Page 68 of What Matters Most

More from habit than anything, Abby brushed her teeth and dressed. Coffee didn’t help. And the tall glass of orange juice tasted like tomato, but she didn’t open her eyes to investigate.

Half an hour later, she let herself into the clinic. The phone was already ringing.

“Morning.” Cheryl Hansen, the receptionist, smiled at Abby before answering the call.

Abby returned the friendly gesture with a weak smile of her own.

“You look like the morning after a wild-and-crazy night,” Cheryl said as Abby hung her jacket in the room off the reception area.

“It was wild and crazy, all right,” Abby said after an exaggerated yawn. “But not the way you think.”

“Another late night with Logan?”

Abby’s eyes widened. “No!”

“Tate, then?”

“No. Unfortunately.”

“I’m telling you, Ab, keeping track of your love life is getting more difficult all the time.”

“I haven’t got a love life,” she murmured, unable to stop yawning. Covering her mouth, Abby moved to the end of the long hallway.

The day didn’t get any better. By noon, she recognized that she couldn’t possibly attend tonight’s class with Logan. For one thing, she was too tired to concentrate on painting theory and technique. For another, as soon as he saw her troubled expression, he’d know immediately that she was deceiving him and seeing Tate again. And something she didn’t need today was another confrontation with Logan. She didn’t want to hurt him. But more than that—she didn’t want to lie to him.

On her way back from lunch, Abby decided to call his office. Her guilt grew heavier at the pleasure in his voice.

“Abby! What’s up?”

“Hi, Logan.” She groaned inwardly. “I hope you don’t mind me phoning you like this.”

“Not at all.”

“I’m not feeling well.” She paused, her hand tightening around the receiver. “I was thinking that maybe it’d be best if I skipped class tonight.”

“What’s wrong?” His genuine concern was nearly her undoing. “You weren’t well on Friday, either.”

Did he really believe her excuse on Friday evening, which had been nothing but a way of avoiding him?

“You must be coming down with something,” he said.

“I think so.” Like a terminal case of cowardice, her mind shot back.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“It isn’t necessary. Not yet. But I thought I’d stay home again tonight and go to bed early,” Abby mumbled, feeling more wretched every second.

“Do you need me to do anything for you?” His voice was laced with gentleness.

“No,” she assured him quickly. “I’m fine. Really. I just thought I’d nip this thing in the bud and take it easy.”

“Okay. But promise me that if you need anything, you’ll call.”

“Oh sure.”

Abby felt even worse after making that phone call. By the time she returned to her apartment late that afternoon, her excuse for not attending her class had become real. Her head was throbbing unmercifully, her throat felt dry and scratchy, and her stomach was queasy.

With her fingertips pressing her temple, Abby located the aspirin in the bathroom cabinet and downed two tablets. Afterward she lay on the sofa, the phone beside her, head propped up with a soft pillow, and closed her eyes. She didn’t open them when the phone rang, and she scrabbled around for it blindly.

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