Page 79 of A Line in the Sand
But her tears kept falling, like pearls slipping from a string.
“I quit,” she said, and then she turned to leave.
“Wait, Molly.” Panic propelled Max forward. He couldn’t lose her. He wasn’t so much concerned about their jobs as he was the rest of their lives.For as long as we both shall live.“Don’t go. Please.”
But Molly didn’t hear him. No one did, because Opal Lewinsky had just clutched her chest and sank lifelessly to the ballroom floor.
Chapter 20
An hour and a half later, Molly sat beside Max on a stiff vinyl sofa in an emergency waiting room at the hospital in Wilmington.
She couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with her hands. They felt absurdly useless and empty in the absence of Ursula’s warm, soft form. Yesterday…the day before…a week before, she would have reached for Max and woven her fingers through his. But she couldn’t do that now, not after everything that had just transpired at the ball. After every terrible thing they’d said to each other.
It was surreal how quickly the magical environment in the ballroom fell away after Opal collapsed. The music stopped, replaced by the piercing, shrill sound of an emergency alarm. Before Molly could make sense of what was happening, Griff was telling everyone to stand back in his most somber firefighter voice while Sam bent over Opal with his fingertips pressed to the inside of her wrist, checking for a pulse.
Molly had never felt so helpless in her life—nor had she ever felt more alone. The inches between her and Max may as well have been a chasm. The only thing worse had been sitting silently beside him in the Jeep as they followed the ambulance across the bridge, all the way to Wilmington. And now this…here, sharing a couch so tiny that Max’s leg brushed against hers every time he moved, sending jolts of awareness zinging through her despite about a dozen layers of floaty princess tulle.
“Here, sweetheart.” Larry Sims loomed over her, holding a steaming cup of hospital coffee toward her. “It’s no fancy latte from Turtle Books, but you look like you could use a little boost.”
“Thank you.” Molly took the paper cup and let it warm her hands. She couldn’t seem to stop shivering. Why were hospitals always so unbearably cold?
Max unfolded himself from the couch, shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and bent to wrap it around Molly’s shoulders. She took a sharp inhale. Having his face so close to hers was just too much to bear. She started to tell him she was fine, but when his eyes fixed with hers the look on his face told her not to argue.
The warmth of his body clung to the silk lining of his jacket, and she had to stop herself from closing her eyes and burrowing inside it as if it was a blanket fort. Instead, she let herself breathe in his familiar, beachy scent—sea-salt breeze and sun-kissed musk. It made her think of stars glittering above the surf, tiny sea turtles making their way to water, and being kissed under a midnight sky. Memories that had seeped into her mind, her bones, her heart.
She couldn’t do this. She moved to shrug out of the jacket, but before she could get it off, a man in scrubs and a white coat started walking toward them. A stethoscope was draped over his neck and DR. TROY REESE was stitched onto his coat in neat blue lettering.
He stopped when he got to the section of the waiting room that had been overtaken by Opal’s nearest and dearest. Mavis and Ethel sat on the sofa opposite Molly and Max, still wearing their prim white gloves from the ball. Larry hovered nearby, ready to bolt for tissues or coffee or whatever anyone needed.
The doctor looked down at the chart in his hands. “Hello, I’m looking for some friends of Opal Lewinsky’s. Are any of you Molly Prince and Max Miller?”
Molly went still. Was this good news or bad? Did he want to talk to her and Max because he thought Mavis and Ethel were too old and fragile to handle whatever he needed to say?
Max held up a finger. “That’s us.”
Us.
Molly’s throat squeezed shut.
“Great. If you’ll follow me, Opal would like to speak to you both.”
That sounded promising, at least. Clearly Opal was alive and conscious. Molly flew to her feet. Max’s tuxedo jacket fell from her shoulders and landed on the sofa in a whisper of fine Armani wool.
They followed the doctor down a long sterile hall, toward the bustling ER, divided into makeshift rooms with curtain dividers. Max started to place his hand on the small of her back like he’d done in the ballroom, but stopped short of actually touching her. The sliver of space between his palm and the delicate mesh bodice of her ball gown hummed with electricity.
“Here we are.” Dr. Reese pulled one of the curtains open to reveal Opal sitting up in bed against three pillows.
Her ruffled gown was spread neatly over her legs and her white gloves were folded into a perfect square on her lap. She didn’t appear to have encountered a recent medical emergency at all. In fact, Molly was pretty certain she was rocking a fresh coat of lipstick.
“Opal.” Max smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way Molly loved so much, and she had to look away. “It’s great to see you looking so well.”
“Definitely.” Molly took what felt like her first full breath since Opal had passed out. “But I don’t understand. What happened? Are you okay?”
“I had a heart attack,” Opal said.
At the same time, Dr. Reese looked up from his chart and shrugged. “There’s nothing whatsoever wrong with Ms. Lewinsky.”
Molly glanced back and forth between doctor and patient. Dr. Reese shot a pointed look in Opal’s direction.
