“No worries, some other time then.”
The rest of the trip to my place is silent. We pull up to my building and I climb out. Preston hops out and opens the trunk. Leaning in, I grab my bag. “Thanks for picking me up, man…and the talk.”
“Anytime, you know that.”
“Appreciate it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Turning around, I head inside. The doorman, he’s new, I think to myself, opens the door and nods at me. Nodding at the desk clerk, I push the button for the penthouse. The elevator arrives, I step in and the car whisks me up to my floor.
Stepping into my penthouse, I look around. It really is a bachelor pad, but it’s MY bachelor pad. Everything is dark brown. My couch, the rug, the artwork. Hell, even the kitchen has chocolate brown granite and dark wooden cabinets. At least the walls are light, brightening the place up. As I head into my bedroom, I think maybe it's time to overhaul this place. If I lighten the furnishings up, it might lighten my mood as well.
Dropping my suitcase off in the walk-in closet, I head back to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of red. I’m thankful I called my housekeeper and asked her to stock up today. Not wanting a heavy meal, I prepare a cheese platter and head out to the patio. I enjoy my wine and watch the sun go down. The sensor lights flick on and I realize I’ve been sitting out here for hours.
Picking up the empty plate and my wine, I head inside. Placing the plate and glass in the sink, I head to bed, hoping a goodnight’s sleep will reset my mood, and I’ll be ready to head back to work in the morning. I drift off to sleep and for the first night since meeting Paige, I don’t dream of her. I take it as a good sign and that things will return to normal.
2
Avery
“For fuck’s sake, Bay,” I growl, as I walk into the kitchen. It’s already been a long day since I had parent-teacher conferences today, and then after I left school, I had to stop in at Jewel-Osco to get a few things. Placing the grocery bags on the floor in the kitchen, I look around at the mess Baylor left and shake my head. What has gotten into my sister lately? It looks like she cooked up a greasy breakfast, using every dish we own, and then left everything where it was. She even left the butter and milk on the counter. Grabbing them, I place them away in the refrigerator and grab the two bottles of wine—hey, it was two-for-one—and the other cold grocery items while I’m at it.
Grabbing my phone, I connect it to the Bose system and I groove out to The Killers, singing along to “Mr. Brightside” as I put the other food in the pantry. Turning from the pantry, I look to the sink. “Fuck me,” I groan, the sink is full of dirty dishes, actually it’s overflowing with greasy, grimy dishes. I shudder at the sight before me. Bay has always been the messy twin, but this is absolutely disgusting. The counter next to the sink is also covered with dirty dishes and cups. I’m embarrassed to be related to the slob who created this mess. Opening the dishwasher, I get a reprieve when I see it’s empty. I get to work loading the dishwasher with as many of the dishes as possible. And surprisingly, I get most of them in, which was more than I anticipated. Once it's full, I pop in a tablet and turn it on.
Then I tackle what’s left.
Filling the sink with hot water, I wash and scrub for what feels like hours. Once they are all sparkly and clean, I pop them in the drying rack, no way am I drying them up too. Then I turn my attention to the pots and pans that were left on the stove. Emptying the sink, for the third time, I clean the pots and pans and then put them on the stovetop to dry, since the rack is full but first, I need to remove the grease and food splatters from the stove. With the dishes and stove taken care of, I start on the countertops and cupboards because something is splattered on them. Note to self, when I move again, do not get a kitchen with white cabinets. This job takes me just as long as it did to wash the pots. The grease had started to set but with a little elbow grease—pun intended—the kitchen is finally spotless.
With a sigh, I throw the cloth into the trash, no saving that one. Leaning against the cabinets, I look around and smile. I really love our place, Bay and I made it into a real home. It suits both our personalities. The kitchen is small, with white upper and lower cabinets. The countertops are a speckled gray with a coffee maker and toaster sitting out for easy access. The kitchen is off the dining nook, which has a round table with four chairs. Off there is the living room, which consists of our sofa, coffee table, entertainment unit with flat-screen TV, stereo, and DVD player. It opens to a reasonably sized balcony, which overlooks the park across the road. The balcony is large enough for two chairs, a lounger, and small table. At the back of the living room is the front door and hallway, which leads to the two bedrooms and a half bath. There are faux wooden floorboards throughout and plush carpets in the bedroom. The bonus of this place, each room has its own en suite so I don’t need to share with Bay. She never used to be this much of a slob but lately, her habits have been slipping.
Opening the fridge, I pull out my bottle of wine and pour myself a glass, a well-deserved glass after playing Suzy Homemaker since I got home. Taking a sip, I close my eyes and savor the taste as the pinot grigio slides down my throat. Not in the mood to cook, I put together a mini platter, consisting of smoked cheese, salami, olives, and crackers. With my platter and wine in hand, I walk into the living room and my heart sinks. This room is just as messy. Not wanting to deal with it right now, I step out onto the balcony, which is surprisingly tidy.
Climbing onto the lounger, I place the platter next to me and lie back. Finally I’m able to relax. For the rest of the evening, I enjoy my wine and food. Bay doesn’t come home and she doesn’t call either, her behavior is concerning at the moment. However, as Cress keeps telling me, Bay is old enough to look after herself, but I worry about my twin. There’s a niggling feeling deep inside my stomach, telling me she’s in trouble, and I don’t like feeling like this. I really hope I’m just being a worrywart right now.
3
Flynn
“Time of death: five fifty-two,” I declare, shaking my head in defeat. Someone pats my back in sympathy, and I let out a deep sigh. It's tough losing a patient. It doesn’t matter if they are ninety or nine, a life is a life. Now the sucky part, I have to face the family and let them know that we, I, was unable to save their dad/brother/husband/son. This is the part that hurts the most. Sure, losing a patient stinks, but seeing those left behind fall apart, that’s heartbreaking and it never gets easier. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen all the time, but when it does, it messes with me and I doubt everything I did as the doctor on the case. Was there something I could have done to prevent the death? Did I fuck up? Doubt is a bitch, especially in my line of work.
Running my hands though my hair, I take a deep breath to prepare myself; not that you can really prepare for this. Exiting the room, I wash my hands and make my way out to the waiting room. As soon as I step into the waiting room, a lady stands up. She looks at me and without me even uttering a word, she knows. Her face pales. She begins to shake her head from side to side and lifts her hand to cover her mouth. The first tear falls as I begin walking toward her. “Mrs. Hunter” She nods but doesn’t utter a word, “I’m Dr. Kelly. I was working on your husband, Paul. Unfortunately, due to the injuries he sustained in the crash, I was unable to save him.” To the point. Direct, without being harsh. They are the words my mentor told me the first time I lost a patient and to this day, I still repeat them to myself when I deliver news like this.