Page 49 of Nine Months to Bear
And just like that, I’m off and running. I shouldn’t be, but I am.
I shouldn’t be thinking about his hands on my skin, but I am.
I shouldn’t be replaying the sound of his voice on the phone last night, the purr, the husk, but even though I’m in the middle of a posh brunch restaurant, that’s exactly what I’m thinking of.
That call.God.
It lasted three minutes at most. Yet, after hanging up, I spent hours staring at my ceiling, the sheets twisted around my legs, my body a minefield of need bombs, each exploding one after the next. Burning me up from the inside out solely because I’d heard his voice, remembered the weight of him above me, the taste of him on my tongue.
Come to think of it, I might be in a lot of trouble.
A sharp nudge jerks me back to reality. “Look up,” my mother whispers, her smile frozen in place. “Look who’s just arrived.”
I blink out of my heated thoughts… just as Rebecca Walsh materializes at our table uninvited.
21
OLIVIA
Rebecca wears a white pantsuit that is just begging to be covered in my mimosa. Her silver hair is cut in a blunt bob that frames her face. It’s pretty, in a cold, distant, violent sort of way. Like how knives can be pretty.
“Margaret! What a delightful surprise.” Her gaze shifts to me. “And Olivia. How lovely.”
We’ve spent the last three years artfully avoiding one another. I know she follows me as closely as I do her, but we outwardly pretend we don’t know anything about each other.
Until now.
My mother’s smile is tight, but just this side of friendly. “My daughter and I were just catching up.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to intrude on mother-daughter time,” Walsh says with false modesty, even as she slides into the empty chair.
“Nonsense. We’ve barely started.” My mother signals for another mimosa. “How is everything at the center? I heard your expansion plans are moving forward.”
We should be stoning Walsh after what she did to me, but my mother would never burn a professional bridge. The sharp look she throws my way seems to say,Friends close, enemies closer, darling.
Walsh beams. “Beautifully. The new wing breaks ground next month. We’ll have twice the capacity by fall.”
“Wow, that’s fast,” I comment. She has enough funding to fast-track an expansion; meanwhile, I’m barely keeping the lights on. It’s a miracle that my voice remains plausibly neutral, because inside, I’m burning up with envy.
No, scratch that. It isn’t jealousy burning on the back of my tongue.
It’srage.
“Efficiency is everything in our field,” she replies with a proud look. “My patients can’t afford to wait.”
She places special emphasis onmy patientsthat lets me know she’s talking aboutmypatients. All the people who have fled my clinic for her bottom-of-the-barrel rates.
“Speaking of patients,” my mother interjects, “that speech you gave at the symposium last week was brilliant, Rebecca.”
I hide my grimace behind my water glass. At this rate, I’m gonna need to find a potted plant to puke in.
“Thank you, Margaret. It’s simply about surpassing expectations. Over-deliver, and they stay loyal.” Walsh turnsto me with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “How is your little clinic doing, Olivia? Still in that charming converted townhouse?”
I clench my teeth. “We’re selective about growth. Quality over quantity, as the kids say, right?”
I hate myself as soon as I let out the high-pitched little laugh that follows. I hate everything about this, actually. I want off this ride.
Walsh’s own laugh is bell-like and flawless. “Such a luxury these days. Though I imagine with your new… connection…” Her eyes flick to the newspaper. “Well, perhaps resources might become less of a concern soon?”
