5. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Layne
I watched Doctor Keller’s expression as he stared at the monitor next to him while moving the ultrasound scanner over my belly. The gel and device felt as cold on my skin as the sterile hospital air cloaking us. Overhead, neon lights gave off a soft glow, burning my corneas.
“I bet you know your BMI,” he said without looking at me.
My brain scrambled for the meaning of those three letters. Body Mass Index, or something. “Um, no.”
Why on earth would I know that? And what did this question have to do with my intestines?
He continued moving the scanner around, gaze fixed on the screen. “Do you even have friends?” he asked after a while.
I frowned. Friends? What kind of question was that?
Oooh, wait. I bet he thought I was mentally ill. That I had some kind of eating disorder. Hence the BMI question.
I wanted to tell him to stay in his lane, which was looking at my gut and intestines and telling me if something was wrong. What was going on in my brain was none of his business. Why did the doctors always think it was a mental problem when the lab results came back negative? I didn’t have an eating disorder. Yes, I watched what I ate, but that was because ever since I had gotten ME six years ago, my digestion had been a mess, and I now suffered from numerous intolerances. That’s why I was here.
“Do my imaginary friends count?” I asked.
Dr. Keller’s gaze snapped to me. He blinked, then slowly turned back to the monitor.
“I do have some friends, real ones,” I said to help the poor guy recover from his shock, grinning inwardly at his reaction.
And to stop him from sending me to a nuthouse.
In fact, I used to have friends all over the globe—a perk of being a former professional climber and competing in different countries on every continent. I probably used to have more friends than this guy, if he acted the same off the clock. Unfortunately, a lot of those relationships had waned after I’d become sick. Some of my closest friends had walked away because they didn’t understand why I constantly had to cancel plans.
“Well, Miss Rhyner, it looks like everything’s fine.” Doctor Keller removed the scanner from my abdomen and wiped the remaining gel away with a paper towel.
“Great,” I muttered, as I sat up and pulled my T-shirt down. I had known the answer before I’d even laid down on this examination table. That’s how it was with ME—everything was always “fine” and “okay,” even though you felt like you were dying.
“Make sure you eat a balanced diet and a healthy amount, and you’ll be back to normal in no time.” He gave me a pointed look through his glasses. “That includes gluten.”
I nearly laughed out loud. Earlier I had told him that I cut gluten out of my diet because it wrecked my digestion. Apparently he didn’t believe me, because he insisted that the test came back negative. I wanted to see him spend five minutes in the same room without a gas mask after I had gluten. Bet he’d never disagree with me again.
“Will do,” I said, as if I hadn’t been eating healthy the past ten years.
I said my goodbyes to Dr. Keller and fled the hospital into the beautiful spring afternoon, where my sister Jasmin waited in the parking lot in her husband’s minivan. I climbed in and leaned my head against the headrest. Crawling out of bed to go to the doctor always drained the little energy I had. And as always, it had been for naught. Worse, I could add this doctor to my list of gaslighters in the medical profession. Eight out of ten doctors. Nice.
“How’d it go?” Jasmin asked, as she pulled onto the main road of the small town we both lived in—she with her husband and two kids, I with Mom.
“Nothing amiss.” I watched the houses roll by and scanned the faces to see if I knew anybody. I despised living here, mostly because my ex-fiancé and his wife had decided to set up camp two blocks down the road from Mom’s apartment. If I could, I would’ve moved away long ago. But I was stuck here, unable to work, which meant I was dependent on Mom.
“I’m glad they didn’t find anything,” Jasmin said.
“Mmh.” I wasn’t, but I didn’t bother explaining. She didn’t understand. Not that she ever said anything, but she kept dropping comments that made it clear she thought I’d only have to want to work again. That it was a matter of pushing through.
I’d tried, over and over. The problem with ME was, that, yes, maybe you could push your boundaries for a while, but then you crashed, and you crashed hard. Overdoing it for just a little bit could send you to bed for days, or weeks, if not months, with crippling fatigue and pain. And if you weren’t careful, you could cause irreparable damage.
But Jasmin didn’t understand that. Neither did Mom.
That’s why I avoided talking to them about my illness. It only made me feel sad and alone and misunderstood. The only one who got it was my best friend Blake. Not in a sense of having gone through it herself, but she had to watch her sister Jacinta succumb to Acute Myeloid Leukemia. It sucked that she lived in Australia, literally on the other side of the world.
Ten minutes after Jasmin had picked me up from the hospital, we sat on the worn tweed sofa in Mom’s den on the ninth floor. Sunlight flooded through the dirt-caked window, displaying all the dust covering the TV stand in its glory. I had thoroughly aired the apartment earlier this morning to get rid of the stench of booze and weed. Jasmin had no idea how bad it’d gotten with Mom, but she had enough on her plate as it was, so I’d decided against bringing her into the loop.
“I’ve been doing some thinking.” Jasmin leaned over to the plant in the corner and plucked withered leaves from it. It was her way of masking how uncomfortable this messy and unclean room made her. If I had the energy, I would clean more often. But I didn’t, and Mom didn’t care. So there were always piles of mail and half-eaten snack bags cluttering the glass coffee table.
“About what?” I stretched out on the sofa and shoved a pillow covered with burn marks under my head. My whole body ached from the physical exertion.
“Your future. What if we could find you someone with enough money to take care of you?” She held up a hand. “I know this sounds crazy, but I want you to be taken care of.”
I chuckled. “What, do you want me to become the next Bachelorette?”
“Not a bad idea.” My sister grinned, then sobered. “Seriously, though. What if Mom dies, and you end up under a bridge?”
Sighing, I tugged at the rag of a curtain behind the sofa to block out the sunshine stinging my eyes. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, she had a point. “And who am I supposed to marry?”
“There’s this guy . . .”
“Who?” I asked, curiosity bubbling up inside of me.
“Keaton Grady.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. Was she serious?
“He’s an entrepreneur and model,” Jasmin went on. “His parents own the second largest whiskey company in the world. You know, the guy from that commercial—”
“I know who he is. Met him three years ago.”
My sister’s face lit up. “There you go.”
“There I don’t go at all. He—”
“He lives on Darkwater Refuge. You’d be close to Tripp. Isn’t that what you want?”
I pursed my lips. Yes, I did. And the tropical weather and ocean would be good for my health. Or at least for my weary soul.
Jasmin’s hazel eyes pleaded with me, which was something they never did. “Keaton has a meeting in Zürich the day after tomorrow. You guys could meet up for lunch.”
“But he’s not a Christian.”
“Maybe not, but that could change.”
Was this a joke? “You know I’d never marry a non-Christian.” I’d vowed as much after accepting Jesus as my Savior seven years ago. I wanted God to be the center of my life, which was hard with a non-believer as a partner. You constantly compromised, and eventually slipped away from your faith. I’d seen this happening one too many times with my friends. Jasmin, too. Heck, even with Dad and Mom.
“Maybe God wants you to marry a non-Christian so he gets saved,” Jasmin said, rearranging magazines and newspapers to a neat pile on the coffee table.
“Sure, because I’m such a wonderful example when I marry him for his money.” This was my last argument, and the most pressing one. Not that I was after his money, but I’d still be marrying him because of it, even if it was solely to have a roof over my head and food in my stomach.
“You can’t have everything, Layne, okay?” Jasmin’s voice had taken on the sternness it did when her kids didn’t stop begging for chocolate. “Besides, you hardly know him. Maybe he’s a really great guy.”
I’d seen enough of him that night to know that he was a cocky womanizer. “With how many women do I have to share him?” I joked.
“Why would you say that?” Jasmin shook her head.
“I’ve seen him in action.” Wasn’t gonna get into the details.
“That was three years ago. Obviously he’s changed, or he wouldn’t want to get married.”
I pulled my lower lip between my teeth. I was out of arguments, and Jasmin wasn’t that wrong. I could at least meet Keaton and see if he really had changed. After all, he’d saved me from David that night, so there had to be some good in him.
A sigh escaped me. Did I really want to put myself through this? “Why again is it Keaton you’re recommending? How do you even know about him?”
“Well . . .” Jasmin studied her fingernails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.
“Jasmin.”
She looked up. “Uh . . . Tripp.”
“Tripp?” I stared at her. “Does he think it’s a good idea, too?”
Jasmin shrugged.
Grumbling, I pulled out my phone. My sister had question marks written all over her face, but I ignored her as I dialed Tripp’s number.
“What?” his deep voice came over the speaker after just two rings. From the miffed undercurrent in his tone I was one hundred percent sure I’d woken him.
I glanced at the oven clock in the kitchen. Three p.m., which meant it was three in the morning for him. Switzerland was twelve hours ahead of Darkwater Refuge.
I didn’t care. “I can’t believe you!” I automatically switched to English. We hardly ever spoke in Swiss German.
“Layne?”
“No, the Easter Bunny. What were you thinking?”
Creaking came over the line, like he rolled over in his bed or something. “You know what time it is here?”
“Yes.”
He growled. “What do you want?”
“You can’t just marry me off!”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Keaton Grady.” I already couldn’t stand the name anymore. “Jasmin told me you’re the one pulling the strings here.”
“Not true,” Jasmin piped up. “I just said you brought up Keaton.”
“Of course you’re there, too,” Tripp muttered. He yawned, then groaned. “Ladies, can we sort this out later? Got a long day ahead and would appreciate some more rack time.”
“No, we can’t,” I snapped.
A tendril of guilt immediately coiled around my stomach. Tripp’s job was demanding, and I was robbing him of the little rest he got. But he couldn’t just set me up, then cop out.
Rustling came from the other end, then floorboards protesting under Tripp’s bulk. “You keep saying you wanna marry a rich guy. Keaton is loaded.”
“That was a joke, Holzchopf .” The literal translation of the Swiss German term we frequently used for each other was woodhead, equivalent to bonehead.
“Maybe, but Jasmin and I don’t think it’s such a stupid idea. If you can’t work, you need someone who looks after you.”
Gritting my teeth, I gave my sister a dark look. I didn’t appreciate people discussing my business behind my back, even if they did it with good intentions.
“You two . . .” I hissed, but didn’t know what to say. I was ready to fly to the States just to kick Tripp’s backside.
“I already told her that one day she’ll end up on the street when Mom dies,” Jasmin said. “Also, I don’t think Mom’s Social Security will be enough for the both of you.”
“Hear that, Layne? And the guy is in the market for a wife.”
True, Mom was going to retire in half a year. The monthly benefits she received would likely barely be enough to cover her own needs.
I sighed. “Why does Keaton want to get married?” And why me?
This time, Tripp remained silent for so long that I checked my cell to see if he’d hung up. “He wants to take over the family business, but he has to be married for that.”
“Um, what does one thing have to do with the other?”
“Don’t know. Something about his image. Why don’t you ask him?” A cell rang, and Tripp swore. Probably work. He’d finally told me that he wasn’t Delta anymore, but on some black ops team. Hence the relocation to Darkwater Refuge three years ago. “Gotta go.” With that, he hung up.
I stared at the screen of my phone for a while, then raised my gaze to my sister.
“See,” she said. “Even Tripp thinks you should meet Keaton. We want you to be in good hands, Layne.” She reached over and squeezed my arm. “Can’t hurt to talk to him, right?”
My mind was spinning. God, what do You want? Should I really meet Keaton?
I sighed. “I’ll pray about it.”
That was the end of our conversation. Jasmin stayed for a little while longer before heading off. As soon as she was out the door, I crashed into bed. My muscles burned and my head pounded in sync with the tinnitus. The medical appointment had been exhausting, having Jasmin over even more. I shouldn’t have agreed to hang out with her. But no matter how bad I wanted to, I just couldn’t bring myself to throw people out. It was rude, and I didn’t want to be rude.
I closed my eyes. Jesus, please let this pass quickly.
My mind wandered back to Keaton. A part of me wanted to give him a chance. Maybe Jasmin was right, and he really had changed.
I picked up my phone and texted Blake. Her opinion mattered to me, especially since she knew what kind of guy Keaton was—or had been—as I’d told her about the night I’d met him.
Her reply came promptly: Your siblings have a point. Maybe he’s a changed man.
Of course she’d say that. She believed in the good in people. Technically I did too, but . . . What if not? What if he wants an open marriage?
Why not meet him and find out?
I gripped the phone. Sometimes God truly did change people, even men like Keaton. What do I do, Lord?
A strong urge deep inside of me, which only could come from the Holy Spirit, led me to open the chat with my siblings. All right, I’m willing to meet Keaton.
I dropped the phone back onto the mattress and closed my eyes. Despite the heavy exhaustion pressing down on me, a glimmer of anticipation lit in my belly. Maybe Keaton really had the potential to be my future husband.