Page 77 of Electric Blue Love
I didn’t tell her I’d be there. Even the thought of being in the same place as Court had my stomach flipping.
Leika: Say you’ll come. PLEASE? I know things are weird with Court, but I promise to shield you from him if that’s what you want.
I sighed. Was it what I wanted? It was what I probably needed. I vividly remembered the hurt and anger in his eyes the night I’d discovered his father was Dr. Sterling. I didn’t think that was a pain that I could erase so easily with a casual hello at a mutual friend’s party. In truth, I was surprised she’d even invited me. We’d shared a few text messages over the past few months, but I’d known where her loyalty laid. I typed back quickly before I could talk myself out of it. If Leika had invited me, she’d either cleared it with Court or knew he’d be okay. She wouldn’t knowingly inflict pain his direction. Maybe he’d moved on. The idea of that was even more depressing.
Me: I’ll be there.
And so, it was settled. I was finally going to lay eyes on the man who haunted my dreams.
The next afternoon I still reeled from the idea of seeing Court. I’d been late to work, spilled coffee on my dress, and now I was late again.
“I’m here. I made it. I’m sorry I’m late,” I gasped as I jogged up to the front of the hospital, cursing the strappy sandals I’d chosen to wear, where my mom and Donnie stood waiting.
“You’re late,” Donnie said with an annoyed glare and turned, pulling mom with him to the sliding glass doors that would bring us into the main lobby of the hospital.
“I think we already established that,” I grumbled and pushed my purse strap back up to my shoulder.
I’d been accompanying my mom to her therapy twice a week. Even after it was clear Donnie had it covered.
I wasn’t sure what I had expected in terms of therapy, but the exercises were less of the weight machines and yoga I had anticipated from the research I’d done, although she did some of that, but more things like playing ping pong and dancing.
Donnie had taken on the role of my mother’s daily guardian and caretaker with a possessive hold and he took that job seriously. And, unlike the rest of us, he’d been able to make it fun. To make mom feel less like a patient and more like she was out doing something fun with her teenage son. I loved him for that, but it made me feel sad and hopeless at the same time. I’d come back to be of help and to spend more time with her, but it felt like all I did was make her sad and remind her that the disease was progressing.
Donnie and I flanked her to the check in desk, but I stayed back as they entered the therapy floor.
“I’ll just be over here,” I said and pointed to the small waiting area.
My mom gave me a small smile, but Donnie kept his eyes on our mom as he held the door open for her. I watched for a few moments, just let myself see and try and come to grips with what was happening. My mother was sick. The therapy was helping in some ways – she was less stiff, she said she felt more alert, but she wasn’t going to ever be able to hold down a waitressing job or hand stitch the hem of my dresses. Her shaking was sometimes subtle and other times so pronounced I wanted to hold her hands as if I could steady them and make it stop.
On a positive note, my work was going well. They’d even been understanding with my mother’s condition and allowed me to work a somewhat flexible schedule so I could attend her therapy sessions. I hadn’t regretted coming back, which made me feel confident that I’d made the right decision. A master’s degree wasn’t off the table, I was planning on applying at NYU next semester and though I knew it would take more time to do it while holding down a full-time job and helping out with mom, I looked forward to the additional work. Busy hands left less time to stare hopelessly at the pictures of Court that I’d been unable to delete.
Just thinking of him made my fingers itch to pull up his contact information and send him a text, but what could I possibly say? To my knowledge, he hadn’t exposed his father, at least not publicly. I’d kept an eye on the news waiting for the destruction Court might be able to cause the revered doctor with a bombshell of an abandoned son he’d had over thirty years ago when he was barely a teenager.
Each time I typed in the google search bar I half-hoped and half-dreaded the outcome. I knew it cost Court something to keep the past buried and I wondered if he’d ever truly be able to move on until he felt vindicated somehow. I didn’t think exposing his father publicly and putting both their jobs and reputations on the line was the way to go, but I understood the need he felt to right a wrong.
As if I’d materialized him with my thoughts, Dr. Sterling appeared at the reception desk. He spoke quietly with the receptionist as he handed her a stack of papers. When he looked up and caught my stare he gave me a polite nod and a weak smile.
His demeanor toward me had never been as friendly as that first night with Todd. Whether this was just how he was when dealing with a patient’s family or not, I couldn’t guess. Maybe I wore my barely concealed anger at him more flagrantly that I thought. This man was responsible for hurting someone I loved, but also responsible for helping someone else that I loved, and I didn’t know how to wrap my brain around that.
I breathed a sigh of relief when he disappeared from sight only to be taken by surprise when he strode through the door into the waiting area.
“Miss Winters,” he said by way of greeting.
I stood because… well, I didn’t know why. He’d thrown me and put me at a disadvantage and standing made me feel less like a child.
“Hello, Dr. Sterling.”
“I wondered if we could talk for a moment in my office?”
“My mother should be done in about fifteen minutes, should we –”
He shook his head before I could finish. “This isn’t about her care.”
I nodded and swallowed, hoping to dislodge the lump in my throat as I followed him through the door and down a hallway of offices. He stopped at the last room and motioned for me to go in ahead of him. My mind raced through reasons he might want to talk to me and I worried at my lower lip as I sat and watched him round the large, wooden desk in the corner of the room and sit across from me.
“If this is about payment or insurance,” I started thinking back to the mail stack, not able to remember a single bill or insurance claim in the months she’d been under his care.
He lifted a hand. “No, that’s not it.”
