Chapter Thirty-Seven
On my drive out of Aram’s neighborhood, my cell phone rang. I saw the number and smiled.
“Hey, Patrick.”
“June, where are you?”
I gulped. Come what may, I would keep no secrets. “On my way home. I was just at Dr. Hamid’s house discussing the case.” I dared not breathe.
“Oh, really? You’ll have to fill me in later. Look, my house alarm went off, and I’d prefer it if you stayed clear. Could you turn around and go back to the doctor’s place? You’ll be safe there.”
“But it’s getting late. Can’t I just go to my duplex?”
“That would be a negative. Want me to call Dr. Hamid and put in the request?”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “I’ll turn around and ask him. I’m sure he’ll understand. He’s been very helpful.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. I’ll keep you updated.”
I pulled a U-turn, parked in front of Aram’s house again, and turned off the engine. On second thought, I would just wait in the car until Patrick called.
Aram’s light was still on, so I assumed he hadn’t gone upstairs for the night yet. For about fifteen minutes, I waited and tried to ignore the fact I needed to pee—all that water and wine. I’d go to a donut shop and wait there for Patrick’s update. I started the car and noticed Aram’s front door opening. He stepped outside.
With nowhere to hide, I turned off the motor and got out of the car. In the shadows, I hoped Aram didn’t see me cringe as I walked to up to him.
“Hi. Me again,” I said.
He looked confused. “Come on in,” he said. “Did you forget something?” He shut the door behind me.
“Patrick’s house alarm went off, and he asked me to stay here until it’s investigated.”
“Patrick’s house? You’re living with him?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Come, let’s sit,” he said and led me to the great room. The couches were more comfortable than they looked. Or maybe it was because I was more tired than I thought.
“And is Patrick agreeable with you being here? With me?” Aram said with concern.
“He’s the one who suggested I come back here, if that’s okay with you.”
“I would hope you know it is more than okay with me.” He watched me fidget in my seat. “You haven’t told him about us, have you?”
My mouth became desiccated. “Not yet,” I said without explaining. “Aram, may I use your bathroom?”
“Of course. It’s down the hall. First door on the right.”
“Thank you.” Soft wall lighting led the way, creating a relaxed and inviting ambiance. I flipped on the bathroom light. Floor-to-ceiling, herringbone marble adorned the room, and an inviting soaker tub sat under a wall-mounted fireplace—a perfect sanctuary to unwind and escape. Like Aram, this house enchanted.
I rejoined Aram in the living room and sat across from him. He had put two glasses on the coffee table.
“I thought you would like some water.”
“Thank you.” I took a few sips and sank into the sofa.
“Can I get you anything else?”
I put my glass on the table. “No, thank you.”
“How about you lie down and close your eyes?” He retrieved a throw blanket from a chair and put it beside me. “I’ll be in the other room.”
“You are always so kind,” I said and yawned. I closed my eyes and thought I heard him say, “Not always.” I placed the fleece blanket on the armrest and tipped onto my side. My cheek rested on a cloud of softness. His gesture had been sweet.
My phone buzzed and startled me. I grabbed it. “Hello?”
“Hey, how are you doing?” Patrick said.
“Good. What’s going on?”
“As we speak, there is a crew of detectives scouring my house and the property for any sign of invasion. They’re also setting up an electronic perimeter.”
“Have they found anything?”
“No, not yet,” he said. “I don’t know how long they’re going to be. Would you like me to make arrangements for you to stay at a hotel, even though I prefer you stay with someone?”?
“I can go to one of the motels nearby,” I said. “What about you?”
“I’ll be on scene here. Please let me know where you decide to stay. And be aware of your surroundings, just in case. Can’t wait to see you, this has been a long day.”
“Me too. I’ll be in touch,” I said and hung up.
“You’re going to a motel?” Aram had entered the room without me noticing.
“The crew is still working at Patrick’s house. I’ll just book something for the night and be on my way.”
“Nonsense. I have an extra room.”
“Aram, it’s not right.”
“Okay, you stay here, and I will go to a motel,” he said.
I giggled. He continued to bring humor to heavy situations.
“I’m serious, June.”
“I can’t let you do that.” I reconsidered his offer. “Thank you, Aram. I’ll camp out on the sofa, if that’s okay?”
“It absolutely is.”
My catnap had left me wide awake, and I began pondering incessant details of the case. I’d have no complete peace of mind until I had answers.
“Aram, could I please borrow your laptop?”
“Of course.” He retrieved it from the kitchen.
“Would you like to sit?” I said and patted the cushion next to me.
He didn’t hesitate.
I turned on the computer. The same list of names appeared that I had seen so many times before.
Think, think, think.
“Aram, how about we dig deeper?”
“Deeper how?”
“Into the cases. As a doctor, could you look at the illness of each patient, and the course of treatment?”
“I could give it a try,” Aram said, punching in a series of keys.
I started reading. “The first person is a fifty-three-year-old woman. Her initial appointment with Dr. Crawford was four years ago. She presented with a low white blood cell count and was prescribed a course of medication from clinical trials.”
“Now that’s strange right off the top,” Aram said.
“What is?”
“It’s been a while since I was in medical school, but I would have tried Vitamin C therapy. It’s the tried-and-true initial treatment for low white counts. And it’s vastly less expensive and less risky than jumping straight to an unverified drug.”
“Could this be malpractice?”
Aram scrunched his brow in thought. “It may not be the usual treatment protocol, but I wouldn’t call it malpractice.”
I read on. “The next person is a twenty-two-year-old male, presenting with low-normal platelets and bruising. A bone marrow transplant was performed. Over the next few months, he was treated with platelet transfusions, and told to decrease drinking, and advised against taking aspirin.”
“What the hell?” Aram leaned closer to the screen.
His face was only inches from mine, and I inhaled his scent. My heart beat harder, and I suddenly acquired the attention span of a housefly. “Ah, Aram, what am I missing?”
“Sorry, June, I was just looking at the treatment dates to make sure they were in chronological order.”
“Do they sound out of order?”
“Yes, completely. From a treatment perspective, Crawford put the cart before the horse. The patient was a heavy drinker and took large quantities of aspirin. His thrombocytopenia was probably caused by his alcohol and aspirin consumption. The first course of action should have been advising against ingesting those substances. A bone marrow transplant should have been a later option.” Aram ran a hand over his hair. “That was a risk-filled treatment that may not have been necessary.”
“Not to mention expensive,” I said.
He sat back. “You are very right.”
He read about the next patient. “Seventy-year-old male. Differentials with blast cells. Received the same immune therapy attempts twelve times. Holy crow. Again, these were clinical trials,” Aram said.
“Twelve rounds sound like a lot,” I said.
“If I was Crawford, I would have switched to another course of therapy after, say, three rounds, especially since there was no notable improvement after any of the treatments. Unfortunately, this patient passed away.”
“From these cases, it sounds like you would have handled these patients differently.”
“Hematological disorders aren’t my area of expertise. Technology has certainly changed since I was in medical school, but yes, I would have used the safest and least invasive methods that have the highest success rates. For example, if someone had a headache, I’d prescribe acetaminophen, not a lobotomy.”
“That sounds drastic,” I said.
“Okay, I exaggerated a bit, but not by much, actually. Crawford certainly utilizes the newest pharmacological concoctions.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but only when all else fails.”
“That poor man went through twelve rounds of treatment—his hopes dashed after every round. I can’t even imagine what he went through.”
“I think you just did,” Aram said softly. “You’re kind, June. Empathetic. And beautiful.”
My cheeks grew warm.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
I tensed up and became angry at his apparent kindness, caring, and affection. “Aram, what are you doing? Are you toying with me?”
“No, I would never toy with you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“June, I don’t know how serious you are with the officer, but I can’t go another day without telling you how I feel.”
I froze.
“When we were together, I should have followed my heart instead of my head. After you were gone, my life wasn’t the same. I missed you, and I still do.”
He had missed me? His soft voice sounded sincere and tugged at my insides. I believed him. I’d always believed and trusted him. “I missed you, too. For so long I had hoped you’d come back.”
“It appears fate has brought us together once again,” he said.
I nodded. Indeed, fate always had a way of intervening in the most unpredictable ways. Here Aram was, in my life again.
Aram. He had captivated my mind and could always make me laugh. At one time, he had been the center of my world, and could be again.
Black eyebrows and lashes anchored his vibrant, hopeful eyes. His attention intoxicated me. I had craved his love for so long, and now having him profess he still wanted me overwhelmed my senses. My legs became weak.
“What are you thinking?” He smoothed a strand of hair from my cheek. “It’s like nothing has changed, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I could fall in love with you again. But, Aram, you’re wrong. Something had changed. You left me, and that changed everything.”
His head dropped.
I realized this was the final closure I needed. I realized now, after spending time with Aram, any possibility of a future together had been severed. I had to unearth my buried feelings in order to let them go. I’d always care for Aram, but my heart and future had become someone else’s.
“There is no one else like June Harber,” he said.
“And there is no one else like Aram Hamid,” I said softly and meant it.
“Thank you.” His eyes glistened. “Please excuse me for a moment.”
I shifted on the sofa, at peace with my decision. I looked at my phone for the first time. It was after ten p.m. Patrick had texted and had called, too. But my phone hadn’t rung, or I hadn’t noticed it vibrating. I listened to the message.
“Hey, June. They completed the search of the house. You’re free to come over. Call me.”
I hung up, and Aram returned.
“Thank you for your help with the case, and your hospitality,” I said. “But I have to leave now.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
He escorted me to the door and then followed me outside. We strolled down the walkway, under the stars.
“I relished having you here.”
“It was nice,” I said. “Thank you, again.”
I continued to my car when he gently took my hand.
“June—”
Swiftly, his lips claimed mine. They were soft, full, and warm. Familiar, but foreign. I had longed to feel this kiss again. My heart beat fast from the passionate assault, and my knees threatened to buckle. I raised my hands to his chest.
“Aram,” I said in a hushed tone, not really knowing what to say next. My thoughts were in a jumble.
Aram’s gaze shifted to something behind me, and I turned.
Patrick stood on the sidewalk. Perfectly still. His face was dark in the shadows.
He had seen everything.