It was sweet of him to ask, but whether she had or not, there was nothing he could do about it.

“No, not hungry. I did have a green tea.” The untouched, now-cooled tea sat on the coffee table where she had left it.

“You’d be happy to know, the scientists are recovering well.”

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