Chapter 3
Bess
“Do you have a minute?”
Dana lifts her eyes from the chart she’s reading and registers surprise, seeing me at the clinic. She immediately gets to her feet.
“Bess? Sure. Everything all right? What are you doing here?”
She fires off questions as she ushers me into the nearest treatment room.
“I’m fine. I was passing by on my way to Sacha Levy’s place to pick up some eggs and thought I’d pop in.”
Dana looks at me expectantly, knowing full well I wouldn’t just drop in at the clinic unless there was a good reason.
“And…” I continue. “I figured I could ask you about a sleep issue I’ve been having.”
“As in…what kind of issue are we talking about?” she prompts
“As in, I can’t get any. Sleep, that is.”
“That explains a lot.” She nods.
“Like what?”
She shrugs. “You’ve seemed a bit…absent.
Not all there. And, I’m sorry to say it because I love you, but you look like a dish rag.
Wrung out with that slightly gray tinge.
” She pinches her thumb and index finger together.
“I was this close to pulling you aside the morning of the fire, but it wasn’t the right moment for a concerned friend talk. ”
She gestures for me to sit on the edge of the bed while she pulls a rolling stool from under the small desk and sits down right in front of me.
“What are we talking about? Can’t fall asleep? Can’t stay asleep?”
“Neither. It takes me hours to finally doze off and then I sleep maybe half an hour, at best, before I wake up again.”
“More frequent bathroom breaks?”
I shrug. “I go a lot more, not because I have to, but because it’s something to do in the middle of the night.”
“Any complaints other than sleeping? Any pains or ailments? Irregular periods?”
I bark out a laugh before realizing it isn’t really funny.
“Did you forget my uterus is long gone?”
She winces. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Of course.”
She’s one of the very few who know I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer at twenty-three years old which cost me my uterus, but that left me alive and cancer-free.
I was living in Seattle at the time. My mother had moved us there when I was fourteen because of better job opportunities for her. I didn’t want to move, but I had no choice; being a single mother, Mom was the only parent, the only one providing for us, so she made the call.
“What about mood swings? Hot flashes?”
“You think I’m menopausal? I’m not even forty,” I protest.
“You will be in three months and it’s not unheard of, women who have a hysterectomy but still have their ovaries can enter perimenopause earlier than average.”
I scoff. I might as well have official spinster tattooed on my forehead.
“No new pains or ailments. I haven’t noticed any hot flashes, unless you count pulling my muffins out of the oven, and the only mood swings I have are a direct result of not sleeping,” I grumble, already regretting my impromptu visit.
Dana grins and lifts her hands in capitulation.
“Fair enough, but I think it’s been a while since you’ve had your blood work done, so why don’t we do that and make sure there’s nothing else going on.”
I quietly concede with a nod, and Dana opens a drawer to pull out a couple of collection tubes, a syringe, alcohol wipes, and a tourniquet.
“It was the phone call,” I blurt out when I feel the needle slide under my skin.
Dana, who is focused on her work, lifts her gaze.
“Phone call?” she prompts.
“Yeah. Remember Ken?”
She looks shocked. “Your half brother? I thought you lost touch with him.”
I nod. More like I banned him from my life, but lost touch with him sounds much friendlier.
“I was surprised too.”
I’d actually been too shocked to speak which, as it turned out, wasn’t necessary anyway. He did all the talking.
“Seeing as you think it had something to do with your inability to sleep, I gather the call didn’t go well?” she probes gently as she slips the needle from my arm.
“Fair statement. He was just stirring up old family drama.”
It had been a lot more than that, but there’s no way I can talk about it.
Hell, other than Savvy, I haven’t even told anyone Ken was in jail.
He’d been seventeen when we moved to Seattle and quickly got himself tangled up with a street gang, The Lotus Squad.
That was not a great time. Mom did her best to pull him out of that world, but he brushed her off.
He dropped out of school and barely came home anymore.
By the time he was twenty-one, he was in jail, convicted of a list of violent, gang-related crimes—including an aggravated robbery—earning him a twenty-five-year sentence.
I only saw him once while he was incarcerated.
Let’s just say that was an experience I didn’t wish to repeat, and I actively erased him from my life out of self-preservation.
Until he called me, I hadn’t spoken to him in twenty years.
“Family drama is the worst,” Dana commiserates.
She tapes down the cotton ball she’s had pressed against the puncture wound.
“There. I’ll send these off to the lab. In the meantime, let’s see if we can’t help you sleep a little better, because you look like it won’t take much before you hit a wall.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, as she pulls a prescription pad from a drawer.
She tosses me a sympathetic smile. “It actually pisses me off a little that even looking like a dish rag, you are still this beautiful.”
“Nice try,” I return.
She signs the prescription and tears the note off the pad, handing it to me with a flourish.
“I only speak the truth,” she insists, before getting back to business.
“Ambien; take five milligrams once a day, right before bedtime. Let’s see what that does, we can always go up.
Keep in mind though, this a short-term fix and not recommended for continued use, but it should get you some decent sleep. ”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll call you when I get the results of your blood work back, and we’ll go from there.”
I thank her again, and with my prescription clutched in my hand, I walk out the door, only to smack into a solid form.
“Whoa, imagine bumping into you.”
I lift my head to find warm brown eyes in a handsome, friendly face looking down at me.
“Dr. Sharma. Sorry, I didn’t look where I was going.”
“It’s Rohan, and the fault is all mine. What brings you here?”
Feeling a bit put on the spot, I shove the prescription Dana wrote me into my coat pocket. That’s when I notice a pair of perfectly blue eyes watching me from behind Rohan.
The sight of Hugo flusters me a little, and I’m suddenly in a hurry to get out of here.
“Just popped in to see Dana,” I skirt around the truth. “But I’m afraid I have to run. See you around, Doc.”
I turn on my heel and bolt for the exit, ignoring the hospital pharmacy in the lobby. I’ll hit up the pharmacy downtown after I close the shop, it’s only a block or two away.
I’m almost at my little white Toyota Prius when my name is called. I turn to see Hugo is easily gaining on me.
“How long are you going to keep lying to me?”
Hugo
Once again, as soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize they probably weren’t the most diplomatic ones to invite answers.
The instant anger flushing Bess’s face confirms it. She turns her back on me and unlocks the doors of that little white dinky toy she drives.
I brace my hand against the door in an effort to prevent her from getting in and taking off, before I have a chance to make things right.
“Can I try that again?” I plead in a soft voice, adding, “Please?”
Her head remains low, so I can’t see her expression, but from the set of her shoulders I deduce I’m not her favorite person right now.
“Bess, come on, we’re friends. We’ve been friends forever. Being concerned about each other’s well-being is normal. Why is it you get pissed off at me when I’m just worried about you?”
When she doesn’t respond, I push on, “Are you ill? Is that why you were seeing Dana in the clinic?”
Thinking I have her attention, I let go of her door, but she immediately pulls it open and gets behind the wheel.
Not about to give up, I shove my head inside the car before she can slam the door shut on me. With my face suddenly inches from hers, I notice her eyes swimming with tears.
“Hey…”
I lift a hand to brush her bangs out of her face, but she quickly jerks her head out of the way and lifts a hand.
“Don’t…”
Realizing I’m getting in her space, I crouch down in the door opening beside her car to give her some room.
“Look, I’m here for you. I may not always be good with words, but—”
She snorts loudly and interjects with a healthy dose of humor, “Now there’s an understatement.”
“But…” I repeat. “I am a decent listener, and I’m your friend. I care.”
Funny how every time I use the term friend, it feels progressively wrong.
I’ve known Bess forever. Only by sight when she was a kid, before her family moved away, but I’ve gotten to know her in person since she returned to Silence.
Especially since she opened Strange Brew and it became an almost daily stop.
She proved a good friend during Emily’s battle with the aggressive cancer that took my wife’s life way too soon.
While we were spending most of our time in Spokane for treatments, Bess offered Carson a safe and caring place to come after school.
She made sure he ate a decent meal when we’d run late.
On top of that, she organized a support tree of friends and neighbors who helped with basic things like laundry, cleaning, groceries, and cooking.
Especially during that last month, when my singular focus was looking after my wife.
If not for the quiet support at my back, I don’t think either my son or I would’ve come through.
But at some point in these past months something changed. A slow realization Bess is different from others I’d consider friends. More.
After losing a loved one—and even though Emily’s and my marriage was far from ideal, I did love her—sometimes you need to raise a protective shield in order to be able to put one foot in front of the other.
There was little I let myself care about, especially that first year after her death.
Numb was my preferred state of being, getting through everyday life from muscle memory. It was easier that way.
Then I almost lost my son last year. A wake-up call of epic proportions that ripped the protective layer right off my soul, leaving me raw. Bess was there, in the aftermath. Always unassuming, but also unmistakable, to the point where I felt it when she was not around.
I’ve always thought her beautiful; the black hair framing her delicate features, and her generous mouth that would easily split into a wide, ready smile. There’s a lightness to Bess. Something happy and uncomplicated and nurturing.
But right now, that lightness is gone, and that’s what worries me.
I’m rewarded with the hint of a smile when she looks at me.
“Insomnia. I haven’t been sleeping and it’s taking its toll,” she finally explains.
“How come?” I probe gently, keeping a lid on the instant flood of creative ways I can imagine myself helping her get to sleep.
She scoffs and her eyes slide out the front window.
“Who knows. Old age?” she jokes with a humorless chuckle.
“You? Hardly. If you’re old, what does that make me? I’ve got quite a few years on you.”
Seven to be exact, but who’s counting?
“Yeah, but guys get better with age; a little silver, more rugged, slightly seasoned. Women…well, we get sagging boobs, cankles, and menopause. It’s not fair.”
I almost choke trying to keep from busting out laughing. I have a feeling that would not be a good move.
“I’m not sure what cankles are and I’m guessing menopause is still some years off, but I am positive your boobs are perfect right where they are.”
I’m glad my only slightly off-color comments put an instant blush on her cheeks and have her slapping a hand over her mouth to contain a surprised snicker. I was hoping to lighten the mood a little, and maybe drop the hint I see her as more than just a friend.
Encouraged, I decide to push that envelope a bit.
“I have an idea. Why don’t I pick you up at six, and we’ll go grab some dinner and have a few glasses of wine. I’ve been wanting to try out that new place, Fusion. I was told it’s good. And who knows?” I add. “Maybe a good meal and a few drinks will help get you to sleep.”
And if that doesn’t work, there are a few other tricks I might have up my sleeve.
“I don’t know. It’s been a crazy week. I probably should—”
I’m not surprised she’s trying to blow me off. That seems to be her default, but I’m not going to let that stop me.
“You’ve gotta eat anyway. Might as well be a fabulous meal at a nice restaurant in good company.”
“Oh, Carson will be there?” she jokes, laughing at my expense.
“As awesome as my son is, that was cruel and unnecessary,” I scold her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to content yourself with me.”
I stand up, needing to stretch the cramped muscles in my legs.
“I guess I can manage a meal with you for company,” she teases, and I’m glad to see a bit of a sparkle back in her expressive eyes. “As you said, a girl has to eat.”
“Good. Six, be ready.”
She throws me a mock salute and starts her car. I close her door and step back, as she pulls out of the parking spot and drives off.
When I get behind the wheel of my truck a few moments later, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror.
I’m smiling.