His Other Life

Chapter 2

TWO

GEMMA

March, three years ago

“Cher!” Gemma lifted the pile of junk mail that was gathering on the kitchen counter then glanced into her aunt’s handbag while simultaneously opening the kitchen drawer where pens and rubber bands went to die. No car keys.

“Cher!” she yelled again, aiming her call toward the bedroom at the far end of the narrow hallway in the small apartment they shared. “I need to get to work. Where the hell are the keys?”

When she still didn’t receive an answer, she let out a frustrated groan and hurried to the bedroom. She knocked on the door but only for show, opening it without waiting for a response.

The room was dark, only lit by the muted morning light seeping in from behind the blinds, and the air smelled stale from cigarettes even though her aunt insisted she always smoked out the window. She was still sleeping, wrapped in both a comforter and a threadbare blanket.

“Cheryl.” Gemma shook her aunt’s shoulder.

“Wha…?” her aunt mumbled from the depths of the cocoon.

“Do you have my car keys? I’m running late for work, and I can’t find them.”

“On the counter.”

“No.” Gemma tried to control the irritation in her voice. “I’ve checked there. And in your purse. And in the drawer. Come on. Wake up.” She shook her again.

Cheryl flicked down the top corner of the blankets. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, why can’t a body get some peace around here?” Yesterday’s mascara clung to the soft bags beneath her eyes as she blinked up at Gemma. “If they’re not in the kitchen, then I don’t know.”

Gemma looked around the room, ignoring the half-full bottle of brandy that always sat on the nightstand. “What did you wear to work last night? Maybe you put them in your pocket?”

“I don’t know.” Cheryl closed her eyes again but waved a finger in the direction of the chair in the corner. “Maybe over there.”

Gemma stepped over a pair of jeans and several mismatched shoes that littered the floor. Her aunt’s jacket was slung on top of a pile of laundry. Fingers crossed, she felt around in its pockets, her shoulders easing as she clasped cool metal. There. Finally.

“Thanks. See you later,” she hollered as she ran down the hallway and out the door without waiting for a response.

She would definitely be late today, and she’d promised her boss last time that it wouldn’t happen again. But this was the deal she’d made with her aunt when her ex, Yuri, had taken off with that “catalogue model” and left Gemma without a place to live six months ago. She could have the spare room in Cheryl’s apartment that she’d once stayed in as a teenager, and Cheryl could use Gemma’s car to get to her waitressing job in the evenings. It was a good deal. Most of the time.

A silver Mercedes cut her off as she was about to merge onto the off ramp on the freeway, and without thinking, she laid on the horn. God, people were so on edge, especially with all the uncertainties around the new virus. The dental office she worked at had already cancelled most routine check-ups while awaiting further instructions, but there was still no shortage of patients who needed to be seen. Aches and pains, cracked fillings, cavities, denture care—those kinds of issues didn’t go away just because state leaders had told people to minimize contact with each other.

Gemma accelerated through a yellow light then slowed to make a right at the next intersection. Her first appointment wasn’t until nine thirty, so even though she was supposed to be at work by nine, if she was lucky, no one would notice.

She parked behind the building and jogged across the parking lot, taking care not to slip on the patchy ice left from the latest snowfall. Air laced with antiseptics and vinyl gloves washed over her when she opened the door.

She kept her head down as she went through the back entrance, hoping nobody else would be in the staff room but having no such luck.

“Traffic again?” Wendy, the receptionist, asked, coming out of the bathroom. She didn’t say it in an unfriendly way, but Gemma still blushed.

“Something like that. Is he in yet?” By “he” she meant Dr. Richards.

“Yup. In the office.”

Typical . Gemma hurried to change into her scrubs, wash up, and don the new masks and goggles they’d been provided. They gave her headaches and left deep marks across her nose, but she wasn’t about to complain. After starting as a dental assistant at twenty, she had put herself through school to advance into a dental hygienist role over the past several years. Now at twenty-seven, she knew how lucky she was to have a stable, daytime job that she’d likely be able to stay and grow in for the rest of her career, especially after having seen her mom struggle when she was younger. There was no doubt in Gemma’s mind that her mom working three jobs to pay the bills had been a contributing factor to the heart attack that had prematurely ended her life when Gemma was in high school.

When she was done changing, she reviewed the schedule, made sure her room was set up, and took a steadying breath. She’d talk to Cheryl after work today. They’d designate a hook by the door for the keys, and the problem would be solved.

“Ah, Gemma.” Dr. Richards paused by her chair. “I didn’t see you before. We might have to get you a new watch.” He chuckled to himself at the joke.

She was lucky he was such an easy-going man.

“Sorry. My aunt was, um, not feeling well.” It was only half a lie. She did need to talk to her about her drinking too. It was just that it was difficult to shift roles around like that. At one point, Cheryl had been the adult, the caretaker, and Gemma her ward. Now, more and more, Gemma felt like the responsible one.

“Oh no. I’m sorry to hear that,” Dr. Richards said.

Gemma pretended to be busy with the tray on her counter. “It’s okay.”

“Ready for our nine thirty?”

“Is he here?”

“Should be any minute. You can get started and let me know when he’s ready for me.”

The day passed in a blur of patients, but as always, Gemma appreciated that “busy” rarely translated to “stressed” in this office. The first practice she’d worked at as a junior dental assistant had been very different. Disorganized, with strong personalities, and a high turnover. She’d only lasted a year there.

Consequently, when Gemma returned from her late lunch and was met with the din of voices reaching the staff room, she popped her head into reception to ask what was going on.

“Oh yes, you’ve missed quite a hoopla. We had a walk-in,” Wendy said. “Terrified, poor guy. I think he just agreed to some gas, so hopefully things will calm down.”

Gemma still had another half hour until her next patient, so she sought out Dr. Richards to see if there was anything she could do, thinking her goodwill would make up for her tardiness.

She caught the doctor’s attention over the walk-in, who was now settled in his chair breathing hard into the nose cone.

Dr. Richards lit up when he spotted her. “I’ll be right back,” he said to the patient. “We’ll get you taken care of before long. Are you comfortable?”

The man nodded.

The doctor joined Gemma outside the room and lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t normally ask, but we’re short-staffed today. Do you have time to assist on this?” He cocked his head toward the patient. “He has a cracked tooth and needs a crown, but he’s been putting it off for some time. Not a fan of the likes of me.”

Gemma checked the time on the clock above them. “I have a while until my next one, so that should be okay.”

“Great. You’re the best at settling nerves of anyone here. Why don’t you talk to him and see if you can get the anesthesia going?”

Gemma nodded. No problem. She’d done this a thousand times before.

She entered the room where the guy lay flat. “Hi there. I’m Gemma, and I’ll be taking care of you today. How are we feeling?”

“Hmpf,” the guy said through the nose cone.

Gemma reached for it and moved it off his face. “I understand you’ve got a painful tooth.”

His eyes met hers, wide and soulful. He had an angular and symmetric face, straight teeth behind full lips, and thick, dark blond hair. Good-looking guy. Instinctively, she glanced at his left hand. Married. Of course.

“I’m in town for work and I haven’t been able to chew for the past few days. It’s starting to affect my sleep.” His speech was slightly slurred from the gas, but that didn’t obscure the pleasant rasp in it. “But I just hate going to the dentist.” He said it with such emphasis that she had to smile.

“You and a million other people,” she said, prepping the numbing gel. “I promise we’ll take good care of you. I’ll be here the whole time, and if at any point you want a break, you can raise your hand, like so.” She demonstrated by lifting his forearm off the chair.

“Will it hurt a lot?”

“A little sting from the injection perhaps, but with the nitrous, I doubt you’ll notice.”

He nodded then faced the lamp again. “Okay. I trust you.”

Always good to hear. “Here, take the nose cone again. A few deep breaths.” She helped him then instructed him to open his mouth. “Ready?”

“Mm,” he said.

Ten minutes later, he was well numbed up, and Dr. Richards got started with the tooth.

Gemma’s next patient was a no-show, and since the guy in the chair had her hand clasped so tightly in his, she didn’t have the heart to move. When Dr. Richards finally announced they were ready for the temporary cap, her whole arm had fallen asleep.

Cap on, bib off, chair up, and then Gemma got her first vertical look at the guy. Yup, he was as cute as she’d thought, even with a drop of spittle still stuck to his cheek.

“You’ve got a little something…” She pointed, handing him a tissue.

“Oh thanks.” He wiped his mouth then touched the numbed-up quadrant of his face gingerly. “How long will it be like this?”

“A couple of hours at least so be careful if you eat anything. And the temporary crown might still be sore after.”

He blew out a sharp breath. “That was pretty intense.”

She smiled. “You did great.”

“Thanks to you.” He tried to reciprocate her expression, but only half of his face complied, resulting in a crooked grimace.

Before she could object to his compliment, Dr. Richards returned. “All right, Mr. Gallagher. That should do it for today. If you’ll still be in town in two weeks, you should ask the front desk to get you on the schedule for the permanent crown. Any questions?”

“No, don’t think so.” He stood and accepted his coat when Gemma handed it to him. “Thanks, doc.”

Gemma saw him out to the reception area, where she made sure he had Wendy’s attention.

“Take care of that tooth,” she said.

“You too.” As soon as he’d spoken, his face twisted with a self-deprecating squint. “I mean, have a good evening. Yeesh.”

Her smile lingered as she walked back into the clinic. Such a nice guy, Mr. Gallagher, antipathy against her profession notwithstanding.

Why oh why were the good ones always taken?