Page 7 of The Love Hoax
“The doctor thinks I broke my leg. I’m so sorry!”
“Sorry? Don’t be sorry. I’ll be right there. Which hospital?”
“No!” Caroline’s sob-to-shout speed is admirable.
“What are you talking about?” I try not to shout back. “I’ll order an Uber right now.”
Caroline’s voice turns firm. “You are getting on that plane, Evie.”
“No chance.”
“I’m not kidding. This is the most adventurous thing you’ve done in years. You are not going to delay it because of me. It’s all paid for and I can’t cancel any of it. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“I can’t just leave you here in the hospital while I’m traipsing through Yosemite. And what makes you think I want to go there alone?” I argue.
“I know you, and you will love it whether I’m with you or not. Paul is here with me so you don’t have to worry.”
Of course, I’ll worry. Caroline has no family. Unless you count Bernard’s children who detest their stepmother, certain she only married their father for his money.
“We’ll go another time once you’ve recuperated. Which hospital?” I ask again.
“If you show up here I will never forgive you. And even if I do forgive you, I won’t talk to you for the next six months. That means no girly workouts, tables at the best restaurants . . . or mojitos.”
I swallow hard. “No mojitos?”
“That’s right . . . Please.” Caroline’s voice breaks. “Please get on the plane.”
I badly want to argue further. But I know it’s no use. Somberly, I ask, “How can I enjoy my trip knowing my best friend is laid up?”
“Because you will know that I’ll be thrilled that you are having the time of your life. Send me lots of photos.”
There seems to be nothing left for me to say.
“All the reservation info is in the email I sent you last night,” Caroline offers.
A tear streaks down my cheek. “Thank you, sweetie. Feel better. I’m going to call you every day, and you better pick up.”
“You got it. Go break a leg,” Caroline quips.
I laugh, sadly, and click off.
Chapter Six
Evie
Iboard the plane with seconds to spare, the gate attendant smiling nervously as I catch my breath. “You made it just in time.”
I show my boarding pass to the flight attendant who leads me past the curtain into first class and lifts my bag into the overhead compartment.
I let out a lungful of air and plop down onto the wide leather seat with tons of legroom, silently blessing Caroline. A little—or a lot—of pampering is more than welcome. My morning has been a disaster.
Across the aisle sits a teenager who doesn’t acknowledge my presence.
Kids today.
I can hear hard rock booming from his earbuds, finding myself more concerned that the child will be deaf by age thirty thanannoyed at having to sit on a five-hour flight with Metallica as background noise.
That’s what motherhood does.
