Chapter 15
Pick Better Role Models
I pause with my key in the lock and take a deep breath.
Katie was asleep—or at least in her room—by the time I got home last night, and I left for work before she came out this morning, so she hasn’t seen my face yet.
I tried to cover the bruise on my cheek with concealer, but the cut made it difficult.
Teresa noticed it right away, despite my best efforts.
I told her I’d been taking a martial arts class for a while, and the pads slipped during drills.
The bruise kept darkening throughout the day, though. By lunch, the makeup wasn’t doing anything to hide the fact that I’d been punched in the face. It was just making me look like I was trying to hide it, so I went into the bathroom and scrubbed it off.
I can’t tell Katie or Mark the same lie I told Teresa. Katie knows I’m not taking a martial arts class, and Mark wouldn’t believe it. It would be equivalent to telling him I walked into a wall. There is a lie that they’ll both believe. But it’s a really shitty lie for me to tell.
I exhale, then open the door and step inside.
“Did you hear—” Katie begins before glancing at me. “Alyssa! What the hell happened to your face?”
I slip my shoes off as I raise my fingertips to brush across my left cheek.
The cut has just started to scab over and is noticeably rough.
Despite holding an ice pack to my face for more than an hour last night, my cheek is so bruised and swollen that the lightest of grazes feels like I’m being punched in the face all over again.
On the plus side, the compression bandage that’s wrapped around my right arm is easy enough to hide.
At least from Katie—Mark will be a different story.
I’m not sure if my olecranon is actually fractured this time or if I merely exacerbated the existing bone contusion.
I still have full range of motion in my elbow joint—even if moving it through that range of motion makes me cry—so I’m taking my chances and hoping for the best. It’s a better option than showing up to the ER and having to tell a completely different lie to the attending.
“A patient… sort of freaked out today,” I tell Katie.
“A patient hit you in the face?”
I shrug.
“Why? What happened?” she demands.
“Kay, you know I can’t tell you that. It’s fine. I’m fine. They’re fine. Everything is okay,” I say as I walk to the couch and drop to sit beside her. “So, what were you asking if I heard?”
“About Joey Carmichael?”
I shake my head. “What’s to hear? He’s dead.”
“They’re saying it wasn’t an accident. Apparently, he was poisoned. They’re treating it as a homicide.”
“Really?” I ask, feigning surprise. “Who do they think did it?”
“I don’t think they know. At least it didn’t sound like it on the news. Do you think they’ll question me?” she asks.
“No. Why, did you poison him?” I joke, knowing she didn’t.
“No, but I wish I had.”
“Okay, well. If the police do come talk to you, maybe don’t tell them that.”
“I won’t. I just wish I could give whoever did it a medal.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she agrees.
“Did you ever wonder if maybe you weren’t the only person they’d done that to?”
Her jaw clenches as she nods. “Yeah. I think about it a lot. It’s a big part of why I wanted to go to trial. Guys like that… they don’t just do it once. Especially not if they get away with it. I don’t think I was the first.”
“Me neither.” I pause before saying, “You know I’m proud of you for going through with it despite the odds?”
She reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it. Her skin is warm against mine. “Yeah. I know. I’m proud of me, too.”
“Good. What are we watching?” I question as my phone vibrates.
“River Monsters. It’s this series about insane freshwater fish. Did you know catfish could grow to be like seven feet long?”
“No. That seems…”
“Unnecessary?” she asks as I unlock my phone to read the text from Mark.
“Yeah. That,” I reply distractedly. Mark wants me to come have dinner with him.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Katie asks, trying to sneak a peek at my phone.
I pull the phone to my chest, shielding it from her. “He’s not my—”
“Oh, come on, Alyssa! He totally is! You guys have been dating for like a month now!”
“Three weeks,” I correct.
“See! And you don’t even seem bored yet,” she states, her eyebrows rising as if she’s daring me to contradict her.
“Okay. Fine. You’re right. I’m not bored. I actually really like him, but I don’t think it’ll work out long term.”
“Why?”
“Because none of my relationships ever have,” I say, trying to deflect.
“Yeah, but that’s pretty much always been because you haven’t wanted them to work long term. You seem to feel differently about him.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”
“I still want to meet him! We should have dinner this weekend.”
There’s no way for me to explain to Katie why I can’t introduce her to Mark.
She’ll recognize him, and he’ll definitely recognize her the second he lays eyes on her.
I’m sure the only reason he hasn’t already made the connection is because we have different last names and I was never on camera during her trial.
But if he sees her… he’ll know right away.
And then… Shit. I should’ve never mentioned Mark to Katie.
It’s not like I had much choice, though.
She’d have figured out I was dating someone when I started disappearing half the nights every week.
I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, only I created both and then inserted myself between them.
Maybe if I tell Mark before he finds out… But then he’ll know I was lying about everything, and how long will it take after that for him to suspect I’m behind their deaths? I wonder.
I think I need to talk to Marjorie.
“Are you going over to his house?” Katie asks, startling me from my thoughts.
“What? Oh. Um… yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“No. Go. But I’m serious about wanting to meet him.”
“Yeah. I know,” I grumble.
I’m parked in Mark’s driveway, but I haven’t gotten out of my car yet.
I know I’m delaying the inevitable. It’s just that there’s so much ‘inevitable’ that I don’t know where to start.
If I were doing this over, I’d do it all differently.
I have no idea what ‘differently’ would look like, but… not this.
I call Vaughn instead of getting out. If Mark has realized I’m here, he’s probably wondering what the hell I’m doing, but that’s the very least of my concerns. Vaughn doesn’t answer, though, so I leave a message asking him to call me back when he has time.
Finally, there’s no more delaying. I get out of my car, climb the stairs on the hillside, and walk across the miniature bridge to Mark’s front door. He opens it before I reach it, meaning he definitely noticed me sitting in my car. Great.
“Hey,” he begins, his silhouette backlit by the light streaming from the house.
His face is in shadow, and I can’t quite make it out, but he sounds tired.
His tone immediately changes as I step into the pool of light cast by the lamp near the door.
“What the fuck happened to your face?” he questions, sounding enraged.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“That’s not nothing,” he says, grabbing my chin and angling my face toward the light. I can make out his expression now, and his eyes are narrowed to slits, but his fingers are gentle against my skin as he continues. “I know what being punched in the face looks like, Alyssa.”
“You should see the other guy,” I quip, fighting down a grin. Mark’s jaw clenches. He releases my chin, and the smile slides from my face as I realize how badly my joke failed to land. “There was an issue with a patient earlier today. It’s fine. I handled it. It’s not a big deal.”
“Who?”
I shake my head. “I can’t tell you that.
” The guilt of blaming a nonexistent mystery patient is sitting in my stomach like a lead balloon, but I’ve never been so thankful to be able to fall back on doctor-patient confidentiality in my life.
“Are you going to invite me in, or were you thinking we’d just stand here arguing about my face? ”
He sighs, then grabs my arm to pull me into his house, saying, “Come in.”
“Ow, shit! Don’t,” I gasp, and his hand falls away as I grip my right arm protectively with my left.
“What the fuck happened, Alyssa?” he asks more softly as I step through the door. I can see the pulse jumping in his neck and feel the anger pouring from him.
“I told you. There was an issue with a patient. I happened to bang my elbow again during said issue, and it hurts a lot right now. I’m fine. I promise.”
“Yes. Because shrieking when someone touches you is a sure sign of being fine,” he growls.
I glare at him as I repeat my last words. “I’m fine. I promise. But if you’re going to keep arguing with me about it, I’ll go home.”
“Fine. I’ll stop arguing with you about it,” he says, walking toward the kitchen, away from me. I slip my shoes off and trail after him. “When did that happen?” he questions when we reach the kitchen.
“This morning.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs, staring at my face again in the brighter light.
“Hmm, what?”
“Nothing. It just looks older than that,” he remarks. His eyes are still focused on my cheek, and I can tell he wants to press the issue.
“Because you’re such an expert on being punched in the face?” I ask, rolling my eyes. It’s beginning to seem like coming here tonight was a terrible idea.
“Yes. Personally and professionally. And that bruise is dark enough that it looks like it happened yesterday.”
“Whatever,” I snap. “I guess I bruise fast. Anyway. How was your day?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Not great,” he says, and I feel like an ass for failing to consider that he might’ve already been having a bad day.
“Why? What happened?”
“Want a glass of wine?” he questions, already pulling two glasses from the cupboard.
“Sure.”