Anything You Can Do

AnythingYouCanDo

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Published:R.S.Grey2017

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ISBN:0990490491

ISBN-13:9780990490494

C H A P T E R O N E

Ican’tbelieveI’mhere,backaftersomanyyearsaway.Inallthattime,Ilikedtoimaginewhatthisday

wouldfeellike,thedayIreturnedvictoriouslytoHamilton,Texas,withametaphoricalgoldmedal

aroundmyneck.Ialwaysdreamedtherewouldbeaparade.Confetti,sparklers,cheapcandyclippingthe

softheadsofchildren.Attheveryleast,Iassumedtherewouldbeapodiumformetostandon.I’m

hopeful.Maybeinthetimeithastakenmetogetready,mymomhasdraggedoneoutofthehallcloset.

Ihearthemalldownstairswaitingforme.Iamtheguestofhonor,thesubjectoftheWELCOME

HOME,DR.BELLsigntapedoverthefireplace.Thepartystartedanhourago,andmymomhascomeup

tocheckonmetwicesincethen.Concerned.ThefirsttimeIwasspreadoutonmybed,prone,ina

bathrobeIhadn’twornsincehighschool.

“Bettercinchthatbeltbeforeyoucomedown,Daisy.Yourprivatesaretryingtogopublic.”

Thesecondtime,Iwasdressed,standingatmywindowandstaringtriumphantlyatthetwo-story

housenextdoor.Hishouse.

“Ifyou’relookingforMadeleine,she’salreadydownstairs.”

“Herbrotherisn’there,ishe?”

Iknowhe’snot.He’sinCalifornia.Still,Ineedtohearhersayit.

“No.Ofcoursenot.”

IturnandnarrowmyeyesatheruntilIamsuresheistellingthetruth.That’swhathedoestome—

makesmelosetrustinmyownmother.It’sasideeffectofbeingbackinHamilton,ouroldbattlefield.

Everysquareinchofthistowniscoveredinourblood(redrover),sweat(crosscountry),andtears(see

list).Onetime,justbeneaththeoaktreenextdoor,Igavehimablackeyewhenhetoldmenoonewas

goingtoaskmetoeighthgradeformal.Intheend,IwenttothedanceonthearmoftheMattDelRey

whilehestayedhomewithamushybagofpeasonhisface.

Ihadn’tgottenoffcompletelyscot-free.Aftermymomheardaboutthepunch,shemarchedmeoverto

hisfrontdoortoapologize.Unsatisfiedbymysarcasticsoooorry,ourmomsagreedthatweneededto

“hugitout”.IrememberpullinghimintoasweetembraceandpositioningmycheeksoftlyagainsthissoI

couldwhisperapartingthreatjustoutofparentalearshot.

“Ifyouevertattleonmeagain,I’llmakeittwoblackeyes,”Ihissed.

Heusedhisdeceptivepubescentstrengthtosqueezemyribslikeaboaconstrictor,whichour

momsinterpretedasgeniality.

“Ihopeyougethitbytheschoolbus,”hewhisperedback.

“Daisy?”mymomsaysfromthedoorway,pullingmymindbacktothepresent.“Areyoureadyto

comedown?Everyoneissoanxioustoseeyou.”

Iturnawayfromthewindowandstretchoutmyfist.Thatincidenttookplacefifteenyearsagoandmy

knucklestillachessometimes.Iwonderifhiseyedoestoo.

Downstairs,mymotherhasroundedupquitethemotleycrewofgueststowelcomemebackhome:

geriatricneighbors,out-of-touchfriends,thelittleboywhodelivershernewspaper.Iknowmaybehalfof

theguests,butthenagain,Ihaven’tcalledHamilton“home”sincebeforeIleftforcollege11yearsago.

EveryonewhoopsandhollerswhenImakemyappearance,mymomguidingthemlikeanoverzealous

conductorfromherspotatthebaseofthestairs.

“Welcomehome,Doc!”

“Waytogo,Daisy!”

Thereareclapsonmybackanddrinksploppedinmyhands.Idon’tusuallylovepartiesbuttonight,I

havesomethingtocelebrate.I’mfinallyrealizingmydream:totakeovermyownprivatepractice.It’sthe

reasonI’mbackinHamilton,thereasonIputinsomanyyearsofhardworkduringmedicalschooland

residency.

ImakemywaytothekitchentoavoiddoingshotswithmymiddleschoolPEteacher,andthereIfind

Madeleineonpunchduty.Asmyoldestfriend,I’mnotsurprisedmymomhasputhertowork.

“Iwaswonderingwhenyouweregoingtocomedown.Wait,isthatdressfromhighschool?”

Ishrug.“Ihaven’tunpackedmysuitcasesyet,andIsawthishanginginthecloset.Itfeltlikea

challenge.”

Shegrinsandflipssomeofherbrownhairoverhershoulder.“Wellitlookswaybetteronyounow

thanitdidbackthen.”

Onabellcurveofthefemalebodytype,Iamsomewhereleftofcenter—thin,mediumheight,bony

wrists.Idevelopedboobsafterhighschool,aftereveryonealreadyhadthemandthenoveltyhadworn

off.Still,whenIslippedintomydressupstairsandstoodinfrontofmyoldfull-lengthmirror,Iwas

pleasedtoseeI’dbecomemyownteenagedream.Thankyou,KatyPerry.

“Youshouldhavecomeupstairs.”

Shepointstothehalf-emptypunchbowl.“YourmomgrabbedmeassoonasIwalkedin.”

“Leavethepunchandlet’stakeabottleofwineoutback.Ibetwecoulddownthewholethingbefore

anyonefindsus.”

“Youknowwe’readultsnow,right?Wedon’thavetosneakalcoholanymore.”

Ishrugandreacharoundherforanunopenedcabernet.“Yeah,butit’smorefuntopretendthatwedo.

Plus,IspottedDr.McCormickonmywaydownandyouknowifhecornersme,we’redonefor.He’ll

wanttotalkshopallnight.”

Madeleine’sbrowneyesgowideassaucers.“Ohgod,you’reright.Go.I’llgrabglasses.”

“Daaaaiiisssyyyyyy!”

Mymom’ssingsongvoicestopsmedeadinmytracks.Myinstinctstellmetodropthebottleand

feigninnocence,butthenIrememberI’m28.Legal.Board-certified.

“Lookwhatjustarrived!”

Iturnandnearlydropthebottleofcab.Sheiswalkingthroughthedoorwayofthekitchenholdinga

bomb.

“What.Are.Those?”Icroak.

“They’reflowersforyou!”Shebeams.“Lookslikeacoupledozen.”

Nearlythreedozentobeexact.Fat,happydaisies.White.

“Getthemout!”

“What?Don’tberidiculous!Theywerejustdelivered.”

Sheisalreadybentoverthekitchensink,fillingthemassivevasewithwater.Iwrenchthemoutof

herhandandwaterspillsdownthefrontofmythindress.NowI’meveryone’steenagedream.

“Daisy!”

“No.No.No.”

Itisthreestepstothebackdoor,fourtogetdownthestairs,andthenIpitchtheflowersintothe

trashcanoutback.There,insidethebin,asmallenvelopetauntsmefromatopthediscardedstems.

Heisneveronetooverlookdetails;theenvelopeisashadeofpalepinkthatenragesme.

“Areyougoingtoreadit?”Madeleineasks.She’sleaningovermyshoulder,staringdownatthe

envelope.

“No.”

“Maybeitsayssomethingnice?”

Iignoreher.Ashissister,shecan’thelpbutwanttodefendhim.Shealwayshas.

“Howdidhewriteit?”Iask.

“What?”

Ikeepmytoneeven.“IfheisinCalifornia,howdidhewritethenote?That,”Ipointdown,“ishis

handwriting.”

“Oh.Well…”

“Madeleine.”

“Ithoughtyouknew…”

MymouthistheSahara.Mywordsraspoutlikeadrywind.

“YouthoughtIknewwhat?”

“He’sback.Hemovedbacklastweek.Ireallythoughtyouknew.”

Justlikethat,myparadeisover,andconfettiisstucktomyshoes.

Idon’thateflowers;Ihatedaisies.Theygivemehives.They’retheflowereveryonewantsmetobe.The

worldseesmewithmypaleblondehairandmybig,shiningblueeyesandtheywanttopatmyheadand

plantmeintheirgardens.I’mnotadaisy.I’madoctor.Ineverwanttobereducedtoadaisy,andLucas

knowsthisbetterthananyone.

IdragMadeleineuptomyroomafterIstuffthelidbackonthetrashcan.IfLucashasmovedbackto

Hamilton,Ineedtoknowwhy.Likeachipmunkcollectingnuts,Ineedtogatherintelinmycheeksuntil

theypop.

“Madeleine.Whyisheback?”

“Wellhe’sfinishedwithresidency,likeyou,sohecamebackforajob.”

Sheisn’tmeetingmyeyes.

“Whatjob?”

Shewringsoutherhands,nervous.

“AtDr.McCorm—”

“NO!”Ierupt.“GODNO!”

Shefinallyturnstome,herfacetwistedinsympathy.“I’msorry,Daisy!Ithoughtyouknew!Why

wouldn’tDr.Mtelly’allyou’dbeworkingtogether?”

Iholdmyhandtomythroatandfeelmypulse—racing.Idropitandstarttopace.Therehastobean

explanation.Thefactsaresimple:Dr.McCormickownstheonlyfamilypracticeintownandhe’shinted

aboutretiring.Hisofficeisaone-manoperationandheofferedmeajobduringmylastyearofresidency.

Obviously,Itookit,hencethecelebratoryparade.

SohowthehelldoesLucasfactorintotheequation?Iclutchtoarapidlyshrinkingshredofoptimism.

MaybeDr.McCormickneedsanofficemanager,orbetteryet,ajanitor.

Madeleinecrossesinfrontofmypath,momentarilystallingmypaces.“Don’tyouthinkit’stimeyou

twoputthisweirdanimositybehindyou?It’sbeen11years.You’rebothonthecuspofbecoming

successfuldoctors.Surelyyoudon’tstillhateeachother!”

Ilaugh.Itsoundshysterical.

“Madeleine,Madeleine,Madeleine.”

“Stopsayingmyname.”

“DoyourememberwhenMrs.Beckwith,theschoolcounselor,pulledLucasandmeintoheroffice

duringoursenioryear?Aftertheparkinglotincident?”

“No—”

“Ittookonehourforustobreakher.Shegaveupcounseling.Quitthatsameday,movedtoupstate

NewYorkandstartedfarmingrootvegetables.ShesaidLucasandIhad—andIquotefromher

resignationletter—‘robbedherofallfaithinthefutureofhumanity’.”

“Thatsoundsmadeup.”

“Iknowyourbrother—probablymuchbetterthanyoudo.Wewillnevergetalong.11yearsapartis

nothing.Ithaschangednothing.Ifanything,it’sgivenouranimositytimetomaturelikeafinewine—or

betteryet,astinkycheese.”

“Weren’tyousupposedtobestudyingmedicineallthistime?”

“Oh,believeme,Iwas.Foreveryhorrificskindisease,cyst,andpustulewelearnedabout,I

imaginedthemonLucas.Foreveryslow,painfulterminalillness,Ipicturedhimsufferingthroughthem

insteadofjustsomenamelessstudyparticipant.Iwasactuallyabletocommitquitealottomemorythat

way.”

“You’rehopeless.”Shethrowsupherhandsandheadsforthedoor.“I’mgoingdowntohangoutwith

yourguests.Youneedtodosomeserioussoul-searching,Daisy.Whetheryoulikeitornot,Lucaswillbe

workingwithyouatDr.McCormick’s,andIsuggestyougoinwithagoodattitude.Lookatwhathedid

today.”Shepointstothepinkenvelopesittingonmybed.She’ddugitoutofthetrashbeforeIcouldslam

theliddownonherarm.Inowregretnotdrawingblood.“Thoseflowersareclearlyapeaceoffering—”

Whatanaïvegirl,unhardenedbyalifetimeofcontinuoushostility.

“Ohplease.They’reawarningshot.”

Sherollshereyesandwalksout,leavingmealoneinmySituationRoom.Theflowersareasecret

message,hislittlereminderthatnothinghaschangedbetweenus.Toeveryoneelse,theylooklikeakind

gesture.Theycan’tseethesubtext,thetorture,andthatispreciselyhispoint.

Ilookdownatthepinkenvelopethenbackattheopendoor.Iamtemptedtoreadit,soIclosethe

door.Icanhearmymomshoutingateveryonetousecoasters.Noonewillknow.

Withouthesitation,Itearintotheenvelope.Hissharpscriptgivesmetunnelvision.

Rosesarered,

Daisyisyou,

Iheardyoucameback,

andIdidtoo.

C H A P T E R T W O

LucasThatcherandIhavebeenincompetitionwitheachothersincedayone.Yes,theactualdayone,the

dayonwhichwewereborn,allof58minutesapart.

Icrawledfirst.Hespokefirst.Iwalkedfirstandhepotty-trainedfirst.

Andsoitwent.

Ourparentsdressedusupinmatchingoutfitsandplannedjointbirthdayparties.I’veseenthephoto

albums,filledwithtwolittleinfants:oneaquietangel,theother,abrashhellion.Myfavoritephoto,oneI

likedtouseasevidence,depictedussittingsidebysideataHalloweenfestivalwhenwewerealmosta

yearold.They’dploppedusdownonhaystackshopingforasweetphoto,butLucashadturnedonme,

tearingoffmysmallyellowbowwithhisuncoordinatedinfantfingersandthrowingitontheground.

They’dsnappedthephotojustasI’dretaliatedwiththefewteethIwieldedatthetime.

Obviouslyinfantsaren’tbornwithinnatehatredpumpingoutoftheirtinyhearts,butIuseourbirthsas

astartingpointbecausenobodycanpinpointanexactdatewhenourcompetitionbegan.Mymomswears

weturnedononeanotherwhenLucaswaschosentobethepreschoollineleader.Itendtodisagree—

afterall,youcan’tplacealltheblameonMrs.Hallow,evenifchoosingLucasovermewasthebiggest

mistakeofherentirecareer.

Inlightofthesheerlongevityofourrivalry,peoplealwayswanttoknowwhatterribleeventhad

transpiredtoprecipitateitall.Thetruthis,we’vealwaysbeenthisway.IamtheAnnieOakleytohis

FrankButlerandIfirmlybelievethatanythinghecando,Icandobetter.

Arivalrylikeourssustainsitselfbyconstantlyevolving.Inelementaryandmiddleschool,thetactics

werejuvenile:vandalizedfingerpaintingsinartclass,stolensoccerballsontheplayground,sabotaged

shoelacesintheschoolplay.

Thesecrudeencountersinevitablyproducedacertainamountofcollateraldamage.Lettersweresent

homeaboutschoolpropertyandbehavioralcorrection.Ienduredmyfirstandonlydetentionbecauseof

Lucas.Weevenlostfriends—theoneswhoweren’twillingtobecomelieutenantsinourlittlewar—but

mostimportantly,westartedtoforfeittherespectofourteachers.Aswegrewolder,werecognizedthe

significanceoftheseauthorityfiguresandthegradestheydoledout.Thereportcardssenthomeonthick

whitecardstocksuddenlybecameourobjectivemeansofcomparison,ourapplestoapples.Everysix

weeksthosemarkstolduswhowasbetter,whowaswinning.

Nowtherearenomoreteachers,butthereisDr.McCormick,andIcatchaluckybreakwhenIruninto

himatHamiltonBrewthemorningaftertheparty.

Iwasplanningondroppingbyhishouselater,butthisisbetter,casual.Hesitsinthecornerneara

windowwiththeSundaypaperandalargecoffee.Imakenoteofthetwoemptysugarpacketsbesidehis

cup.

Hehadseemedoldtomeinhighschool,butInowrealizehe’sonlygotayearortwoovermymother.

Hisbrownhairissaltyandhe’stakentogrowingoutawhitemustache.Inall,I’dsayhe’sasuaveversion

ofol’SaintNick.

“Dr.McCormick,”Isaywithawinningsmile.“Fancyseeingyouhere.”

“Daisy!”

He’sgenuinelyhappytoseeme,whichI’mgladfor.Weshootthebreezeforafewminutesasonly

peoplefromsmalltownscan.There’sramblingtalkofanewhousingdevelopmentandaWal-Mart.

“Nextthingyou’llknow,we’llhaveaWholeFoods,”hesayswithashakeofhishead.

Withoutaskingforpermission,Isitdownacrossfromhimandgetdowntobusiness.

“IheardLucasisbackintown.Weird,right?Imean,whataretheodds?”

Mygazeisonthelatte,butmyattentionisonhim.Heshiftsawkwardlyinhischairandreachesforhis

coffee.It’sstillsteaming—toohottodrink—whichmeanshe’sstalling.

“IthoughtI’dhaveanotherdayofpeacebeforeyoutwofoundout.”

Myheartdrops.

“Soit’strue?He’sworkingwithus?”

“Startingtomorrow,justlikeyou.”

Iinwardlycrumble,rememberhe’swatchingme,andforceasmile.

“CanIaskwhy?Surelyonlyoneofuscantakeoverthepracticewhenyouretire,right?”

HerubshischinthoughtfullyandIcan’thelpbutfeellikeI’veoversteppedmybounds.Still,he

doesn’tsidestepmyquestion.

“Tobehonest,itwasn’tsomethingIplanned,itjusthappened.Iletitsliptoafewpeopleatchurch

oneSundaythatIwasconsideringretirement,andwouldn’tyouknowit,Ihadtwoemailsandtwo

voicemailswaitingformeMondaymorning.”

“MeandLucas?”

“Bingo.Iguessthat’swhatIgetforopeningmymouth.”

Iwanttoaskhimwhoemailedhimfirst,butIbitemytongueashecontinues.

“Iwasproudthatyoutwohadbothgoneintofamilymedicine,butshockedthatyoubothwantedto

returntolittleol’Hamiltonafteralltheseyears.”

LucasandIbothhadhighenoughscoresforthemoredifficultspecialties.Plasticsurgery,

dermatology—thefewwithflexiblehoursandbigbucks.Familymedicinespotsaren’ttypicallyinhigh

demand,oranyone’sfirstchoice.

“Butasanolddoctorislikelytodo,Iturnedthisproblemonitsheadandlookedatthesilverlining.

Asyoucansee,Hamiltonisn’taslittleasitusedtobe.DoyouknowI’vehadtoskipluncheverydayfor

thepastfiveyearsjusttomeetthedemand?”

Icanseewherehe’sgoingwiththis,andIdon’tlikeit.Myfakesmileismakingmycheekmuscles

cramp.

“Mypointis,there’senoughworkfortwodoctors,maybeeventhree.”

Idon’tneedlunch.I’llworkSaturdays—Sundayseven.Iwantmyownpractice.It’smydreamand

he’sslowlycrushingit.

AllIactuallymanagetosayis,“Right.”

Itrynottoletdreadshowonmyface.ImovedbacktoHamiltonafewdaysagoassumingthepractice

wasasgoodasmine,butpartofbeingadoctorisbeingabletorollwiththepunchesandadaptwhen

thingsdon’tgoaccordingtoplan.So,Iconjureupagenuinesmileandresolvetofixthislater.

Iscootmychairback,stand,andstretchmyhandoutacrossthetable.

“WellDr.McCormick,whateverendsuphappening,Ilookforwardtopracticingwithyou.”

Hegrins,pleased.

AsIleaveHamiltonBrew,Itakeanespressoshotto-go…thenthinkaheadandgrabanother.

Tomorrowmorning,Iwillcomefacetofacewithmyrival,andthereareafewthingsIneedtotakecare

ofbeforethen.

FromHamiltonBrew,IwalkdownMainStreetandheadintothebiggestsalonintown.Ihaven’t

trimmedmyhairinalmostayear.Thatwon’tdo.Iaskforcleanlayersandhavethemshapeitsoitframes

mydelicatefeatures.Fromthere,Iaskforeveryspatreatmenttheyhave.Idon’twanttobeprettyfor

Lucas,who,asarobot,isn’tprogrammedtoregisterbeauty.Theprimpingisallforme.I’mageneral

preparingforbattle,andwhiletheybuffmyfeet,Iflipthroughmyoldmedicaltextbooks,brushingupon

theoffchanceIencountersomeobscure,hard-to-pronounceillnesstomorrow.

“Whataboutyourbrows?Wantustoshapethemupabit?”

Ilaughbecauseit’sastupidquestion.“Yes.Doit.Allofit.”

WhenIstrollintomymom’shouselater,she’ssittingatthediningtableflippingthroughmagazines

andtalkingonthephone.ShelooksupatmeasIclosethedoorandhermouthfallsopeninshock.

“I’llhavetocallyouback,”shesaysintothephone.“SomeonethatlookslikeDaisyjustgothome.”

Idropmyshoppingbagsonthecouchandwalkintothekitchen.I’mtakingamassivebiteoutofan

applewhenshecomesintojoinme.She’spetite,evenmoresothanIam.Herblondehairhidesthefew

graysshehas,andherregimentedskincareroutinemeansshelooks30insteadof50.Usuallyhersmile

canlightuparoom,butrightnow,itlightsupnothing.

“You’vebeenbusytoday,”shesays,wavingherhandupanddownmybody.I’mnotreallythegirly-

girltype;therewasnotimeforitduringmedicalschoolandresidency.Thiswomanwithglossyhairand

smoothlegsseemsforeigneventome,butitfeelsgood,asifI’mfasterandmoreaerodynamicnowthat

they’vestrippedmostofthehairfrommybody.

“What’sintheshoppingbags?”sheasksasImunchonmyapple.

“Workclothes.”

Shearchesabrow.“Ithoughtyoutoldmetheotherdayyoudidn’tneedanything.”

“Thatwasbefore—”Iholdmytongueandthenpivot.“Ijustchangedmymind.Theseclothesarenew

andIspentallafternoonwithMrs.Williamsgettingthemaltered.”

Shesmirks.“Soyoudoknow,don’tyou?”

“Aboutwhat,Mother?”

Theuseofthewordmotherhintsatmyannoyancewithher,likewhensheusesmyfullname.

Sherubshertempleandsighs.“Ionlyfoundoutafewdaysbeforeyoumovedback.Iwasgoingtotell

you,butI’maselfishwomanandIwantedyoubackhere.You’vebeengonetoolong.”

“Youstillshouldhavetoldme.”

Shenods,agreeing.“Itakeitfromtheclothesthatyou’renotleaving?”

“DoyouthinkIshould?”

“Absolutelynot.”

“DoyouwanttoseewhatIboughtthen?”

It’sanolivebranchandshetakesitreadily.Truthfully,I’mnotthatupsetthatshedidn’ttellmeLucas

movedbacksooner;Iunderstandherreasoning.SheandIhavealwaysbeenclose,especiallysinceitwas

justthetwoofusforsomanyyearsaftermydadgotsickwhenIwaslittle.Shehardlywantedmetoleave

forcollegeandnowthatI’mback,Ihavenoplanstoleavethistownagain.No,McCormickFamily

Practiceisasgoodasmine.

We’reupstairsinmyroompickingoutmyoutfitformyfirstdayofworkwhenmyphoneringsonthe

nightstand.It’sanumberIdon’trecognizeandInearlyignoreit,butcuriositygetsthebetterofme.

Wavingmymomout,Ilockthedoorandanswer.

“Hello?”

“DaisyBell.”

Ihaven’theardhisvoicein11years.

“MayIaskwho’scalling?”

“Ithinkyouknow.”

“LucasThatcher.Idon’trecognizethenumber.AmIyouronecallfromjail?”

“Icalledfromapayphone.Idon’twantyoutracingthis.”

“It’s2017—wheredidyoufindapayphone?”

“That’sirrelevant.Listen,wehaven’tseeneachotherinalongtime,andIwantedtobreaktheice.I

don’twantthingstogetuglytomorrow.”

“Idon’thaveanycluewhatyou’retalkingabout.I’mlookingforwardtoworkingtogether,Lucas.”

“Y’know,afteralltheseyears,Icanstilltellwhenyou’relying—butitdoesn’tmatter.Thisisyour

chancetobowout,Daisy.Gracefully.Youcantelleveryoneyougotanotherjob.”

“You’llbetheonebowing,Lucas,whenDr.McCormickseesthemistakehe’smadeinhiringyou.”

“Notlikely.”

“I’mgoingtobringhimsnickerdoodles.Dr.McCormicklovessnickerdoodles.”

“We’regoinggolfingonSaturdayandI’mgoingtolethimwin.”

“Youhatelosing.”

“Onlytoyou.”

“Wellthenthenextfewmonthswon’tbeverypleasantforyou.”

“Areyoudone?I’mabouttohavetoputinanotherquarter.”

“I’msurprisedyoudidn’tcallcollectandmakemepay.”

IthinkIhearhimchuckle,butitcouldbeacracklefromtheancientpayphone.

“I’llseeyouinthemorningthen,Dr.Bell.”

Iopenmymouth,butthendecidetoendthecallwithoutdignifyinghimwitharesponse.

NotifIseeyoufirst.

C H A P T E R T H R E E

ItwasashocktonoonethatLucasandIbothtookthepre-medtrackincollege.Whatcareerpathisworth

pursuingmorethanmedicine?Perhapslaw,butneitherofushadenjoyedthemocktrialswesuffered

throughinMs.Pace’sninthgradehistoryclass.Theonlyreasonwe’dputanyeffortintoitatallwas

becausewewerepittedagainstoneanother,opposingcounsel.I’dwon,offeringupaclosingargumentso

goodAtticusFinchwouldhavebeenproud.Ms.PacehadconsumedaheroicamountofExcedrinthat

year.

Oursenioryearofhighschool,LucaswasofferedafullridetoStanford.Dukeextendedmethesame.

Thefactthatouruniversitieswereonoppositecoastsfurthercementedourchoices.Infact,I’dhavegone

allthewaytoNewZealandiftheyhadofferedmeafullride.

AfterImovedawayforcollege,informationaboutLucaswasonlyofferedupbyMadeleine.Wehad

anunspokenrulewhereinIneveraskedabouthimandshebroughthimupoften,asifIcaredwhathewas

doingwithhislife.ShewastheonetotellmewhenhewasvisitinghomesoIcouldstaggermyvisits.

OnceIconfirmedthatLucaswasaway,I’dreturnhomeinshort,anxiety-riddenbursts.Theideaofhim

poppingupinoursmalltownatanytimemadeitimpossibletoenjoytheholidays.

DuetomycarefulplanningandMadeleine’sincrediblydetailedcalendar,Ihaven’tseenLucasin11

years,noteveninphotos.Idon’tuseFacebook.Onenightincollege,IdecidedIdidn’tneedthe

distractionanylongeranddisabledmyaccount.Sure,earlierthatsamenightLucashadbeentaggedina

photowithaprettyblondeatawinterformalatStanford,butthatwasunrelatedtomydecision.Itreally

isastupidwebsite.

ThefactthatI’mgoingtocomefacetofacewithLucasaftersomanyyearsapartmakesitimpossible

tosleep,soIdon’tbother.Igetoutofbedatthecrackofdawnandgetreadyforwork.Myoutfit—fitted

graycigarettepants,blackblouse,andmatchingballetflats—isprofessional,butalsocomfortableenough

foralongdayfilledwithappointments.Oncemyhairandmakeuparedone,Iridemybiketheshort

distancetoHamiltonBrew.ThecoffeeshopisrightacrossthestreetfromtheofficeandIhaveaperfect

vantagepointtowatchforwhenLucasarrives.Ithinkit’simportantthatIseehimbeforeheseesme;I

wanteveryadvantageIcanget.

Thebaristabringsmetwocoffees(oneformeandoneforDr.McCormick)andmakesajokeabout

mymorningread:TheAmericanJournalofMedicine.It’snoCosmo,butthearticleswilldistractmefor

alittlewhile.MyheartisracingandIhaven’tevenhadcaffeineyet.Iblameitonmybikeride.

“DaisyBell,isthatyou?”

IturnandstareupintothefaceofagirlIhaven’tseensincemyhighschoolgraduation.

“Hannah?”Itossouthopefully.WithoutFacebook,Ihavetorelyonmymemory.

ShebeamsandIknowI’mright.

“Howareyou?”sheasks,steppingcloserwithabig,confidentsmile.

Inod.“I’mgood,yeah.Howaboutyou?”

Iseeherdiamond-studdedhandrubbingherverypregnantbelly.

“I’mgood.Eightmonthsalongandnotreallysleepingmuchatthemoment.”

That’swhyshe’satthecoffeeshopatatimeusuallyreservedforshiftworkersandcrazydoctors

stakingouttheirnemeses.

“Congratulations,youlookgreat.”

Sherollshereyesindisbelief.

“Wellthat’spoliteofyoutosay.ToddsaysI’veneverlookedbetter,butIthinkhe’sjustsaying—”

“ToddBuchanan?!”

Shenodswithalaugh.“Thesame!Wegotmarriedafewyearsback.”

IfeellikeI’vesteppedintothetwilightzone.Myclassmatesaregettingmarriedandhavingchildren.

I’m28andhaveneverdeclaredmyloveforasignificantother.Mybiggestcommitmentsofarisbuyinga

Roomba.Howisthispossible?HowamIsobehind?

“That’sgreat,”Icroak.

“God,youlookdifferent,”shespouts,wavingherhandfromthetopofmyblondehairtothetipofmy

balletflats.“Imean,youusedtobeprettyinhighschool,butyouneverquiteknewwhattodowithall

thathairandthosefreckles.I’mgladyoudon’tcoverthemup.”

Itouchmycheek,alittleshockedbyhercandidness.“Thanks.”

“Y’know,IsawLucastheotherday,”shecontinues.“Movinghisstuffupstairs.”

Mybodyhums.Itellmyselfit’sthecaffeinekickingin,thoughIhaven’ttakenasip.Mustbethefumes.

“Oh?”

Thisisnewstome;Iassumedhewouldbemovingbackinwithhisparentstemporarily.LucasandI

livednextdoortooneanotherourentirelives.Ourproximitydidn’tmattermuchwhenwewereyounger,

butassoonasweenteredhighschool,thatchanged.Therewasnoescape.Wekneweachother’severy

move.NoboyeverpickedmeupforadatewithoutLucaslingeringoutside,somehowruiningthe

moment.Checkingthemail,mowingthelawn,washinghiscar—innocuousactivitiesthatdidlittletohide

histrueintent:togetinsidemyheadandruinthemoment.

Iwasn’tquiteasbold.Iusedtheperchatmybedroomwindowtospywhenthemomentspresented

themselves,likewhenhekissedCarrieKocheronhisfrontporchwhenwewerefourteen.I’dbeenglued

tothepaneofglass,watchingandtryingtosuppressmygagreflex.Howcanshestandit?I’dwondered.

Ireachformycoffee,examinethemilkybrowncolor,dropit,shuffleitalittletotheleft,andthen

lookbacktoHannah.Sheiswearingalittlesmirkandthensheleansdownclosesothebaristacan’thear.

“He’sstillthehottestthingtocomeoutofHamiltonHigh.”

IfI’dtakenasipofmycoffee,Iwouldhaveperformedaspittakealloverherface.

“Itakeitfromyourreactionyoutwostilldon’tgetalong?”shecontinues.

I’mnotshockedsheremembersourrivalry.IthinktheBushadministrationwasbriefedaboutour

anticsatonepoint.

“Cansomeonethatarrogantgetalongwithanyone?”Ijoke,tryingtopushtheblamewhereitbelongs:

onLucas.

Shelaughs.“Youweretheonlyonetohaveaproblemwithhim.Wenevercouldfigureitout.There

wasevenarumorgoingaroundthat—”

Ilaughloudlyandaggressively.Ineedhertoshutupandgohaveherbabysomewhere.

“Well,Idon’twanttokeepyou,andIneedtogetbacktoreading…”

Shetakesthehintandstepsback.Iwishherluckwithherpregnancyandthengobacktopretendingto

readmyjournal.It’sonlywhenshewalksoutthatIrealizeIneveraskedherwhatshemeantby“moving

hisstuffupstairs.”

I’dheardtheywereputtingloftsinsomeofthesecondstoriesalongMainStreet,but…surelyheisn’t

rightabovemerightnow.MyspinetremblesandIslowlyraisemyeyestotheceiling,asifexpecting

dropsofbloodtodriponmyforeheadlikeinahorrormovie.

InsteadIseeonlyexposedductworkandwiring,andIfeellikeafool.I’vethoughtaboutLucasfor

longerthanIcareto.ItfeelslikeI’malreadylosingacompetitionthatdoesn’tevenexist,soforthenext

fewminutes,IpretendI’mbackatDuke,amillionmilesawayfromLucas.Thedaydreamdoeswonders

formynerves,andIcanalmostimagineaworldinwhichhedoesn’texist.

AfterI’vesettledintotheOscar-worthyimpressionofcalmI’mdeterminedtoexude,adooropens

outside,adjacenttothecoffeeshop’sfrontentrance.Iscrunchmybrowsandleanclosertothewindow,

watchinginslowmotionasamanwalksoutontothesidewalk.AmanI’dhopedtoavoidforalifetime,

oratleastanotherfiveminutes.Amanwhoistheverybaneofmyexistence.

C H A P T E R F O U R

Mymouthdries.Myhandsshake.Mystomachplummetsandthenflipsoverandoverlikearollercoaster

settoMAXSPEED.Technically,I’mgettingmywish—I’mseeinghimbeforeheseesme—butmywish

haschangedandIwanthimtodisappear,togobackuptohishidey-holeandstaythereforever.

HisbackistomeandIbeginanassessmentofhimthat’spurelyscientific.Hishairisdarkbrown,

thickandtrimmedbysomeonewhoknowswhatthey’redoing.He’swearingnavyslacksandacrisp

whitebutton-down.Hisbrownleatherwatchmatcheshisbeltandshoes.Atsomepointovertheyears,a

womanmusthavetaughthimhowtocolorcoordinate,presumablybeforehechoppedherupandturned

herintojerky.

Heturnstolookbothwaysbeforecrossingthestreet.Hedoesn’tdoitbecauseit’swhathismother

taughthim—Iknowhe’slookingforme,ensuringI’mnotwaitingwithasouped-upFordBronco,

preparedtomowhimdown.Forafewseconds,I’mprovidedwithaviewofhisprofile.Ofcourse.I

cursetimeandtestosterone.11yearshavetakenhischubbycheeksandsharpenedthemtohardlines.

They’vestretchedhistallframeandblownituplikeamuscledballoon.Withoutadoubt,heeatsprotein

andhasagymmembership.

Inhighschool,hepreferredcontactlenses.Now,heiswearingthickblackframeslikehehasan

auditionforsomenewsuperheromovieafterworkandhe’stryingtostepintotheroleearly.Pathetic.

Theysuithim.

Oncehe’ssurethecoastisclear,hetakesastepoutontothestreet.Soundlessly,Iriseandtailhim

likeanundercovercop.WhenIslipoutofthecoffeeshop,Lucasdoesn’tturn,butheimmediatelyspots

meinthereflectionoftheplateglassthatfrontsMcCormickFamilyPractice—myhairistoobrighttogo

unnoticed.Oureyeslockinthemirroredsurfaceandneitherofusturnsorwavers.We’retheonlyones

outonthestreet;IcouldscaldhimwithDr.McCormick’scoffeeandclaimitwasanaccident.Itwouldbe

hiswordagainstmine,andI’madorable,butthiscoffeealreadyhasapurpose.

Ourstepsclapinunison,left,right,left,right.Idesperatelyyearntotouchthedoorhandlefirst,atiny

achievement,butit’simpossibleunlessIbreakintoasprint.Toodesperateevenforme.Hereachesthe

doorfirstandIpredicthewillstepinsideandlockitbehindhim.Instead,hestepsbackandholdsitopen

forme.

Iknowit’sjustanact.Chivalryisdead.Lucaskilledit.

WhenI’mastepawayfrombrushingpasthim,hesmilescoylyandstickshisfootouttotripme.

Withoutbreakingstride,Itakeanexaggeratedstepoverit.

“Didyouliketheflowers?”heasks.

Hisvoiceisdeeperandsmootherthanitwasonthephone,likeadarkliquor,thekindthatleavesyou

withanastyhangover.

Ismile.“They’rerottinginthegarbage.”

“Andthecard?”Hismalevolenttoneconfirmstheflowersandthecardwerelessofagift,andmore

ofaTrojanhorseintomypsyche.

“Itburnednicely.”

Ourfirstencounterin11yearsissharp.I’mnotsurprisedwe’repickinguprightwhereweleftoff.

WestepintothelobbyandDr.McCormickiswaitingforuswiththerestofthestaff.They’rewearing

eagersmilesandIdonmyown,carefultotiltmyheadawayfromLucassohecan’tsee.

“WELCOMEDOCTORS!”theyallshout,pointingtothehomemadebannerhangingbehindthe

receptiondesk.

Mysmilewidensasourbossstepswithinearshot.“Goodmorning,everyone!Dr.McCormick,I

broughtyourusualfromTheBrew.Asforeveryoneelse,thefirstcoffeebreakisonmetoday.”

TheyarepleasantlysurprisedandLucasisnot.Iextendthecoffeeouttoourbossandfinallyturnto

glanceupatLucas.Mysmileseemsgenuinebecauseupuntilasecondagoitwas.I’velearnedafew

tricksovertheyears.

Lucasevaluatesme.Hedragshisdarkgazefromthetipofmyballetflatstothetopofmyshinyhair;

he’swonderingifI’mstillaworthyopponent.Whentheedgeofhismouthslowlyunwindsintoasmirk,I

knowhe’sexcitedtohavehisoldrivalback.Hewantstopickthemeatfrommybones.

Dr.McCormickgoesthroughintroductionsandwhileLucasgiveseveryoneahandshakeandasmile,I

domore.Icommittheirnamestomemoryandbegintobuildaplanofattackforeachandeveryoneof

them.Therearetwomedicalassistants,onenurse,andoneofficemanager.Everyonebuttheoffice

managerlooksyoung,aroundmyage,andtheyareallfemale,allenamoredwithLucasrightaway.It’s

biologyandIcannotcompete,soItryanothertactic.

“Thoseareadorablescrubs,Casey.”

Thenursebeamswithmyapproval.

Gina,theofficemanager,walksaroundthereceptiondeskandtakestwowhitecoatsofftherack.

There’soneforLucasandoneforme.Lucasgrabsforbothandminelooksridiculouslysmallinhishands

asheholdsitopenforme.

“Ididn’trealizetheycameinchildsizes,”hesays,holdingitouttomewithadevilishsmirk.

Igritmyteethandholdmytonguewhilethewomenoftheofficegiggleasifhisjokeisfunny.I’llhave

myworkcutoutformewiththisgroup.Grudgingly,Isliponearminandturnmybacktohim.Hesteps

forwardasmyotherarmfillsthesleeve,andit’stheclosestwe’vebeenin11years.Headjuststheback

ofmycollarandhisfingersbrushthebackofmyneck.

Hishelpfulattempttounsettlemebackfires.Withmywhitecoaton,Ifeelintimidatingandincharge.

It’sembroideredwiththelogoforMcCormickFamilyPracticeononesideandDaisyBell,M.D.onthe

other.Dr.McCormickstaresbetweenthetwoofus,tearsbrimminghiseyes.He’sabigsoftie.

“ItgoeswithoutsayingthatI’mproudofthetwoofyou.”

IscootalittleclosertohimandLucasfollows.

“Timefortherundown.Ifigurewe’lldoaprobationaryperiodwhereyoutwogetthelayoftheland.

Youbothdidresidenciesinbigcitiesandyou’llfindthatsmalltownpracticesaredifferent.Here,there

arenospecialistsfor50milesaround.You’llseeitall,andIneedtoknowyoubothcanhandlethat.”

“Andifoneofuscan’thandleit,whathappens?”Iaskinnocently.MaybeIstillhaveachanceat

owningmyownpractice.Mydreamisn’tcompletelydead.

“OhIdoubtthatwillhappen.You’rebothcapablephysicians.Thisbreak-inperiodismoreformy

benefitthanforyours.It’sgoingtobehardtoletgo.”

He’sskirtingaroundit,butthefactis,hereallythinksLucasandIwillbesharingthepractice.Ithink

someonespikedhisbreakfastwithcrazypills.

“I’venoticedyoubothseemtohave…reservationsaboutsharingthepractice.Ididn’tmeanittobe

somekindoftrick,soIwon’tholdeitherofyoutoyourcontractifyou’dliketoacceptajobelsewhere.I

knowyoubothhadplentyofoffers.”

Hedoesn’tknowmeatallifhethinksI’llbowoutnowthatLucasThatcherismycoworker.If

anything,I’mmorecommittedtothisjobthaneverbefore.

“Ofcoursenot.Thankyouforthisopportunity,”Isaysincerely.

“Iwon’ttakethispositionlightly,”Lucasfollows.Thereareaudiblesighs.

Dr.McCormickchucklesandwipesatatearthatnearlyfallsdownhischeek.Then,withanod,he

transitionstheofficebackintoworkmode.“Allright,welllet’sgetgoing.It’llbeabusyday.We’ve

alreadynotifiedthepatientsaheadoftimethattheirproviderwillbechanging.I’llseethemiftheyinsist

onit,butsoonerorlater,they’llhavetogetusedtoyoutwobeinghere.”

No,they’llhavetogetusedtome,andtheywill—happily.Mybedsidemannerisexcellent.I’mgentle

andunderstanding.I’magoodlistener,unlikeLucas.I’llbethesighsheavilyandlooksathiswatch

duringappointments.I’llbetherusheshispatients,hurryingthemalongwhentheytrytogivehimtheirfull

history.

“Ifyou’llfollowme,”Ginastarts.“I’llshowyoutwotoyouroffices.”

IbeatLucastothedooroffofthereceptionarea.Heretaliatesbystrikingupaconversationwith

Gina.Iholdback,hopingGinaseesthroughhistransparenteffortstoendearhimselftoher.Fromthe

sparkleinhereyes,Isuspectshe’shappytobeapawnaslongasthekinglookslikethat.

Ourofficesaresmall,basicallytwoclosetsstackedsidebysidenearthebackofthebuilding.

They’verefittedthemforouruseandIgoonabouthownicetheyare.IthinkGinaisabitsuspiciousof

myenthusiasm.Icanhardlyturnaroundinthesmallspaceandthere’sastackofboxesallbutblockingthe

doorway.

“Right.Well,thekitchenisthere,”shesays,pointingbehindher.“Imakecoffeeinthemornings,but

letmeknowifit’srunninglowandI’llmakemore.Don’tleavedishesinthesinkandcleanupafter

yourselves.I’mtheofficemanager,notthemaid.”

“I’macoffeefiend,butI’mhappytomakemyown,”Lucassayswithaperfectedsmile.

Shenodsbeforesheturnsaway,seeminglyappreciatinghisdown-to-earthattitude.It’sfake.Once

she’sturnedthecornerbackdownthehallway,heandIareleftaloneforthefirsttime.Westandsideby

sideinthedoorwaystoouroffices,notmoving.Ourarmsarecrossed,andthoughItrytostandwithmy

shouldersasstraightaspossible,he’sstillgotafootonme.

“Youhaven’tchangedonebit,”hefinallysays.

“Really?Becauseyou’vegottenmuchworse.”

“You’reprobablyright.”HefinallyturnstofacemeandI’mstunnedbyjusthowhandsometheyears

havemadehim.Hehasadefinedjaw,straightnose,andalluringbrowneyes.Itdoesn’tseemfair.Hetilts

hisheadandIblink,awarethatI’velikelybeenstaringfortoolong.“ListenDaisy,Iknowwehavehad

ourdifferencesinthepast,butwe’vebothgrownupandIjusthopewecanturnoveranewleaf.Neither

ofuswantstojeopardizethisopportunity,solet’sjustleavethechildishanticsbehind.”

Hisheartfeltspeechsoundsgenuine,andforamoment,Iwonderifitis—butthenhiswickedsmirk

betrayshim.It’sinsidious.Alesserwomanmighthavebelievedhim,butIsnaphisolivebranchovermy

knee.

“I’mtouched,Lucas.Didyoupracticethatinfrontofyourmirrorlastnight?”

Beforehecancontinuewithhismindtricks,Iturnandshutmyofficedoor.Theroomisthimble-sized,

nearlytoosmallforme,whichmeanstheonenextdoorisdefinitelytoosmallforLucas.Theimageof

himcrammedinsidetherespreadsasmileacrossmylips.

Idropmybagandstaredownatthepatientlistprintedoutforme.Thereare24patientsonthedocket

fortheday.EightofthemareseeingDr.McCormick,andtheother16aredividedbetweenDr.Thatcher

andDr.Bell.

Anideaspringstomindandmyhandsshakewithaburstofadrenaline.Iturnfrommydeskandrip

openmydoor,nearlysprintingbacktoreception.

Dr.McCormick’sprobationaryperiodisourchancetoproveourselvestohim.Icancontinuetobutter

himupwithcoffeeandcompliments,andIwill,butthatisonlyPhaseIofmyplan:wintheloveofDr.

McCormick.IfIeverwanttorealizemydreamofowningthepracticeoutright,IneedtomakeLucas

seemliketheoddmanoutamongstthetwoothergroupsintheequation:theofficestaff,andthepatients.

Withtheofficestaffconsistingprimarilyofwomen,Lucaswillinevitablyhavetheupperhand.

Apparently,mostwomenseemtofindhistypeattractive,andunlessIampreparedtopermanently

disfigurehisface,thereisnochangingthat.Ourpatients,however,willbemalesandfemalesofallages.

Theywillwantapleasant,compassionatedoctorregardlessofgenderormuscledefinition.IfIcansway

thepatientstomysideandDr.McCormickhearsthemravingaboutme,hewillhavetorethinkhis

decisiontoincludeLucasinhislegacy.Thestaffandpatientsareconstituentsinademocracy,andIwill

wintheirvote.Lucaswillwinabusticketoutoftown.

SobeginsPhaseII:wintheloveoftheofficestaffandpatients.

Ipassthetwomedicalassistants,MariahandBecky,astheypreptheexamroomsforourpatients.I

smileextrawide.GinaandCaseyarebothsittingbehindthefrontdesk,working.BesideGina’scomputer,

thereisabinfullofthefilesforthepatientscomingintoday.ThereareeightfilestherethatIneedto

read,eightpatientswhorangefromslightlyannoyedtoveryangryatthefactthattheirphysicianis

retiring.They’renervousandIwillholdtheirhandsandwalkthemthroughthisperiodofchange.Bythe

timeI’mdonewiththem,theywon’tevenrememberwhoDr.McCormickwas.

I’mquietlygoingovermypatienthistorieswhenMariahandBeckyreturntoreceptionwithfresh

coffeeintheirmugs.PhaseII,Ithinktomyself,clearingmythroat.

“SoIknowIonlybroughtDr.McCormickcoffeethismorning,butIwashopingyou’dalljoinmefor

acoffeebreaksometimethisweek,mytreat.”Isparkle.“Justusgirl—”

Thedoorchimeabortsmykindgesture.Ileanoverthereceptiondeskandnarrowmyeyesonayoung

kidcarryingintwoheftybags.Hehasahatonbackwardandeyesthatsayhe’dratherbesleeping.

“Oh!Arethoseforus?”Ginastandsandclapsherhandswithglee.

“Theyaren’tforme.”Thekidshrugsandthenlooksdownatthenoteinhishand.“They’readelivery

fromsomeguynamedLucas.”

“It’sDr.Thatcher,”Ginacorrectshimwithascowl.

Thekidshrugs;atsevenbucksanhour,heclearlycouldnotcareless.Hewantshistip,whichLucas

handshimfromovermyshoulder.Ididn’tnoticehisapproachandnowIfindmyselfmorethanalittle

annoyedathimforthinkingofsuchabrilliantidea.Ismelldonuts,andeveryonelikesdonuts,especially

me.

“Oh,andonemorethingfroma…”Thekidcheckshisnoteagain.“Daisy.”

IglarebackatLucas,buthisfaceisamaskofobliviousness.Whatgameisheplaying?

“That’ssosweet,youtwo!”Caseysays,goingaroundthedesktotakethetwobagsfromthekidsohe

canscurryoutoftheoffice.

Theentireofficetrailsherbacktothekitchenandwewatchassheunloadsthetwobags.Inone,there

arefourboxesofwarmdonuts,glazedandicedwithinthelastfewminutes.Thereisvisiblesteamrising

offthem.

“Thosearefromme,”Lucassayswithasmallsmile.

Intheotherbag,CaseyunwrapsasicklyfruitdisplayandIfeeleveryone’ssmilesfall.

“Andthat’sfromDaisy,”Lucaschimesin.“Thoughtful,right?”

Thevile,off-brandEdibleArrangementsportsacollectionofsad,droopymelonsandtheoccasional

mushygrapeimpaledonawoodenskewer.Itisdecomposingaswespeak,thecolorofpaleflesh.

“Oh,um,whataniceidea,Dr.Bell!”Caseysaysthroughamouthfulofchocolatesprinkles.She

plucksanoversizedtoothpickoutofthedisplayandbarelycovershermarkedrepulsion.

Istandinthedoorwayaseachstaffmemberslidespastthebuffet,loadingtheirplatesupwithdonuts

andskippingrightpastthesoggyfruitLucashasattributedtome.

“Oh,Ialreadyhadafruitservingthismorning,”Ginaexplains,notmeetingmyeyesassheglidesout

ofthekitchen.

“I’ll…uh,comebackforsomeofyourslater,Daisy,”Mariahpromisesweakly.

Whenit’sBecky’sturn,sheaudiblygagsasshepassesthefruitdisplay,justbarelystiflingherthrow-

up.Shedoesn’tevenofferanexcusebeforetakingtwodonuts.

LucasandIarealoneinthekitchenandI’mshakingwithrage.I’mnotevenupsetwithhim—I’mupset

withmyself.I’veunderestimatedhimandIwon’tletithappenagain.

Hestepsaroundme,reachingforasmallwhitepaperbagI’doverlookedbefore.It’saspecial

deliveryandheholdsitrightouttome.

“Bavariancream.”

Iwanttosmashitinhisfaceandcloudhislenses.

“I’vealreadyhadbreakfast.”

Mystomachgrumblesindissent,buthedoesn’tmentionit.

“Right.I’lljustleaveitrighthere.”Heholdseyecontactashedropsthebagbackonthecounter.His

eyesarelightbrown,thecolorofwalnuts.It’snocoincidenceI’veneverbeenabletostomachthat

particularnut.

Mymorningpasseswithawkwardpatientencountersandsecret,spitefulbitesintotheBavariancream

donutIwasforcedtoaccept.ItakethelastbitejustasLucaswalksbymyoffice,andhesurveysme

suspiciously.

“Granolabar,”Isayasflecksofcarbohydratesescapemylips.

“Nobody’saccusingyou,”hesays.“Butifyou’renotgoingtoeatthatdonutIgaveyou,I’msureDr.M

wouldlikeabite.CanIhaveitback?”

“Oh,Ihadtotossit—itsmelledlikethecreamhadsoured,”Imumbleinbetweenswallows.

Aroundlunchtime,Dr.McCormickcallsusintohisoffice.Iassumeit’sbecausehe’salreadymadehis

decisionandhasdecidedtoletLucasgo.

“Sitdown,youlittlerockstars.”Hewavestothewornleatherchairsinfrontofhisdesk.

LucasgraciouslyholdsouthisarmtoindicateIshouldsitfirst.IwatchcarefullyasIsit,justontheoff

chancethathe’splanningtoyankthechairoutfromunderme.Idoubthewouldstooptosuchdepthsin

frontofDr.McCormick,butafterthismorning’slittlestunt,Itakenothingforgranted.

“AsmuchasIappreciatedthelittlebanquetthismorning,Idon’twantyoutwotothinkyouneedto

bringintreatseverydaytogetonmygoodside.”Hepatshisstomachasiftosayhishealthwon’tholdup

ifourgamesmanshipcontinues.“Althoughmytruckisdueforanoilchange,ifyoureallywantedtoearn

myfavor,”headdswithalaugh.

Lucasrollsuphiswhitecoatsleevesasifhe’sabouttopopthehoodofDr.McCormick’scarhimself.

“Conventionalorsynthetic?”

Kiss-ass.

“I’lltellyouwhatIreallywanttoseeoutofyoutwo:warmth,andinvestmentinyourneighbors.You

see,Ipridemyselfonrunningapracticethatengageswiththecommunity.Toooften,doctorsgetsocaught

upinmakingmoneythattheyforgetthereasontheygotintomedicineinthefirstplace,whichistohelp

people.Tellme,doeitherofyourememberthefourthlineoftheHippocraticOath?”

LucasandIglareateachothernervouslybeforeshakingourheads.

“Iwouldn’texpectyouto,butitholdsaspecialmeaningforme,soI’vegotithangin’righthere.”He

pointstoaframedprintonthewallbehindhim.“‘Iwillrememberthatthereisarttomedicineaswellas

science,andthatwarmth,sympathy,andunderstandingmayoutweighthesurgeon’sknifeorthechemist’s

drug’,”herecites.

Inodreverently.“That’smyfavoritepart.”

LucasstaresintothesideofmyheadandIcanfeelthewavesofdisdainrollingoffhim.

“Youkidsarefreshoutofresidency,andwhileI’msureyouthinkyouknowwhatitmeanstobea

familydoctor,beassuredthatyoustillhavealottolearn.Inasmalltownlikethis,generationspass

beforeyourveryeyes.Fromthishumbleoffice,I’vewatchedchildrengrowupandstartbringingin

childrenoftheirown.I’vebeenwitholdfolkswhentheydie.IguesswhatI’mtryingtosayisthatyou’ll

becomemorethanjustadoctortothesepeople,you’llbecomeapartoftheirfamilies.Doyoutwothink

youcanhandlethatkindofresponsibility?”

I’veleanedsofarforwardduringhisspeechthatInearlyfalloffmychairwhenInod.

“Yes,”LucasandIsayinunison.

“Good.Thenforthenextfewmonths,I’mgoingtochallengeyou.Iwanttoseepassion,evenwhen

I’mthrowingmytoughestpatientsatyou.Iwanttoseeinnovation,toseethatyou’renotjustgoingthrough

themotionslikesomanydoctorsdothesedays.Surpriseme!Iwantyoutobethebest!”

TheenergyradiatingoffLucasandmeispalpable.WearetheTitansandDr.McCormickisDenzel.I

wanttobangmyhelmetagainstthelockerroomwallandyellHOORAH.

“Iwon’tletyoudown,sir,”Lucassays,standing.

Iclamortomyfeetandsteptowardthedeskwithmyhandoutstretched.“Myentirelifehasledupto

thismoment.”

Dr.McCormicksmilesateachofusandthenweareexcusedforourafternoonappointments.There

wastensionbefore,butDr.McCormickhasjustratchetedituptounprecedentedlevels.Hehasblownthe

starterpistolandwesprintoutofhisroom,pushingeachotherdownthelonghallway.

“You’regoingtoembarrassyourselfifyoustay,”Itaunt.

We’refeetawayfromourindividualofficesandI’mthinkingI’mgoingtoescapeinsidewhenheturns

andcagesmeinagainstthewall.Idon’tcower;Ipressrightupagainsthim,tiltingmyheadbacktostare

intohisuglywalnuteyes.

Hereachesoutandfingersthepatchonmywhitecoat.“Whenyou’repackingyourbagsinafew

weeks,I’llletyoukeepthiscoatsoyoucanalwaysrememberwhatmighthavebeen.”

Ithinkhecanfeelmyheartracingbeneaththefabric.Infuriating.Idon’thaveagoodenough

comeback,soIgoontheoffensive.

“Didyouhearhiminthere?He’snotlookingforagolfingbuddy,he’slookingforwarmth.”Ibrush

downthesideofhisfacewiththevelvetbackofmyhand.“Andwhatcouldbewarmerthanawoman’s

touch?”

Asidefromatwitchofhischeek,heisunmoved.

“Wasthatreallyyourfavoritepartoftheoath?”

“Ifit’sDr.McCormick’sfavorite,thenit’sminetoo,”Isaywithaninnocentsmile.

Hiseyesnarrow.“Ididn’trealizeyouwereapuppetnow.IfIstickmyhandinyou,willyoudomy

biddingaswell?”

Mariahcoughspolitelyandwe’resuddenlyawareofherpresenceattheendofthehall.“Sorryto

interruptsir,er…ma’am,Dr.Bell,butMrs.Harrisisreadytoseeyouinroomthree.”

IsmileandduckunderLucas’armlikewe’redone,butwe’refarfromit.IbrushpastMariah,thank

herforthechart,andwalkawayfromthefirefightbeforeastrayshotclipsmeonthewayout.Assoonas

Iturnthecorner,myconfidentsmiledrops.

ItistimetoinitiatePhaseIII:forceLucasout.

At6:00PM,Istraightenupmydeskandbegintopackup.Thefewleftoverdonutsarequicklyclaimed,

andGinaloadsmeupwiththefruitdisplaythatmayaswellhavecartoonishstinklinesdriftingupfrom

it.

“Canyoutakethishome?It’sattractingflies.”

Ismiletightlyandnodmyhead,movingtothefrontdoorwiththefruitdisplayinhand.Iparkedmy

bicycleoutsideofTheBrewearlierandit’sstillthere,itscheerful,mintgreenpainttauntingme.

“Goodworktoday,Dr.Thatcher!”Ginasaysfrombehindme.

“Greatfirstday!”Caseychimesin.

They’repattinghimonthebackasheleavesandifIturnaround,Iwillbarf.

Ipushthroughthefrontdooroftheofficeandhefollowsbehindme.ForasecondIthinkhe’suptono

good,butthenIrememberhelivesacrossthestreet.Howconvenient.

Ipickupmypace,hurryingtoputdistancebetweenus.Thetwo-waystreetissmallandmybikeisso

close;Icantastefreedom.

Iboundoffthesidewalkandtiressqueal.Ihearanear-splittingHONKandLucasThatcheristhere,

grabbingmyelbowandtuggingmebackbeforeIcollidewiththefrontbumperofthedeliverytruck

careeningdownthestreet.

“Watchit!”thedriveryellsoutthewindow.

Ishakemyheadandblinkrapidly.

Myheartisjumpingoutofmychest.Mybreathsareshort,quickgasps.IvaguelyregisterthatI’m

shakingwithshock.

“Don’tmakethistooeasyforme,”Lucasteases.

Hisarmisstillsqueezingmeandforonelongsecond,Iclosemyeyesandstandthere,lettinghimhold

me.Thesecondpassesquicklythoughandthenmyshockisreplacedwithwhite-hotrage,directedat

myself.HowstupidcanIbe,notevenlookingbothwaysbeforecrossingthestreet?

Iyankmyselfoutofhishold.“It’sprobablynotthefirsttimesomeonehasjumpedintotrafficafter

spendingadaywithyou.”

It’sanicerecovery,butIstillcan’tbelievehejustsavedme.Howdisturbing.

Aftercheckingfortraffic,Irunacrossthestreetandstuffmybagandthefruitinmybike’swicker

basket.Fuming,Istrapmyhelmetonandpullmybikeofftherackalittlemoreaggressivelythanintended.

Theeveningsunisbeginningtodiplowonthehorizon,andasIpedalwesttowardhome,I’mnearly

blinded.Somehow,thisisLucas’faulttoo.

Ahalf-milein,myheartrateincreases,andhiswordsformanechochamberinmyhead.

Youhaven’tchangedonebit,Daisy…

ThefruitisfromDaisy…

Ididn’trealizeyouwereapuppetnow…

Ibegintotakemyfrustrationoutonthebike,poundingagainstthepedalswithasmuchforceasmy

legscanmuster,allwhileimaginingthemtobeLucas’sensitiveparts.

Poweredbymyrage,IbuildupanimpressiveamountofspeedasIcomeuponmyfinalturnonto

MagnoliaAve.Ileanintotheturntocompensateformymomentum,andmyworntiresbiteintothe

pavement.

Untiltheydon’t.

Ihitanoilslick,agifttotheenvironmentfromoneofHamilton’smanyold,leakyfarmtrucks.My

backtirefishtails,andmyhandlebarswobbleinafutileefforttorighttheflounderingship.Timeslows

downasmybike,nowperpendiculartomydirectionoftravel,bucklessidewaysandloadsmeuplikea

C H A P T E R F I V E

“Nicecast,”Lucassaysthenextmorning.

“Don’ttalktome.”

“Didtheyletyoupickthecolor?”

It’sneongreen,myfavorite.

“No,”Ilie.“It’salltheyhad.”

“Morning,”Ginasayswithasmile,doingapoorjobofsurreptitiouslyoglingLucas.He’swearinga

lightbluedressshirtthatcomplimentshistanskin,andapparentlyGinathinksitlooksgoodonhim.I

hadn’tnoticed.

LucasandIhavebeenstandinginthesmallkitchenforthelastfewminutes,waitingforthecoffeeto

finishbrewing.Iswearitispercolatingevenslowerthanusual.

“Ohno!Dr.Bell,whathappened?”

ShehasfinallypulledhergazeoffLucaslongenoughtonoticethelimegreenelephantintheroom.

“Bikeaccidentyesterday.”Ishrug,holdingupmyfracturedwrist.“Thegroundcameoutofnowhere.”

Otherthanthat,I’vegotafewtenderribsandanicegashacrossmyforehead,whichiscurrently

coveredbyamatchingneongreenBand-Aid.AssoonasIleavethekitchen,I’llexchangeitforaboring

beigetothrowLucasoffmyscent.

Dr.McCormickstepsupbehindGinaandshakeshishead.“Sorrytohearabouttheaccident,Daisy.

Yourmomcalled,saidyoutwowereinthehospitalforagoodpartoftheevening.”

Iinwardlygroan.Ofcoursemymotherthoughtitwasappropriatetocontactmyboss.Inhereyes,Iam

a28-year-oldtoddler.

“Itwasnothing.Distalradiusfracture,quickreset,castforsixweeks.”

Henodssolemnly.“Evenstill,youtwowillhavetoseepatientstogetheruntilthatcomesoff,I’m

afraid.”

Iturnaroundtocheckifthereisanotherpersoninthetinykitchen,anyoneotherthanLucas.

“What?!”weexclaim,equallydisgustedbytheidea.

“Dr.McCormick.”Itrytorecoverquickly.“Iassureyou,Idon’tneedhishelpseeingpatients.I’m

perfectlycapableofcontinuingonbymyself.”

Toprovemypoint,IreachforthepatientchartIbroughtintothekitchenandstuffitbeneathmyarm.I

putmyunopenedgranolabarbetweenmyteethandthenreachdownformyemptymugwithmyfreehand.

“Voila.”

ThegranolabarslipsoutwiththewordandlandswithasplackontopofDr.McCormick’sbrown

leatherloafers.

Heshakeshisheadandturns,notnearlyasamusedasheshouldbe.

“Dianeiswaitingforyoutwoinroomfour,”Mariahsays.“Norush.Ijustputherinandshe’sstill

gettingherrobeon.”

LucasandIlookatoneanotherandthenbookitoutofthekitchenintandem.

“Look,bikesafetyisnotsomethingtoignore,”hesays,pointingtomycast.“Ithinkmyparentsstill

haveMadeleine’soldtrainingwheelsinthegarage.I’dbehappytoinstallthemforyou.”

Irollmyeyesandlethiswordsdeflectoffmybullshitforcefield.Whenallofthisisover,itwillbe

doublysatisfyingknowingIout-doctoredhimwithonearmtiedbehindmyback.

“Ican’tbelievewehavetoseepatientstogetherlikewe’refirst-yearinterns.”

IelbowhimoutofthewaysoIcannabDiane’schartfirst.“Ohplease.Youshouldbesoluckytogo

intoanexamroomwithme.”

Henearlysmilesandthencoversitupwithahardcough.MyheartsoarsandIcoveritupwitha

coughofmyown.Wearetwohackingdoctorsstandinginthehallway,momentsawayfrombeinglocked

inpaddedrooms.

“Sohowdowewanttoplaythis?”heinterrupts,changingthesubjectandreachingdowntoanglethe

chartsohecanreaditaswell.

“Let’salternatetakingthelead,”Isuggestdiplomatically.“I’llgofirst.”

“Ofcourse.”

Mytimeinthehospitalwaitingroomthedaybeforegavemealotoftimetoconsidermythree-phase

plan.Dr.McCormickwentoutofhiswaytolaydownthecriteriahe’slookingfor:community

engagementandpatientsatisfaction.Thelatterwillcomenaturally,overweeksofworkingintheoffice

andwormingmywayintoourpatients’hearts.Theformerwilltakesomeengineering,butIalreadyhave

abrilliantidea.

Everyyear,HamiltonHighhostsafairthatcelebratesthefoundingofthetownandgiveskidsofall

agesanexcusetoeatcottoncandyuntiltheypuke.ThePTAinvitesbusinessestorentoutboothsandI

planonhostingoneforMcCormickFamilyPractice.Communityengagement:check.

“Dr.Bell,areyounearlyfinishedreviewingherchart?I’veneverseensuchmedicaldevotiontoa

caseofthesniffles,”Lucassays,drawingmeoutofmythoughts.

IflipDiane’schartclosedandopenherdoor.“Ms.Pecos,howareyoufeelingtoday?”

“Terrible,”shereplieswithacongestedTexasaccent.

“Whatseemstobethetrouble?”

“Stuffynose,wateryeyes,younameit.IhaveaterribleheadachethatonlygoesawaywhenIsleep.

It’sbeenthiswayforthelastthreedays.”

Ichecktoconfirmshehasnofever.

“Ms.Pecos,we’llrunafewteststoconfirm,butitsoundslikeitcouldbeanastycold.Youmightjust

havetoletitrunitscourse—”

“No!Thatwon’twork!”Shewringsoutherhands.“Yousee,there’sthisguy.We’resupposedtobe

goingonathirddatetonight.”

“Wellifyou’reworrieditmightbecontagious,youcanalwaysreschedu—”

“No,youdon'tgetit.ThisisthesexiestguyI'veeverdated,andIthinkhewantstotakethe

relationshiptothenextlevel.Tonight.”

“I’msorry,Idon’t—”

“Ican’tdo…that…witharunnynoseandpuffyeyes!”Shelooksfrantic.

"Wellifhe’sagoodguy,”Lucassays.“He’llunderstandalittlecold."

Shelooksbetweenthetwoofuslikewe’reidiots.

“No!Haven’teitherofyoubeenwithsomeoneyou’resoattractedtoyoucanhardlystandit?”

Iswallow.

“Almostlikeyoucan’tevenhandlestandinginthesameroomasthem.Yourhandssweat,yourheart

rategoesup,and”—LucasandImeeteachother’seyesandthenimmediatelyglanceaway—“andIjust

wanteverythingtobeperfect.Youhavetohelpme.”

IpushLucascloser.

“Iunderstand.Don’tworryMs.Pecos,we’regoingtodoeverythingwecantohelp.Myassistanthere

isgoingtoswabyourthroatsowecanruleoutabacterialinfection.”

Lucasgivesmeannoyedside-eye,butstillreachesforthelongcottonswab.

Oncehe’sswabbedherthroat,hehandsthesampleofftoMariahinthehallwaytoprep.“Howlong

haveyoureyesbotheredyou?”Lucasasks.“Weretheyirritatedbeforeyougotsick?”

IholdmyarmouttoseparatehimfromMs.Pecos.“Iapologizeforthetwentyquestions—he’s

shadowingmetoday,andhe’sstilllearninghowtointeractwithpatients.Situpstraightformeandlet’s

havealistentoyourlungs.”

Imovearoundtheexamtableandmaneuverintoposition,onlytorealizemycastwillmakeitnearly

impossible.Itrytoputmystethoscopeonone-handedandLucasstepscloser.

“Idon’tneedyourhelp,”Imutter.

Hetiltshisheadandwatchesmestruggle.

Aftertenlongseconds,Igetthestethoscopeinplace.“Right,okay.Deepbreathforme.”

Ipressmygoodhandtoherbackandtrytomaneuverthechestpiecewithmycastedhand.Myattempt

isfutile.

Lucasgrowsimpatientandstepsclosersohecanreplaceme.Idon’tbudge,andtherearesuddenly

toomanycooksintheexamroom.

“Ifyou’djuststepaside,Dr.Bell,Icanlistentoourpatient’slungsandruleoutanypulmonary

issues.”

“I’mfinerighthere.”

Hereachesover,grabsmybiceps,andshiftsmeoutofthewaylikeI’mfilledwithair.

IsteprightbacktowhereIwasbefore.Hewillnotedgemeoutofthisoffice.Ms.Pecosshifts

uncomfortably.

“Dr.Bell,wouldyoupleasejoinmeinthehallwayforamoment?”Lucassaysinameasuredvoice.“I

thinkMariahmightbebackwiththeslideresults.”

Hedoesn’twaitformetoreply,justwalkstothedoorandholdsitopenlikeaparentwho’scaughtme

breakingcurfew.IsmilesoftlyatMs.Pecosandwalkout,dejected.

Whenwe’realoneinthehall,heturnstome.

“What’syourgameplan,Daisy?Wecan’tdothisdancewitheverypatientforthenextsixweeks.”

“Youareabsolutelyright.Here’saplan:yougiveyourresignationandIgoonwithmylife,happier

thanever.”

“Youhaveonehand—”

“Lucas,youofallpeopleshouldknowhowmuchcanbeaccomplishedwithonlyonehand.”

Iflickmyeyesdowntohisslacks—notbecauseIcarewhatliesbeneaththem,butbecauseIneedto

shovethedoubleentendrepasthisthickskull.

Hestepscloser,sustainingmytaunt.

“Yousoundlikeyouknowfromexperience.”

He’swearingaknowingsmileandit’snotthesmileheworeasateenager.Thatwaseasytodeflect.

ThislittlesmirkholdsdarkpromisesandIrealizesuddenlythatLucasisamannow—amanwhoenjoys

crowdingmyspaceandgettinginsidemyhead.Itrytolookpasthim,buthisshouldersaretoobroadand

he’swaitingforacomebacksoIopenmymouthandspeak.

“Um…Ms.Peni—MS.PECOS,Imean,needsus.”Iclearmythroatandlookdownthehall,praying

forMariahtoroundthecorner.HOWLONGCANITTAKETOREADTHETESTSTRIP?She’s

nowhere,IamalonewithLucas,andtheofficeissuddenlyhotterthanHades.Ipinchmylapelandairout

myblouse.“Ithinkweshould…bedoctors—stoplookingatmelikethat.Justturnaroundwhilewewait

forMariah.”

“You’reblushing,”hesays,soundingpleased.

I’vehadenough;IturnonmyheeltofindMariahandthatgodforsakenteststrip.

She’sinthelabandwhensheseesme,shetiltsherheadandhereyesassessmewarily.

“Iseverythingallright,Dr.Bell?”

“Yes.”

“Youlookreallyflushed.”

“It’stheA/Cinthisplace.What’sthethermostatseton?”

“62.”

“IsthatinFahrenheit?”

“Doyouwanttositdo—whyareyoufanningyourselflikethat?”

She’shandlingmethewayIhandledthepatientsduringmypsychrotation,andsadly,sheissmartto

givemeawideberth.

It’sdaytwoandLucasisalreadystartingtounnerveme.

Afterthelongestworkdayofmylife,Istandonthecurb,waitingformymomtopickmeuplikeIam

backinthethirdgrade.

“Yoohoo,pagingDr.Bell!”

HONKHONK.

Mymomswervesinfrontofmelikeshe’sasoccermominasportyhatchbackcommercial.Forthe

nextsixweeks,sheismychauffeur.Mycasthasnotonlyimpededmyabilitytoseepatientsonmyown,

buthasalsoforcedmeintovehiculardependencycourtesyofmyloudmother.There’snowayIcouldride

mybikeone-handed.

“Ohthisissofun!JustlikewhenIusedtopickyouupearlyfromschoolwhenyoupeedyourpantsor

criedaftervisitingthezooonafieldtrip.Youwantedtosetallthoseanimalsfree.”Hereyesglistened.

“Mylittleactivist.”

Isqueezemyeyesclosedandslideintothepassengerseat.

“Mom,”Ihiss.“Please.Everyonecanhearyou—stopdoingthat—whoareyouwavingat?”

“Lookwhoitis!”Sherollsdownmywindowandshoutspastme,“Lucas!Oh,oops!Ishouldsay,Dr.

Thatcher!”

Idon’tturntoconfirmthatsheiswavingLucasclosertothecar.

“Dr.LucasThatcher!”sheshoutsandthensaystome,“Hehasturnedintosuchahandsomeman.”

Iwillnotsitidlybywhileshecomplimentstheuncomplimentable.

Forhalfamomentwefightforcontrolofthepowerwindowonmyside.Up-down,up-down.Ifocus

allthemusclesinmybodyonthetinybutton,butshethwartsmewithamother’smostpowerfultool:

childlock.Shepopsthemintoplaceandslidesthewindowdownwithease.

“Evening,Mrs.Bell,”Lucassaysfromsomewhereonmyright.Istareoutthefrontwindowwitha

rigidfocus.“ForasecondIthoughtoneofDaisy’sfriendswaspickingherup.Isthatanewhaircut?”

Mymomtittersandtouchesherends.“Ohstopit,you.It’snothing.Justafreshtrim.”

“Mom,wehadbettergetgoing.Trafficisgettingprettybad,”Isay,pointingoutthefrontwindow.

“Nonsense!There’snothingonourscheduleexceptleftoversandMasterpieceTheaterandIhaven’t

seenLucashereinsolong.Hasitreallybeensince…lastThanksgiving?”

IstayedinNorthCarolinaforThanksgivinglastyearandmymomsubsequentlyregaledmewith

storiesofhowtheThatchersinvitedherovertotheirhouseforThanksgivingdinner.SheandLucas

allegedlyplayedboardgamestogether“forhours”.

Lucasleansdownandpropshiselbowsontheopenwindow.“You’rethereigningPictionarychamp.

ThoseweeklypaintingclasseshavereallybeenpayingoffMrs.Bell.”

“Oh,youknowIonlygotothoseforthewine.”

Mymotherisflirting.IturnmybacktoLucassoI’mfacingthecenterconsole.“Mom.I’mtiredand

I’mhungry.”

“Maybenowthatthegang’sallbackintown,wecangeteveryonetogetherforgamenight?”Shepins

meagainsttheseatwithherarm.Herabilitytoignoremeisbaffling.It’sawonderIwasn’tmalnourished

asachild.

Iconsiderreachingdownandpunchingthegaspedalwithmycastedclaw-hand.Thereareseveral

childrencrossingthestreetaheadofus,butitmightstillbeworthit.She’sgotacleandrivingrecordand

nopriors;withtherightjudgeandgoodbehavior,she’dbeoutofprisoninnotime.

“Seriously,Mom.Ifeelfaint.”Imakemyvoicesoundwobblyandweak.

“There’shalfofaFiberOnebarinmypurse.Listen,Lucas,youtellyourmomI’llgiveheracalllater

thisweekandwe’llsetitup.”

Heagreeswitha“yesma’am”.

Whoishekidding?

“I’llseeyouinthemorning,Daisy,”hesaysbeforetappingonthehoodandwalkinginfrontofthecar.

Pedestriansonthesidewalkcranetheirneckstowatchhimlikehe’ssomethingspecial.

Irollmyeyes.

“Roughday?”

“Theroughest.Youknow,Idon’tseewhyyoustilltalktohim.You’resupposedtobeonmyside.

You’remymom.”

“I’dbeonyoursideifyouwereright,butinthiscase,you’rebothinthewrong.Youtwohavetakena

sillychildhoodmolehillandrenameditamountain.”

“Youdon’tunderstand.LucasistomeasWandaWadeistoyou.Rememberwhenshebribedthe

judgeswithhomegrowntomatoesanddethronedyoufromHamiltonLawnoftheYearfrom2013-2015?”

“ThatisnothinglikeyouandLucas—WandaWadeisjustacheatingbitch.Lucasissonice!”

Thisexchangeisnothingnew.LucasandIbothhavetwopersonas—oneforwhenwearealone

together,andoneforwhenweareinpublic.That’swhynobodyontheoutsideevertrulyunderstands

whatwerepresenttoeachother.I’vetriedcountlesstimestoshowmymothertheerrorofherwayswhen

itcomestoLucas,buthebrainwashedheryearsago.IwasaloneinmyhatredforHamiltonHigh’sprom

king,whichwasespeciallyirksomebecausewewerecrownedtogether.Ourseniorclassapparently

thoughtitwouldbehilarioustoseethetwoofusslowdancetogetherundertheneonlightssetupinthe

basketballgym.

Icanstillrememberthedumbfoundedexpressionsoneveryone’sfaces,watchingthetwomortal

enemiesofHamiltonHighpressedtogetheronthedancefloor.Irememberhishandshaking,enragedat

thevotersforforcingustogetherlikethat.Icouldfeelhispulsethroughthepalmofhishand.

“Didyourmomfixyourtieforyou,oristhataclip-on?”Itaunted.

“Justshutupandspin,”heretorted,twirlingmelikeastupidballerina.

“Ifyouplanondroppingmeduringadip,I’mtakingyoudownwithme.”

Halfwayintothesong,Inoticedhimlookingatmyface,hiseyesfixedinconcentration,his

expressiontortured.

“StoplookingatmeasifIsomehowfixedthepolls.Trustme,youarethelastpersonIwanttobe

upheredancingwith,”Iseethedinresponsetohisstrangelook.

Heshookhisheadandbrokeawayfromme,havingreachedhislimit.

Thecrowdarounduserupted.

“Aminutefifteen!”someoneshouted,wavinghiswatchintheair.“Whobettheywouldn’tgoover

aminuteandahalf?!Comecollectyourmoneynearthepunchbowl!”

“Daisy.”Mymomshakesmeoutofmydistantmemoryaswearrivehome.“Youhavethatsamelook

onyourfacethatyouusedtogetinhighschool.AreyoustillthinkingaboutLucas?”

Iclosemyeyes.“Notbychoice.”

C H A P T E R S I X

Thenextday,Ineedtogetoutofthehouse,soIvolunteertodothegrocerystorerunfortheweek.Sure,

drivingwithmyclunkycastisn’tallthateasy,butImanagetopullintoawidespacenearthebackofthe

parkinglotjustfine.I’mexhaustedfromworkandcoulduseanicerelaxingeveningathome,butmymom

isahoverer,especiallynowthatshethinksI’mdamagedgoods.Comparedtoenduringherclaustrophobic

nurturing,strollingthroughthegrocerystoretothecracklytonesofBillyJoel’s“UptownGirl”willbe

likemyownpersonalspaday.

It’snotlongbeforeIrealizemymistake.BackinNorthCarolina,Icouldtypicallygooutwithoutfear

ofrunningintoasinglepersonIknew.Here,inHamilton,it’stheexactopposite.Iclosemyeyesandtry

tovisualizehowImustappear.Ishoweredafterworkandpulledonapairofsweatsandat-shirt.My

hairisstilldampandmyfaceismakeupfree.Notyourbestlookthere,Daze.

Asifit’sorchestratedbysomecruelgod,I’mstoppedbynolessthanfivepeopleonmywalktoward

theslidingglassdoors.It’smostlypeoplewelcomingmebackoraskinghowmymomisdoing,butImake

abreakforitwhenaneighborasksmetolookatamoleonherupperthigh.

OnceinsideIfeelsafer,butIsnatchaPeoplemagazinefromtherackforcamouflagejustincase.I’m

multitasking,readinganinterviewaboutBenAffleckwhilebaggingzucchiniwhenIseeLucasonthe

oppositesideofthevegetablesection.He’schangedsinceworktoo.He’swearingworkoutclothesanda

baseballhat.Hisglassesaregoneandhist-shirtlooksdamp,asifhe’scomestraightfromthegym.

Helooksup,seesmestaring,andIwhipthemagazineuptocovermyface.

Goaway.Goaway.Goaway.

I’mrepeatingthewordsundermybreath,hopinghe’lldisappearlikeareverseBeetlejuice.Justin

casemymagicspelldoesn’twork,IturnmybacktowardhimandstuffzucchinisintomycartlikeCNN

hasjustannouncedaworldwideshortage.

Icanonlyimaginehissnideremark:Bigfanofzucchini?

Istandthere,shaking,wonderinghowlongitwilltakehimtocomeoverandpickafight,butafter

anotherminuteortwo,Ilookovermyshoulderandrealizehe’sgone.Hedidn’tcomeover.

Huh.

Istraightenmyshouldersandfinishweavingthroughtheproducesectionwithasenseofdread.

Suddenly,thetallaislesfeellikethewallsofamaze,withMinotaurLucaslurkingsomewherewithin.I

decidetoskipthemiddleofthestoreandheadstraighttowardthebackwallofmeatsandcheeses,hoping

tospothimbeforeheseesme.

Ugh.He’stwostepsahead,checkingoutthepoultry.Iknowheseesmeoutofthecornerofhiseye,but

hedoesn’tturn.Hegathersanarmfulofleanchickenbreasts,whichI’msurehisbodywillsomehow

transformintoanotherrowofabs.Hecontinueson,alwaysafewyardsaheadofme.It’storture.Ican’t

seemtocareaboutspaghettisaucewhenIknowLucasisontheoppositeendoftheaislechoosing

betweentwobrandsofpasta.

Doeshereallynotseeme?Whatgameisheplaying?

Ipurposelylingeralittletoolonginfrontofthechips—spoiler,BenAffleckisprobablygoingtoget

backtogetherwithJenniferGarner.I’mhopingtoloseLucasforgood,butit’snouse.Wemeetupagainin

thefrozenfoodsection,passingrightbyeachother.Ibracemyself,awaitingtheremarkhe’stakenallthis

timetocraft,butnothingcomes.Hebreezesrightpastmelikewe’restrangers.Istopandturnovermy

shoulder.He’spickingicecream.NowIknowhe’sfaking—he’stooinshapefordesserts.Inhisworkout

clothes,Icanseeeveryinchofhisbroadchestandtonedlegs.

BeforeIknowwhatI’mdoing,Ipushmycartrightuptohis.Withmycaston,though,Idon’thave

muchcontroloverthetrajectory,soIenduprammingitintohislikeabumpercar.Itisn’tanintentional

useofforce,butIsortoflikethetoneitsets.

“Heythere,Daisy,”Lucassays.He’ssmirking,buthisgazestayspinnedontheicecream.

Ibendforward,tryingtomeethiseyes.“Enough,Lucas.Iknowyou’veseenmeshopping.”

Hetiltshisheadattheicecreamdisplay.“RockyRoadormintchocolatechip?”

Thismustbeamindgame,butasaself-titledauthorityonicecream,Ican’tnotanswer.

“Areyoukidding?RockyRoadisgross.Whowantsnutsintheiricecream?”

HereachesinandgrabstheRockyRoad,plopsitinhiscart,andturnshisbacktome.He’salready

halfwaythroughthefrozenpizzasbythetimeIrealizehe’sblownmeoff.

Outofspite,Ireachinforthemintchocolatechip.

Icatchuptohiminfrontofthemilk.Hewants2%andsodoI.Hereachesinforagallonandholdsit

upformyinspection.Inodandheputsitinmycart.

“Thanks.”

Hisgazefallsovermycartasheheadstowardtheyogurt.“Didyouleaveanyzucchiniforanyone

else?”

“Ha!Iknewyouwouldbringupthezucchini!”

Isounddisproportionatelypleasedaboutthis,likeI’maninterrogatingdetectiveandmyperpjust

confessed.

“I’mjustcuriousaboutwhatyou—oranyone—couldpossiblydowiththatmuch.It’sfillingupa

quarterofyourcart.”

Ihadn’tthoughtthatfarahead.

“Bread,”Ideclareproudly,likeatoddlerthatknowstwelvewords.

“Zucchinibread?”

Hesoundslikehedoesn’tbelieveit’sathing.Bysomemiracle,itis.

“It’sdelicious.Likebananabread,butbetter.”

Henods.“I’lltakeyourwordforit.Yogurt?”

“Greek.”

“Same.Here,trystrawberry-on-bottom.It’smyfavorite.”

Idon’tprotestbecauseit’smyfavoritetoo.Thereareafewone-dollar-offcouponsdanglingfromthe

shelfandIgrabthemallformyself,tryingtoprovokehimoutofthisbizarrecalm.Infuriatingly,heonly

smilesandheadstowardthefront.

“Areyoudoneshopping?”heasks,casuallypluckingatubeofCrestoffanendcap.

Inod,mute.

Wewalkinsilencetowardthecheckoutlines.There’snooneaheadofus,sowefinishupatthesame

time.Seeingmycast,theteenagedbaggerofferstohelploadupmycar,butIdecline.It’saslipperyslope

intoold-ladydom,andIwon’tbetakingmyfirststepat28.

Lucasisn’tsoeasytobrushoff.“It’sgoingtotakeyouanhourtoloadallthosebagsone-handed.”

It’slikewe’rerightbackatwork—meatthemercyofmyrival—butwhileIdon’thavethechoiceto

refusehishelpfrom9-5,Idonow.

“I’mokay.Really.”

“Right,thenyouwon’tmindifIhelp.”

Mymoredramaticbraincellstellmehejustwantstogetmealoneinthebackoftheparkinglot,stuff

meintothetrunkwhennoone’swatching.Inreality,heunloadsthebagsintomymom’scarswiftlyand

thenstepsback,handsintheairlikehe’sunderarrest.

“Thatwasn’tsobad,right?”

God,he’scuteinthehazylightfromtheparkinglot,almostboyishinhisbaseballhat.

“Torture,”Imuse.

Heshakeshisheadanddropshisgaze,smilingatthepavementafewfeetinfrontofme.It’salmost

likeheenjoysmycheekiness.Iguesshewould.Afterallthistime,hehastoenjoyourfightingasmuchas

Ido.Anyoneelsewouldhavewalkedawayalongtimeago.

Hestartstobackaway,overtowherehe’sparkedhiscartbyhistruck.“Fortherecord,you’retheone

whocameuptomeinthere.”

“What?”

“Iknowmostwomendon’tenjoybumpingintopeoplewhenthey’reoutintheirsweats.Iwastryingto

dothepolitething—pretendingnottoseeyou.”

“Ithoughtyouweretryingtopsychmeout.”

Helaughsandturns,throwinghislastfewwordsoverhisshoulder.“Right,yeah.Iguessitdoesn’t

matter.Ithinkyoulookprettycutelikethat.”

Hemeansinmysweatsandno-makeupstate.I’mactuallytakenaback;evenmydramaticbraincells

thinkhesoundsgenuine.I’mleftstaringoutafterhim,tryingtodecipherthelastthirtyminutesinmymind.

It’sonlyduringmydrivehomethatIcatchsightofmyselfintherearviewmirrorandscream.No.No.

Deargodno.IforgotIwaswearingstupidunder-eyemasksmymomwantedmetotry.They’vebeen

stucktomycheeksforthelasthour.Ilookabsolutelyinsane,likeanover-moisturizedraccoon.

That’swhyLucaswasgivingmespace.Hewastryingtosavemefromtheembarrassment.

Mymomassuresmeit’snotasbadasitseems.

“Ontheplusside,yourskinlooksreallygreatnow.”

Igroanandstuffthecartonofmilkinthefridge.

“Also,Daisy…whatthehellarewegoingtodowithallthiszucchini?”

C H A P T E R S E V E N

AlotofpeopleusedtowonderifmyfriendshipwithMadeleinewaspurelystrategic,asifsheexisted

onlytobemyeyesandearsbehindenemylines.ThoughIwassometimestemptedtouseherasaspy,my

loveforMadeleinehadnothingtodowiththeintelsheprovidedmeonherbrother.Livingnextdoorto

herfornearlytwodecades,shebecamethelittlesisterIneverhad.

MadeleinewaseverythingLucaswasn’t:friendly,decent,human.Shewastwoyearsbehindusin

school,butIoftenforgot.Shewaswisebeyondheryears,andthoughI’dtriedmanytimestoturnher

againstherbrother,sheneverpickedsides.He’sreallynicetome,shesaidasItriedtoenlistherhelpin

procuringavoodoodoll.Don’tbesohardonhim,sheinsistedafterIdreamtupadiabolicalplantoget

himdeported.

AftermovingawayfromHamiltonforcollege,Iweighedtheprosandconsofcontinuingmy

friendshipwithMadeleine.Shewasindisputablymydearestandclosestfriend,butshewasalsomylast

remainingconnectiontoLucas—somethingIrefusedtoholdagainsther.

Incollege,IcouldblockLucasoneverysocialmediaaccountanddeletehimfrommyphone,butifI

wantedtomaintainmyrelationshipwithMadeleine,Ihadtoenduretheoccasionalmentionofhim.The

occasionalmentionturnedintoregularupdatesasIbegantoenjoytheabilitytokeeptabsonhimfrom

afar—allthejuicygossipwithnoneofthepersonalinvestment.

“He’smetsomeone,”shesaidduringoneofourSkypecallsinmysecondyearofmedicalschool.

“Anotherdemon?”

“Ithinkhereallylikesher.”

“Watchoutforalobotomyscar,orthemarkofthedevil.Itmightbetuckedbeneathherhair.”

“They’recominghomeatChristmassohecanintroducehertoourparents.”

“Holdamirroruptoherandseeifshehasareflection.”

Amonthlater,MadeleinehadinformedmethatLucashadbrokenupwithhisgirlfriendjustbeforethe

holidays.Cold.Suddenly,Ifeltbadforthepoorgirl.Shecouldn’thaveknownwhataheartlessmonster

hewaswhenshesignedup.Hereallyoughttobeonagovernmentlist.

ItbecameasortofgameovertheyearswithMadeleine.Iactedboredanddisinterestedwhen

MadeleinebroughtupLucas,butnotsoannoyedthatshewouldstopdoingit.Icouldnever,underany

circumstances,bringhimupfirst.Fortunately,Ihadbecomeverygoodatthisgameofplausible

deniabilityovertheyears.

“Mymomwantstodoagamenightsoon,”Isay,scoopingoutanotherbiteofthebrownieàlamode.

“Ohfun!”Madeleineagreesfromacrossthebooth.Wearewrappingupdinnertwodaysaftermy

motherfirstsuggestedtheideaofagamenighttoLucasinthecar.

“Yeah,personally,I’drathersitthrougharootcanal,ormaybeaspinaltap,butshe’ssetontheidea,

soIjustwantedtogetaquickheadcount.Soit’llbeme,you,mymom,yourparents,andLucas.That

makessix,right?UnlessyouorLucaswanttoaddaplusone?Ijustneedtoknowhowmanyextrachairs

topulloutofthegarage,andIwasgoingtomakeadozencupcakes,whichmakestwoforeachperson,

unless…”

“Youwanttoknowifhe’swithsomeone,don’tyou?”Shedoesn’tsoundoverlyaccusatory,justasif

she’sstatingafact.IsuddenlyrealizeIamnotasgoodatthisgameasIthought.

“No,it’sjustthatthosechairsaresuperheavy…”

“Daisy,Iknowyoubetterthananyone.Ialsounderstandtheweirdfrictionyouhavewithmybrother,

soyoudon’thavetoworryaboutanyjudgementfromme.”

“Frictionimpliescontact.Whatwehaveismagneticrepulsion.”

“Wellhoweveryouwanttodescribeit,youdon’thavetoworry.Hehasn’tdatedanyonesincehis

secondyearofresidency,andhedefinitelyhasnotshackedupwithanyonesincehegothome.”

Iscoopanotherbiteofbrownieoutofthebowl.

“You’resmiling,”sheaccuses.

“I’mnotoneofthosepeoplewhoderivesjoyfromotherpeople’ssadness,butIcan’thelpbutlovethe

ideaofasad,lonelyLucas.”

“Wellenjoyitwhileyoucan.Nowthatwordhasgottenaroundthathe’sback,I’vebeengettinga

suspiciousnumberofcallsfromoldfriendsandacquaintances.Theypretendtowanttocatchup,but

everyconversationleadstoLucasandhisrelationshipstatus.”Shenarrowshereyestheatrically.“Not

unlikeyourlineofquestioningjustnow…”

“Don’tlumpmeinwiththosebottomfeeders.Ijustwanttogetanaccurateheadcountforcharades.”

“Uhhuh.You’repathetic.CanIhavethatbite?”

“It’sthelastone.”

“HowaboutyougiveittomeandIdon’ttellmybrotheryou’vebeenaskingabouthim.”

Ihandhermyspoon.“You’rediabolical.”

Shegrins.“Blackmailsuitsme.Youtwoaren’ttheonlyonestolearnafewtricksovertheyears.”

Wefinishoffthedessertanddebatewhetherourstomachscansufferthroughanotherround.

“Countmeout,”Isay,droppingmyspoonandreclininginthebooth.Iammorechocolatethanwoman

atthispoint.

“Same.Let’sjustfinishourwineandthenI’lldriveyouhome.”

Inod.

“Imeanttoaskearlier,haveyoubeenseeinganyone?”sheasks.

“Madeleine.”

“What?I’mjustasking.”

“Asyouknow,I’mstillbuildingmyTinderprofile.Onceit’supandrunning,guyswillbeswipingso

fasttheirthumbswillfalloff.”

“You’vebeentryingtobuildthatforthelastyear.It’stwolinesoftextandacouplepictures,howhard

canitbe?”

“OhMadeleine.You’restillyoungandunlearnedinthewaysoflove.There’sanarttoattraction.”

“Yeah,putupabikinipictureandsitbackwhiletheguysstarttosweat.”

“IfIwantedtofindaguywhoonlyvaluesmeformybangin’bod,I’djustwearabikinieveryday,”I

saysarcastically.

“You’reright,youneedpicturesthatshowthatyou’remorethanjustaprettyface.Maybeposewith

yourwhitecoatandlistyournameasDr.Love.”

Truthfully,datingisn’texactlymyspecialty.Thereseemstobenoin-betweenwithdoctorsfreshoutof

residency:theyareeithermarriedwithfourkids,orthey’vemissedtheboatandremaintotallyand

hopelesslysingle.Iamincamp#2.Medicaltraininghasdelayedmylife.Becauseofit,Ihavealong

historyofhalf-bakedrelationshipsthatneverquitemadeitoutoftheoven.

Nowit’stimetofocusonmylovelifeagain.At28,IfeellikeI’mrightinmyprime.Mostlyby

accident,I’mingoodshapedespitehavingnotimetoworkout.Inresidency,Icouldn’tstomachmuchof

thehospitalfood.Coupledwithfreneticsprintsaroundthehospitalanddailybikecommutes,Imaintained

theillusionthatIpaidamodicumofattentiontomyphysicalfitness.Anotherbrightspotformeisthat

menregularlymistakemyexhaustedramblingsandhonestdeprecationashumorandpersonality.

Inconclusion,ifdudescanlookpastthelimegreencastandmyimpressivelistofshortcomings(more

addedeveryday!),they’llseethatIamonestonecoldfox.

“Ihaveanidea,butIknowyouwon’tlikeit,”Madeleinesaysasshedrivesmehome.

Ishrugandlookoutthepassengerwindow.“You’reprobablyright.Don’ttellme.”

“There’sthisHamiltonSingleseventnextweek—”

“Yep,thatsoundslikeafunjourneytotakeallbyyourself.”

“Well…I’vesignedusbothupforit.”

“Whatahilariousjoke,Madeleine,”Ideadpan.“Maybeweshouldtakeyoutoanopenmicnight

instead.”

“It’snextWednesdayanditstartsat7:00PM.”

“I’msogladyoufeelcomfortableenoughtosharethesedetailswithme,buttheyareirrelevant

consideringIwon’tbeattending.”

Shepullstoastoprightinbetweenherchildhoodhomeandmine.Madeleinedoesn’tlivethere

anymore;sherentsasmallhousejustoffMainStreet,meaningouroldwalkie-talkiesareoutofrange(I

convincedhertotry).Assuch,I’mtheonlyonedippingintothepast,stayinginmychildhoodbedroom

withmytoo-smallbedtryingtopretendthatinthe11yearsI’vebeenaway,I’veactuallygrownup.

MadeleineinsistsIwillbegoingwithhernextWednesdayandIputupagoodfight.Truthfully,I

alreadyknowI’llgobecauseIhatetodisappointher,butIcan’tshakeascarythoughtthatoverwhelms

measIwalkupthedriveway.

By28,Ireallyshouldhavethingsfiguredout.Ishouldhavebuiltawell-roundedlifeformyself,butin

actuality,Ihavebeenstuckinthesameloopfornearlythreedecades.Thebackdrophaschangedand

supportingcharactershaveflittedinandout,butthescripthasstayedthesame:IamDaisyBell,rivalto

LucasThatcher,andtheweightofcarryingaroundthathatredhasstartedtowearonme.Deepdown,I’m

startingtoforgetwhatexactlyitisIhateaboutLucas.Rightnow,Icandisguiseitwithlogic.Iwantto

ownmyownpracticeandI’mnotgoodatsharing,thereforeIwanttorunLucasoutoftown.But,ifit

werethatsimple,Iwouldn’thavespentthelast11yearsmentallythrowingdartsathisface.Wewerea

countryapartfromoneanother,andIstillgavehimfreeroomandboardinmymind.

ThatleadsmetobelievethisisasicknessIcan’tcure.Atthispoint,myloathingforhimhasbecomea

bodilyfunction.Eat,drink,hate.WhenLucaspopsintomyhead,mystomachclenchesandmyheart

pounds.Itrytowhack-a-molethoughtsofhimoutandmybrainkeepsputtinginquarters.IeventriedDIY

therapyonce:Iputarubberbandonmywristlikeasmokertryingtokickapack-a-dayhabit,andevery

timeLucaspoppedintomyhead,Isnappedtherubberband.Bytheendoftheday,myswollenwristwas

rubbedraw.

Ifthebrakeshavebeencutandmyhatredforhimisinthedriver’sseat,myonlyhopeisthatthisjob

withDr.McCormickwillcureme.Iwillcompleteallthreephasesofmydiabolicalplanandconvince

Dr.McCormicktonamemehissolesuccessor.Oncethathappens,Ihaveeveryreasontobelievemy

hatredforLucaswillbeexorcisedinonefellswoop.

Done.Finito.Iwillbefreetowriteanewscript.IwillbeDaisyBell,graciouswinner,beautiful

taker-of-the-high-road.Iwon’trubhisfaceinitorgloat.Iwilljustforgetabouthim.

DearGod,pleaseletmeforgetabouthim.

C H A P T E R E I G H T

LucasandIwereoncegroupedaspartnersforabookreportonTheCatcherintheRye.Webothreadthe

bookandagreedtomeetatthelibrary(neutralterritory)toworkonourpresentation.Thatendedupbeing

thelastthingweagreedon.

“HoldenCaulfieldisaspoiledhypocrite,andtheonlyreasonhe’ssobitterisbecausehe’sfinally

beingcalledoutonit,”Lucasargued.

“He’sjustakid!”Iinsisted.“Allkidsareimmaturetosomedegree,butthatdoesn’tmakehis

criticismoftheadultworldanylesstrue.Theadultworldsucks.”

“Oh,soit’severyoneelse’sfaulthe’sbeenexpelledfromeveryschoolhe’sattended?”

Afteranhourofdebate,thegiantposterboardwascleaveddownthemiddle.Whenitcametimeto

presentasagroup,weconsidereddivvyingupthefive-minuteallotment,butneitherofuswantedtogive

upthehonorofgoingfirst.Instead,webothjusttalkedovereachotherthewholetime.

Seeingpatientswithhimfeelslikealotlikethatproject.

“Couldbeanearinfection,”Iponder.

“Whataboutherlossofappetite?”Lucasargues.

“That’sasymptom.”

“Ithinkit’sbestifweruleoutseparateintestinalissuesaswell.”

“Idon’tthinkweneedtorunadditional,expensivetests—”

“Um…excuseme?”Ms.Keller,ourpatient’smother,triestogetourattention,butweignorehersowe

cancontinueourfight.

Wejustifytheunprofessionalismbecausebyallobjectivemeasures,patientsaregettingmoretimeand

doubletheexpertise.Inreality,it’soverkill,andthesubjectivemeasurescatchuptousquickly.

“Okay.Right,youtwo,I’vebeengettingsomefeedbackfromyourpatients,”Dr.McCormicksayson

Fridayafternoonafterourfirstweekofworkingtogether.

Ismile,preparedforpraise.

“Afewhavecomplainedofpoorbedsidemanner,arguingoverminutiae.Ithoughtyoutwomightset

asideyouroldgameswhenyou’reseeingpatients,butitlookslikeIwaswrong.”

Iamcrestfallen;it’sLucas’fault.Idon’thesitatebeforetryingtopushhimunderthebus.Mymouth

opens,butLucasisquicker.

“Ithinkwejusthadafewkinkstoworkout”—Ibristleathiswordchoice—“butwehavethehangof

itnowandcomeMonday,wewon’tletyoudown.”

Dr.McCormickclapshimontheshoulder,allbuddy-buddy.“That’swhatIliketohear,son.”

SON?!

“CanIstillexpectyouonthecoursetomorrow?”hecontinues.“Iwanttotrytogettoall18holes

beforethesungetstoohigh.”

Lucasflasheshiswinningsmile,theonewiththedimplesandthestraightwhiteteeth.Iblinktoshield

myselffromit.

“Lookingforwardtoit,sir.”

Withanod,Dr.McCormickturnsbackdownthehall,andLucasturnstome,smilestillinplace,

thoughnowit’saweapon.

“Don’tworry,I’mnotgoingtousethisalonetimewithDr.McCormicktolobbyforyourdismissal,

butwhoknows?Maybewhilewe’rehavingafewbeersintheclubhouse,he’llcometothatconclusion

allonhisown.”

Inarrowmyeyes.“You’retheworst.”

“Sorry,didyouthinkafterallthistime,I’dgonesoft?”

It’satrickquestion,buthissmilehasslowedmyresponsetime.Mygazeishalfwaydownhisstrong,

definitelynotsoftframewhenIrealizewhatI’mdoingandwhiparound.

“Haveagoodweekend,Daisy,”hecallsafterme.Hecouldnotsoundmorepleasedwithhimself.

ComeMondaymorning,LucasistannerthanhewasonFriday,whichIknowmeanshewentgolfingwith

Dr.McCormick.Iwonderwhowon,butasIpasshiminthehallway,Idon’task.

“Oh,Daisy,”hesaysfrombehindme.“Ileftalittlesomethingonyourdesk.”

Ioffernoresponse.I’veyettohaveanounceofcaffeineandmywitissluggishthismorning.Plus,I’m

curious.Didheleaveanotherbouquetofdaisies?Thescorecardfromtheirroundofgolf?

Neither.

Sittingonthecenterofmykeyboardisa4x7photoofDr.McCormickandLucasonthegolfcourse,

hiptohipliketheyareconjoinedtwinssomehowseparatedby30yearsofage.Dr.McCormickis

laughingandLucas’eyesseemtofollowmearoundtheroom.

Perfect.Whilehewasschmoozingourbosswithhislonggame,Iwasathome,inmypajamas,

watchingoldmovieswithmymomandMadeleine.

ItakeaSharpiefrommydrawerandsuddenlyLucasissportingdevilhornsandatail.Defacingthe

photodoesn’tgetmeanyclosertowinning,butasIpinthepictureonthebulletinboardbesidemy

computer,Ifeeljustatinybitbetter.

Myfirstpatientisn’tdueforanotherfifteenminutes,soIdecidetodosomethingI’vedreamedabout

forthelastweek.It’sprettyunethical,buttechnicallynotillegal—atleast,Idon’tthinkitis.Ibringup

Indeed.comandsearchforopenM.D.positionsaroundtheUnitedStates—thefartherawayfrom

Hamilton,Texas,thebetter.Ohlook,Honoluluneedsdoctors.Withasimpledraganddrop,I’ve

submittedLucas’CV,whichIcopiedfromthepracticewebsite.Justlikethat,myMondayislookingup.

Aloha,Lucas.

Wednesdayafterwork,mymomisshampooingmyhairinthesink.Withmycaston,it’seasiertojustto

letherdoitthantofightmymaneone-handed.She’dscrubmedownfromheadtotoeifIlether.Mothers.

Afewminutesagoshestartedgoingonaboutcallinganexterminatorouttothehousesoon,butItune

herout.I’vegotenoughproblemsofmyown.

“Andwellanyway,theysaidwe’dhavetovacateforaweekortwowhiletheyputoneofthosebig

circustentsonthewholehouse!I’mnotsureI’mgoingtodoityet.Ohlook!It’sLucas—”

Ijerkupandslammyforeheadintothefaucet.

Mymom,blesshersoul,doesn’tlaugh.“Ouch.Youokayhon?”

“Fine.”

IrubmyforeheadasIruntothewindowwhereshepointed,andit’strue—Lucasisoutside,mowing

mymother’slawninthebuff.Well,hehaslow-slungworkoutshortson,butnoshirt,andIrunbacktothe

sink.IpretendI’mgoingtothrowupfromthesightofhim.

“Surelythat’sagainstthedeedrestrictions,”Isay.“Aren’ttheredecencylaws?”

“It’sTexas,Daisy.It’sgottobe90degreesoutatleast,whocouldblametheboy?”

Shecallshimaboy,butLucasisallman.

“I’mgoingtogocheckthemail,”Isay.

I’mhavingwhatIcanonlyassumeisahotflash.MaybethesightofaglisteningLucashascausedme

totumbleintoearlymenopause.

Mymomshoutsafterme,butIignoreherandyankthefrontdooropen.

Lucasisuptosomething.Mowingmymom’sfrontlawn?Hehasn’tdonethatsinceweleftforcollege,

whenshehiredaservice.Thefactthathe’sdoingitnow,11yearslater,isabsolutelyabsurd.

Hepauseswhenheseesmestrollingdownthefrontpath,buthedoesn’tsayawordandneitherdoI.I

stomp,stomp,stompdowntothemailbox,yankitopen,finditempty,andslamitclosedagain.

WhenIglanceover,sweatisrollingdownLucas’chest.Deargod.I’mstillnotconvincedthisisn’t

somehowillegal.Inoticeagroupoffemalespeedwalkersstoppedonthestreetcorner,gawkingatLucas.

Ohreally?Allfourofthemneededtotietheirshoesatthesametime?It’scalledadoubleknot,people.

Iwavemyhandtoshoothemawayandtheyscurryoff,embarrassed,butnotreally.

“You’recausingascene,”IsnapatLucas.“Surelyyoucanchopbladesofgrasswhilewearing

clothing.”

“Icanputmyshirtbackonifit’saproblemforyou.”

“It’snot.Forme.Idon’tcare.”

“Really—isthatwhyyou’recheckingthemailboxlikethat?”

Icrossmyarms.“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”

“You’vegotshampooinyourhair.”

That’swhenIfeelthewetsudsslippingdownmycheeksandchest,soakingmytanktop.

“It’sleave-inconditioner.”

“Fascinating.”

“Daisy!Hun,”mymomcallsfromthefrontstoop.“Youalreadygotthemailearlier.Nowcomeonin

andleavepoorLucasalone.Ineedtorinseyourhairanyway.”

Herabilitytoruinamomentisuncanny.

“Oh,andLucas,”shecontinues.“Ileftsomelemonadehereforyouincaseyougetthirsty.”

“Satandoesn’tgetthirsty,”ImutterundermybreathasIdragmyfeetupthefrontpath.ThelastthingI

seeisLucas’reflectioninthewindow:buff,sweaty,disarminglyhandsome.Thatnight,beforeIgoto

sleep,Iretrievethemassiveboxfanfromthegarage,turnitonfullblast,andaimitrightatmybed.The

hotflashesaregettingworse.

Fridayafternoon,LucasandIarepresentedwithMr.andMrs.Rogers.They’renewlywedsintheirlate

40swithapenchantforPDAandanaptitudeforover-sharing.Theyinsistonajointappointmentandthey

sitontheexamtabletogether,theirhandslinked.Theirintakeformmentionedpainfulrashes,butlittle

else.

“Yousee…wewenthikingonourhoneymoonandwell,youknowhowromanticitcanbeoutinnature

—”

Mr.Rogersblushesandpincheshiswife’sside.“T-M-I,Kathleen.”

“They’redoctors!Theyneedtoknowthefullstoryifthey’regoingtohelpus,Mitch.”

Lucasnodsgood-naturedly.“Soyouwerehikingandthen…”

“Wellwe’renewlyweds,”Mrs.Rogerscontinues,andtheybothflashtheirringsinunison.“Didwe

mentionthat?Thatwejustgotmarried?It’scrazy.MitchandIusedtohateeachotherinschool.He

bulliedmeontheplayground!Isn’tthatridiculous?Wellanyway,webumpedintoeachotheratabar,one

thingledtoanother,andwell—”

“Iaskedhertomarrymeonourfirstdate.Iknewshewastheoneforme,evenbackinelementary

school.”

Ineedtoclearmythroat,butIdon’twanttodrawattentiontomyself.IknowLucaswantsmetolook

athimsohecanarchabrowandsay,Isn’tthatinteresting,butIresist.

“Let’sgetbackontrack.Whereexactlywereyouhiking?”

Myvoicesoundsweird.

“OutinBigBend.Wewerecampingtheretoo.”

“Andthingsgotalittleheatedonthetrail?”Isuggest,tryingtoconnectthedots.

“ItwasMitch’sidea!”Kathleengiggles.“Hesworenoonewouldsee,butthenIthinkwegotalittle

carriedaway…”

Fifteenminuteslater,afterashortexam,it’sclearthatMr.andMrs.Rogersareeachsportingintense

casesofpoisonivy,concentratedaroundtheirnetherregions.Yikes.

Theyleavewithaprescriptionforextra-strengthhydrocortisonecreamandclearinstructionstolayoff

sexuntiltherashsubsides.Idon’tthinktheywill.IsmileandshakemyheadasIfinishjottingdownnotes

inMrs.Rogers’chart.Lucasisbesideme,leaningagainstthewallwithhisarmscrossed.

“Aren’tyougoingtofinishMr.Rogers’chart?”Iask,staringupathimfrombeneathmylashes.

“Idid.”

Ilookbackdownandstarttowritefaster.

“Sothat’sit,isn’tit?”heasks.

“Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”

Ido,butIwanthimtodropit.

“You’vehadacrushonmethiswholetime,justlikeMr.andMrs.Rogers.”

Ibarkoutalaugh.It’sforcedandfake.“Don’tyouhavesomethingelsetobedoing?Likeplanning

yournextteetimewithDr.McCormick?”

“It’salreadyontheschedule,andyou’reavoidingthequestion.”

“That’sbecauseI’mtryingtowork,”Isay,writingthesamewordinMrs.Rogers’chartforthefifth

time.Thankgodforwhite-out.

“That’sfine.Yoursecret’ssafewithme.”

Itfeelslikehe’scomingontomeandit’shardtobelievethat,inthisoldwar,thereareanyunused

weaponsremaininginhisarsenal,butthisoneisfreshoffthelineandmymindreelsinitswake.

Inarrowmyeyesandtrytodecipherhismotives,buthisneutralexpressionbetrayspreciouslittle.I

don’tknowifhe’sasurgeonwithaknifeorachildwitharock—eitherway,hewantsmyjawtodropand

myhearttoquicken,andIdon’tdisappoint.Myfaceisonfire.Whateverhisintentions,he’sfoundanew,

hiddenchinkinmyarmor.LucasandIhavebeenatthisforsolongthatheveryrarelygetsariseoutof

me,anunexpectedreaction.Iturnonmyheelandslammyofficedoorclosed,nervousforwhathisnext

movewillbe.

C H A P T E R N I N E

L U C A S

From:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

To:daisybell@duke.edu

Subject:UnsentEmail#349

Thisfeelsalittlestrange.Ihaven’twrittenoneofthesemessagesinawhile,notsincebeforeImoved

backtoHamilton.CanIevencallthemmessagesifIneverhitsend?I’mnotevensureyou’reusingthis

emailaddressanymore.Dr.McCormickkeepssayinghe’llgiveusnewonesforthepractice,butcoming

fromaguywhostillusesWindows98,Iwouldn’tcountonithappeninganytimesoon.

Ilookedtheotherday,justoutofcuriosity,andthefirsttimeIwroteoneofthese…journalentries?

Shoutsintothevoid?WhateverIdecidetocallthem,thefirstwasduringmyfreshmanyearatStanford.It

wasaweekintofallsemesterandIguessyoucouldsayIwashomesick.Atleastthat’swhatItoldyouin

theemail.IwentonandonaboutmissingHamiltonandIneveroncementionedthatImissedyou.

IguessI’mprettygoodatkeepingsecrets.InevertoldyouIappliedtoDuke.Igotinwithafull-ride,

sameasyou,butthenIoverheardyourconversationwithMadeleinebeforeprom.Youwentonandon

abouthowexcitedyouweretomoveaway.Youcouldn’twaittogetoutofHamiltonandgetawayfrom

me.

Igotthemessage.Loudandclear.Itmight’vebeenthefirsttimeinourlivesthatoneofusactually

tookahint,ha.

IwenttoStanford,readyforafreshstart,butinsteadIspentmyentirefreshmanyearthinkingabout

transferringtoDuke.Ididn’tjoinanyclubsormakethoselifelongfriendsthatendupbeingyour

groomsmen.IhungoutinmydormroomandlistenedtothoseCDsyouusedtomakeforMadeleine.(I

stolemostofhercollectionbeforeImoved.)Therewassomethingcomfortingaboutlisteningtothesongs

you’dhandpicked,eveniftheyweren’tforme.

God,thatwasalongtimeago,adecade,andyetIcanstillrememberbeingthateighteen-year-oldkid

awayatcollegeandsohomesickithurt.

Igotoverit—Igotoveralotofthings—buttothisdayI’vebeenbotheredbytheonequestionit’stoo

latetoask.

WouldithavehurtmoreorlessifI’djustsentthatfirstemail?

C H A P T E R T E N

ThisfightwithLucasisdifferentthanitusedtobe.11yearsago,ourweaponswereconventionaland

agreedupon:reportcards,racetimes,SATscores,deathglares.Therewerenoinnuendosorsubtlehints

offoreplay.IwouldhaveguessedthathighschoolLucascouldn’thavedifferentiatedbetweenforeplay

andhisforearm.AdultLucascan.ItseemsStanfordtaughthimmorethanbiology.Ishouldwritealetter

congratulatingandadmonishingthedean.

Idon’thaveaproblemwiththewarevolving.

It’sthatIhavenocluewhat’slurkingaroundthecorner,whatlittletricksLucashasstuffeduphis

sleevestoday,andit’sputtingmeonedge.It’smakingmesecond-guesseverydecisionImake.

Mondaymorning,Islipintoablackdressthathitsmyknees,standinfrontofthemirror,andtrytosee

myselffromeveryangle.Yes,itlooksappropriatefromthefront,butwhatifIhavetodipdownand

retrieveapencil.Willtheseamrideuptastefully,orwillitscreamoutyee-haw?!

Ireplacetheblackdresswithpantsandablouse.Nodangerwithfittedwooltrousers.

Exceptthesedays,beingaroundLucasaffectsmyinternalthermostat.I’mnolongerabletoregulate

bodytemperaturethewayI’maccustomedto.Ireplacethewoolpantswithathinpencilskirtandthen

leavemyroombeforeItossanotherarticleofclothingontothefloor.

IthasbeentwoweekssinceLucasandIstartedworkingtogetheratMcCormickFamilyPractice.I’ve

hadenoughtimetoadjust,andyetwhenIstrollintotheofficeMondaymorningandseehimpreparinga

cupofcoffeeinthekitchen,thesightofhimstillshocksme.

TherearemillisecondsthatpassinwhichIseeLucasaseveryoneelseseeshim—tallhandsome

doctorwiththickbrownhairandaperfectwhitesmile—butit’samirage,afictionaloasisthat

disappointsasIdrawnearandrememberthattheimagebelongstoLucasThatcher.

“HavingacaseoftheMondays?”heasks,suspiciousofmyinspectionofhim.

“Wouldn’tyouliketoknow.”Isighbeforeurgingmylegstopropelmeintotherelativesafetyofmy

office.

OnceI’vedroppedmythingsbesidemydesk,IopenmypurseandpullouttheitemsIcollectedbefore

leavingthehouse:abottleofrednailpolishCaseyfawnedoverandahardcovereditionofDarkMatter

forGina.They’renotbribes,perse,justgiftsmeanttoelicitsupport—allpartofPhaseII.

Afterthebookandnailpolisharegratefullyaccepted,Ifloataroundinatriumphanthaze.Giving

reallycanbebetterthanreceiving,IthinkasLucasandIwalkintotheexamroomtoseeourfirstpatient.

Mrs.Vickers.56.Anklepainwithslightswelling.Ihavethelead,butLucaswillundoubtedlycutinat

somepointtoofferhisowntwocents.Iwanttosmashhispiggybank.

“Mrs.Vickers,goodmorning.I’mDr.BellandI’llbetakingcareofyoutoday.”

“Jesus!Finally!”Sheslamshermagazinedownonthefloor.Ireachdowntopickitup,butshe

doesn’twantitback,soIclutchitawkwardly.“Wheredoyougetoffmakingpeoplewait?Ihadan

appointmentat7:45AMandit’s8:00AM.DoyouthinkIcanjustsithereandwaitonyouallday?Ihave

ajobtoo,youknow.”

Iwanttocorrecther—ourfirstappointmentsofthedayarealwaysat8:00AM—butI’mstilldrifting

onacottoncandycloud.

“I’mtrulysorryaboutthat,”Isaysweetly.“Iunderstandyourtimeisimportant,andIwanttomake

thisright.Afteryouleave,goacrosstoTheBrewandtellthemtoputyourcoffeeonDr.Bell’stab.”

“Ugh,coffeegivesmediarrhea.Listenlady,youthinkthatbecauseyou’rewearingawhitecoatyou

gettoruleovereveryoneelsearoundyou?Wellguesswhat?Iwon’tstandforit.YoubetterbelieveI’m

leavingabadreviewonYelp.”

IcansenseLucasbehindme,nodoubtenjoyingtheattack.Notsoeagertojumpinonthispatient,are

youDr.Thatcher?

“Mrs.Vickers,there’snothingIcandonowexceptgetyouhealedupsoyoudon’thavetowasteany

moretimehere,solet’sgettothepoint:youmentionedsomeswellingandtendernessonyourright

ankle?”

Herarmsarecrossedandhereyesarenarrowed.Icantellshewaslookingformoreofanoutburstto

feedintoherprovocation,butI’vedisappointedher.

“Yes.Therightone,”shemumbles,turningaway.

“Thenlet’stakealook.”Idropherchartandmagazineonthecounterandstepforward.It’sanother

fiveminutesofgamesbeforesheletsmeexamineherfoot.Thebruisingandsensitivitypairedwithher

storyofthetumbledownthestairsdefinitelywarrantsconcern.

“Ithinkweoughttosendyoudowntothecountyhospitalforaweight-bearingx-ray.It’sdefinitely

sprained,butweneedtoruleoutsomethingworse.”

“Youcan’tdothathere?!Thisisridiculous!”

“I’msorry.We’reasmallfamilypracticeclinic.Wedon’thavetheequipment—”

“Ohsaveyourbullshitforsomeoneelse,Blondie.MyYelpreviewisonlygettinglonger,”shesnarls,

pullingoutherrhinestone-encrustedsmartphone.

“Allright,that’senough.”Lucas’voiceboomsfrombehindmeandIgopinstraight.“You’re

obviouslyhavingabadday,butifyoucan’ttreatDr.Bellwiththesamerespectshe’sshowingyou,Ithink

youshouldtakeyourhealthcareneedssomewhereelse.Whenyougetthere,I’dalsosuggeststartingwith

aweight-bearingx-ray.”

Myeyesaresoroundwithshocktheymusttakeuphalfofmyface.Formaybethefirsttimeinherlife,

Mrs.Vickersisspeechless;sheisclearlymoreaccustomedtobullyingteenagedcashiersatDillard’s.She

staresatLucasinsilenceforafewsecondsbeforesheturnstome,notquitemeetingmyeyes.“Which

hospitaldidyousay?”

LucasisbackinthekitchenpouringhissecondcupofcoffeewhenIwalkbylaterthatmorning.Istop

andturntohim,awarethatwe’vealreadystoodonthesemarksthismorning:himwithhiscoffeecupin

handandmelostforwords.

Fromanyoneelse,Iwouldhaveopenlyappreciatedtheshowofsupport,butIdon’twantLucastosee

meassomedamselgettingherfirsttasteofdistress.Beinginmedicinehasexposedmetofarmoreand

farworsethanMrs.Vickers,andI’velearnedtohandleitinmyownway.

“DidyouexplainwhathappenedtoDr.McCormick?I’llcorroborateyourstoryifneeded,”hesays,

likeIneedanalibiinamurderinvestigation.

Ishrug,tryinghardtoignoretheurgetothankhim.“Hewasn’tsurprised.She’sapparentlycaused

troubleherebefore.Idon’tthinkshe’llbeback.”

“Good,andbytheway…”Hisbrowsarefurrowedandhe’swearingatroubledexpression.“Iknow

youhaditcoveredbackthere,butIcouldn’tjustsitthereandlethertalktoyoulikethat.”

Itiltmyheadandstudyhim.“Soisthatit?You’retheonlyoneallowedtobullyme?”

SilencefollowsunlikeanyI’veheardbefore.It’snottheabsenceofsound,morelikeaheldbreath,or

nervouswordscaughtinanervousthroat.

Heturnstomeandforafewsecondswe’relockedinastaringcontest.Hisbrowsfurrowagainand

thenIthink,He’sbeautiful.ThethoughtspringsupoutofnowhereandItrytoshoveitbackinitsbox.

Toobaditdoesn’tfitanymore.There’snouseintryingtodenyit.Hestandstherestaringatmewith

chiseledfeaturesandpunch-you-in-the-gutbrowneyes.MybreathingpicksupandLucasnotices.He’s

staringatmelikehewantssomething.

Likehewantsme.

Itremble.IwanthimtoanswermyquestionsoIcanboltintomyofficeandbarricadethedoor,but

instead,heleaveshiscoffeeandpushesoffthecounter.Hestepsintomypersonalspace.It’sanintimate

approach,onewithintent,andwhenIrealizeI’mbackedagainstthewall,myheartrateattemptsa

Guinnessworldrecord.Hummingbirdshavenothingonme.

Ihavetolookuptoseehisfaceandeventhen,Idon’tseemuch.Hisfeaturesareindecipherable.

HaveIinsultedhim?Turnedhimon?Inearlylaughatthesecondoption,butthenhisgazeflickstomylips

andIdon’tfeellikelaughinganymore.

Hebendslowandmystomachflips.Forsomeincomprehensiblereason,Iwonderifhe’sgoingtokiss

me.Righthere,rightnow,after28yearsofthiswar.Maybeherealizeshedoesn’tstandachancegoingup

againstmeheadtoheadsohe’semployingtheotherpartsofhisbody,butheshouldknowthatthestreet

he’spushingmedowngoesbothways,andalltheswordshe’splayingwitharedouble-edged.Sure,he’s

nolongerthescrawnyLucasfromadecadeago,butevenwithhisnewBodybyPuberty

,hehastohave

calculatedtheriskinplayingagameofsensualchickenwithme.

Ileaninclose,tryingtoshowhimthatproximitydoesn’tbotherme.Mybodybrusheshis,andI

suppressmyrevulsion—oristhatlust?Eitherway,Iaminittowinit.IwillmashmyfaceintohisifI

haveto.

Hisbodyispressedagainstmineandthehallwayisnoisy.Someonewillroundthecornerandhewill

havetostepback.

“Iaskedyouaquestion,”Isay,andthenIregretit.Myvoiceisshaky.

Isthisapartofourwar?

Heloomsovermeasheraisesahandtomythroat.Ithinkforonehorriblesecondthatheisgoingto

strangleme,buthisfingerbrushesacrossmycollarboneinstead.Gently.Painfully.

“Ifyoucomeanycloser,I’llscream,”Iwarn.

“Idon’tthinkyouwill.”

Isqueezemyeyesclosed,preparingfordeath,andinsteadhislipspressagainstmine.Iamstillalive.

Maybemorethanever.

Myhandsreachuptopushhimaway.After28years,it’sinstinct.Self-preservation.Totheircredit,

myhandsdomakeittohischest,butthenmysynapsesmustgetcrossed,becauseLucasThatcheris

kissingmeandI’mnotpushinghimaway.LucasThatcher,baneofmywakinglifeandleadroleinmy

nightmaresiskissingme,andmygoodhandiswrappedaroundthecollarofhiswhitecoatandtugging

him.

Hard.

Againstme.

Mybrainhumsatmaxcapacity,butallmyneuronsarebumpingintoeachother,tryingtoreasonout

thisexchange.Canyoukillsomeonewithakiss?Ithinkthat’swhathe’sdoing—slayingmewithhis

mouth.Heleansinandbitesmylip,andit’snotgentle.Iknowtheonlyhopeofretaliationistooverwork

hisbrainaswell.Islidemytonguepasthislipsanddeepenthekiss.

Takethat.

Heletsoutahuskygroanandhaulsmeagainstthewall.I’mpinnedbyhishipsandI’mvaguelyaware

thateitherthetilefloorhasceasedtoexist,orI’vebeenliftedoffofit.He’sgotmerightwherehewants

meandmybody,obeyingalifetimeoftraining,refusestobackdown.Mybreastsfeelheavyandfull

againsthischest.Evenmynipplesreachforhim.MypantiesneedtobechangedandI’mashamed,butnot

ashamedenoughtostop.Lucaspullsbackforasecond,dragginginahaggardbreath,andIjumponhim,

bringinghismouthbacktome.

Isaywhenthisisover.

Hishandwrapsaroundthebaseofmyneck,twininginmyloosestrands.Ishiverandhetightenshis

hold.God,he’sagoodkisser.Ofcourseheis.ThereisnothingLucasThatcherdoesn’texcelatandIfind

myselfappreciatingjusthowadeptheisatmouth-to-mouthcombat.

Toogood.Hetiltsmyhead.Gripsmyneck.Presses.DeepensthekissuntilI’mpanting.Untila

heavinesssettlesbetweenmylegsandIfeelhimagainstmystomach.It’sashockingsensation,ahardness

I’dneverconsidered.

Hetasteslikeaguiltypleasure,onethatwillundoubtedlysouronceI’maloneagain.Weareenemies.

Foes.AndyetwhenLucastakesmywaistinhislargehandsandrollshishipswithmine,Ifeellikewe’re

workingtogethertobuildsomething.Mutuallyassureddestruction.

“I’vepagedthemthreetimes.”

IregisterMariah’svoice,butitseemsfaraway,milesatleast.

“Really?LetmegoseeifIcanfindthem.”

Nowit’sDr.McCormick.He’sroundingthecornerintothehallwaywe’vebeenusingasourweapons

testingfacilityandLucasleapsbacksoquickly,Idon’thavetimetogetmyfooting.Icollapsebackonto

thetileinaheapingpoolofdesireanduselesslimbs.

“Daisy?Whyareyouontheground?Mariah’sbeenpagingyou.”

“Shelostabutton.”

It’sLucaswhoofferstheinsaneexplanation.

Mymouthisopen.Red.Bruised.Mostdefinitelyincapableofcommunication.

Dr.McCormick,shockingly,doesn’tquestionus.He’stooswampedwithpatientstoconsiderthat

everybuttononmywhitecoatisaccountedforandmyhairisstickingupineverydirection.“Allright,

welllookforitlater.Youtwohavepatientswaiting.”

Heturnsbackandleavesus,andIlookupatLucas,expectingtofindhimwearinghissignatureI’m-

so-pleased-with-myselfsmirk.

Instead,hiseyesaredarkbrownpools.Heated.

Hisbreathsareasaudibleasmineandhisbrowsareknittedtogether,almostlikehe’sangry.Hislips

areaflatlineofconfusion,andthenIthink,Ikissedthoselips.

Ohmydeargod.

IkissedLucasThatcher.

Didtheearthjustquake?

HereachesdowntohelpmeupandIwishIhadthoughtquickerandstoodbymyself.I’mnotready

forhimtotouchme,notwhenIamstillcoiledlikeaspringunderpressure.Hekeepsholdofmybicep

untilI’msteady.Istaredownathismuscledforearm,studyingthetightgriphehasonme.It’ssizzling.

Gently,hebrushesabitofdustoffthebackofmywhitecoatandthenstepsback.Helookslikehedid

tenminutesago.Dr.Thatcher,M.D.Poised.Handsome.Terrible.Me?Iamapoorexcuseforahuman

beingstandingonshakyknees.

“Toyourearlierquestion:yes.”

“What?”Iask,myvoiceraspy.

“I’mtheonlyone,”hesaysbeforewalkingaway.

C H A P T E R E L E V E N

Eversinceourlittlehallwaymishap,I’vestartedhavingwhatweinthemedicalfieldcall“intrusive

thoughts”involvingLucas.Theyarereferredtoassuchbecausetheyareunwelcome,typicallyofan

inappropriatenature,andcompletelyimpossibletosuppress.ThefactthatI’mhavingthemaboutLucasis

especiallydistressingbecause,apartfromoneNyQuil-induceddreamIhadineleventhgrade,Ican

honestlysayI’veneverthoughtaboutLucasinthatway.

I’meatingmylunchlockedinsidemyshoeboxofanofficewhileIcasuallydispatchLucas’CVto

high-rankinghospitalsaroundAlaska.AfterI’vehitsendonthefifthsubmission,Istarttodigestbothmy

turkeysandwichandLucas’motivesforkissingme.Iknowheistryingtogetinsidemyhead.Whatwas

onceachildishchessmatchhasturnedintoanX-ratedgameofcapturetheflag,exceptourunderwearare

theflags.I’mseriouslyconsideringgoingcommandoforafewweeks,butIdon’tthinkthatwilldullthe

intrusivethoughts.

LucasinnocentlyfillingacupofwaterbecomesLucasturninganddrizzlingitdownthefrontofmy

whitecoat.

LucaspolitelybendingdowntoretrievemydroppedpenbecomesLucasonhishandsandknees,

beggingforme.

Medicaltalkbecomesdirtytalk.Stethoscopesandbloodpressurecuffsbecomesextoys.

ByclosingtimeonTuesday,Iwanttotapout.I’vegone28yearswithoutsomuchasasecondglance

atthedweebIusedtocall“LucastheMucus”,andinthematterofonemorning,he’srattledme.Ineedto

gohomeandexorcisewhateverdemonhe’sawokeninme.IneedtoAmazonPrimesomesageand

performanancientcleansingritualunderafullmooninthecenteroftown.IneedtoGooglehowtoerase

afewhoursfromsomeone’smemorysoIcangobacktothewayIwasB.K.(BeforeKiss).

IamcrackingandIwanttoflee,butIstillhavetotalktoDr.McCormickbeforeIleave.Ihaveaplan

forcommunityengagement(PhaseII)thatwillknockhissocksoff.I’veplannedatimetotalktohim

alone,neartheendoftheworkday,becauseIamacoward.

At5:58PM,ItugopenmyofficedoorandlooktothelefttoseeifLucasisstillhere.Hisofficedoor

isclosed,butthesightdoeslittletocalmmynerves.Itiptoeoutintothehallway—carefullysidestepping

thespotwheretheincidenthappened—andthenIknockonDr.McCormick’sdoor.He’stranscribing

notesintohisancientcomputerbutwelcomesmeinwithamustached-smileandanexaggeratedwave.

“Headingoutfortheday?”

“Inasecond.”Ismileandholdupanotherbagofcookies.“Iwantedtogiveyouthesebeforeyou

left.”

Hiseyeslightupattheperfectblendofcinnamonandsugar.“Moresnickerdoodles?”

“Mymom’srecipe,”Igloat.“ItoldherIneededtobutteryouup,andshesaidsheknewjustthe

recipe.”

Iswearheblushes.“There’sareasonthatwomanwasthetopfundraiserattheHamiltonHighbake

salewhileyouwereinschool.IthinkI’vepurchasedeverydamndoodleshe’severbaked.”

Yes.Iremember.

HetearsopenthebagassoonasIbringitwithinreachandIusetheopportunitytolaunchintomy

well-rehearsedspeech.

“SoI’vebeenthinkingaboutwhatyousaidtheotherweek,aboutcommunityengagement,andwell,I

tooktheinitiativeandbookedaboothatHamiltonFounder’sDayFairnextSaturday.It’supatthehigh

school.WecandofreebloodpressureandBMIchecks,low-costflushots,thatsortofthing.”

HeleansbackinachairsowornIfearitwillkeeptippinguntilhe’sontheground.Somehow,itstops

justbeforehe’shorizontal.Hepointsatmewithhishalf-eatencookieandnods.“That’sfantastic.Our

officehasn’tsponsoredaboothlikethatinages.It’sjustthesortofthingIwaslookingfor.”Ibeam,but

thenDr.McCormickruinsmymoment.“You’llbothgo.”

“Oh.”Ishakemyheadvehemently.“That’snotnecessary.Thefairreallyisn’tallthatbig.I’mmore

thancapableofmanningtheboothallonmyown.”

Hisgazefallstomycastforonlyabriefmoment,butit’sstilllongenoughtotellmehedoesn’tthinkI

canmanagetheboothwithoutLucas’help.IfIcould,Iwouldgnawthecastoffwithmyteethjusttoprove

mycapability.

“OhIknowyoucan,butIthinkit’sbestifyoubothgo,”herepeats,closingthediscussion.“Itrust

you’llgivehimallthedetails.”

Andlikethat,mygeniusideaissplinteredintwo.Isaunterout,dejectedatthethoughtofhavingto

sharetheboothwithLucas.Evenonthewayhome,thepromiseoffriedchickencan’tliftmyspirits.

“I’lljusteatasalad,”Itellmymom.

Sheslamsonthebrakesandthenthreatenstodrivemetothehospitalforacheckup.Ilieabouthaving

hadaheartylunch.Then,Izipmylips.Idon’ttrustmyself;IfearthoughtsaboutLucaswillslipout

withoutmyapproval.IKISSEDHIM,Ishoutinmyhead.Fortunately,shedoesn’tpushtheissue.Even

whenshe’sshampooingmyhairinthesinklater,shesteerstheconversationtowardfluff.

“DidDr.McCormicklikethecookies?”

“Helovedthem.”

“Oh?”

She’sfishing.

“Heravedaboutthem.I’veneverseenhimsohappy,”Icontinue.

Sheglows,myexaggerationdoingnothingtodilutethecompliment.

“Mom,you’regettingshampooinmyeyes.”

“Oh!There—better?”

“No.Ow!Stoppokingmyeyewiththetowel.”

Thisishowmyweekhasgone.First,theintrusivethoughts.Then,Dr.McCormickforcesmetoshare.

Now,I’mtreatedtomeltedcorneas.Myflimsyrockbottomsjustkeepgivingwaytodeeper,darker

depths.WhileLucasiswalkingonclouds,IamahundredmilesbelowtheEarth’scrust.

Itisn’tuntilMadeleine’scallWednesdayafternoonthatI’mremindedoftherealrockbottomwaitingfor

me.IamataseafoodbuffetforaHamiltonSinglesevent.Allyoucaneat,allyoucanmeet.Thereisa

bevyofbothshrimpandmen.Sofar,theformerhasheldthelion’sshareofmyattention.

“Anygoodprospects?”Madeleineasks.

“Personally,I’menjoyingthecoconut-crusted.Oh,andthescampi.”

“Humanprospects,Daisy.Puttheshrimpdown,already.”

“LookMadeleine,thewayIseeit,Imightmeetagreatguytonight,buttheseshrimpareasurething.

Takethatguythere,he’sputawayatleastfourplates.He’sgettinghismoney’sworth.”

“Wellforone,you’reafifthofhissize.Two,Ithinkhe’sundertheimpressionthatthisisaspeed-

eatingevent.”

“Maybewe’resoulmates,”Icroon.Iamtheheart-eyesemoji.

Madeleinehashadenoughofme.Iknowbecauseshetakesmyplateandhandsitofftoapimpled

waiterwithanexasperatedsigh.

“There’saniceguywho’sbeenaskingaboutyou.He’soverbythesoft-servemachine.”

ShenodsinhisdirectionandIgetawinkandasmilefromthelonelycowboy.Insteadofasix-

shooter,he’sholdingachild-sizedsugarcone.Itruinstheappeal.

“That’salittletoomuchdenimforme.”

“He’sgood-looking!InsomepartsoftheworldtheycallthataCanadiantuxedo.”

“Wellinmypartoftheworldtheycallitavirginityforcefield.”

Shetossesherhandsintheairandgivesuponme.Finally.

Forthenextthirtyminutes,I’mlefttositnexttothespeed-eatingyintomyyang.Wedon’ttalkuntil

I’mcuttingintoasliceofcheesecake.He’sasoldasmygrandfather;ifhewasyounger,we’dalready

haveeloped.Ilookoverforhisname.

“Where’syournametag?”Iask,finallyawarethatthismanmighthavesneakedintotheevent.

“Mywhat?”

“Areyouhereforthesinglesthing?”Iask,pointingtotheherdofgrazingsinglesIwantnothingtodo

with.

“Singleswhat?”

He’shardofhearing,butI’mnotdiscouraged.

“Yeah,meneither.Yougonnafinishthat?”

HenearlyforksmyhandasItrytostealabiteofhisbrownie.Heisn’toneforsharingdesserts.I

respectthat.

“Thatafriendofyours?”heasks,pointingapudgyfingeroutpastthefrontoftherestaurant.

Iglanceupandcomefacetofacewithmyworstnightmare.

Lucasisstandingontheothersideofthesmudgedglass,lookinglikethecatthatcaughtthecanary.He

holdstheHamiltonSingleseventposterinonehandandmydignityintheother.

“Helooksawfulhappytoseeyou.”

“That’sbecauseheis,”Igroan,slidingdowninmyseatuntilI’mcompletelyunderthetable.

C H A P T E R T W E L V E

L U C A S

From:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

To:daisybell@duke.edu

Subject:UnsentEmail#350

YouprobablythinkI’mhappyIspottedyouatthatsinglesevent,andyou’reright,Iam—butnotforthe

reasonsyou’dguess.Iwassmilingbecausefromthelooksofit,you’dmanagedtofindtheonlymaninthe

entireroomthatwasn’tinterestedinyou.

Thanksforthat.

IthinkI’llsleepalittleeasiertonightknowingyoudidn’tgohomewithanyone,knowingthere’sstilla

chance.

Thenagain,maybeIshouldgiveyouhellforbeingthereinthefirstplace.Imean,c’mon.Asingles

event?Youdon’tneedanyhelpinthatdepartment.Everyguyintownhasbeenaskingaboutyousincewe

gotback.

I’vetriedtodeterthem,butprettysoon,oneofthemisgoingtoworkupenoughcouragetodo

somethingaboutit.

IguessI’llhavetobeatthemtoit.

C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N

“Wellifitisn’tDaisyBell,themosteligiblebacheloretteinHamiltonCounty.”

“Oh!Andlook,it’sLucasThatcher,theonlyhumanmanwithnoheart.”

It’sthemorningafterthesingleseventandLucasfollowsmeintothelab.We’resupposedtobe

examiningaslide,lookingforaninfection;insteadheisexaminingme,lookingforaweakness.

“Youknow,Icanhelpwithyoursituationifyouneedmeto.Justsaytheword.”

“Firstofall,Idon’thaveasituation,andtheonlywordsIhaveforyouareinappropriateforthe

workplace.”

HecomesupbehindmeasI’mlookinginthemicroscopeandbrushesmyloosehairoffmyneck.I

freezebecausethere’snothingelsetodo.Mybrainismush.

Hisbreathhitsthetopofmyspine.Hisfingersareonmypulse.Ishiver.

“I’dbelyingifIsaidIhadn’tthoughtaboutitovertheyears.”

Idigmyelbowintohisribs,butit’snotenough.Ishouldhavejammedtheheelofmyhandintohis

nose—aself-defensemoveI’vealwaysdreamedoftryingonLucas.

“Thisisanunwantedsexualadvance.”

IsoundlikeaboredHRmanagergivingapresentation.

“Soreportme.”

“Didyoutwolookattheslideyet?”Dr.McCormick’sjollyvoicericochetsthroughthehallsand

Lucasstepsback,finally.

“Yessir.HerwhitecellcountishighandLucasjustpropositionedmeforsex.”

Thesecondhalfisretainedinmyhead.

“Allrightthen.Let’sgetheronsomeantibiotics.”

HewalksoffandIturnbacktoLucas.He’swearingasmirkIwanttosteal.

“Ireportedyouinmyhead,”Itellhim.

“Ididsomethinginmyheadtoo.”

Mycheeksburnwithembarrassment.He’shadtheupperhandforfartoolong.Thekissinthehallway,

himseeingmeatthesinglesevent,andnowhimteasingmeinthelabhasmademedesperate.PhaseIIIis

behindschedule,butIcan’ttellhimthat.

Iturntotheexamroomacrossthehallandyankthepatient’schartoutofthecubby.IfeelLucas’eyes

readingovermyshoulderandtrymybesttotiltitinawaythatinconvenienceshim.It’stheonly

retaliationIcanmuster.

Thissetupisgettingtome.Withmycast,thereisnowayIcanseemypatientsalone.Ourproximity

givesmenochancetoregrouporstrategize.He’swinningandheknowsit.It’stimetotakebacktheupper

hand.

WhenLucashappenstohavetheupperhand,hetendstogloat,andI’vefoundthatIcanusethis

overconfidencetomyadvantage.Thedifficultyisknowingwhenanopportunitypresentsitselftoflipthe

script.So,likeavengefulboyscout,Icomeprepared.

Thenextmorning,Iarrivetoworktwentyminutesbeforetherestoftheofficewithaduffelbagfullof

ammunition.Ibrewcoffee—thehazelnutblend,Lucas’secretguiltypleasure.Oncethearomahas

saturatedthehallway,Igointomyoffice,unzipthebag,andextractfivethings:atrayoflemonpoppy

seedmuffins,asexyworkoutoutfit,astopwatch,andtwoRubik’sCubes.Myplanisasfollows:

Afterthelastpatientleaves,I’llmicrowavethehomemademuffinssothatthey’resoftandwarm.

Somepeoplemighthaveputlaxativesinthem—notme.Ijustmadethemextrafuckingdelicious.While

they’renuking,I’llshimmyintomytighttanktopandspandexshorts.Idon’tknowifLucashasaheart,but

thankstoafatefulpantsingincidentinmiddleschool,Iknowheisaman.Themicrowavewillding.

Lucaswilltakethosefirstfewbites(hecannotresistlemonpoppyseed),andthenIwillstrolloutasif

I’monmywaytothegym.

“ArethoseRubik’sCubes?”he’llask.

I’llactsurprisedbyhissuddeninterestinlittleol’me.

“Oh,youmeanthese?Ifoundthemonthesidewalkthismorning.I’veneverseenthembeforeinmy

life.”

“Thatmakessense,”he’llsay,swallowingthelieshiddeninmyTrojanhorseofbakedgoods.“And

what’swiththegetup?”

He’llpretendtobedisinterested,buthisAdam’sapplewillbobandhewillstealquickglancesdown

mybody.He’llrealizetoolatethatI’mwatchinghim,andwhenheurgeshiseyesbackuptomeetmine,

I’llslowlytugonthedarklanyardhangingaroundmyneckandextractaretrostopwatchfrommy

cleavage.Finally,I’lltosshimacube.

“Iwasjustabouttogodonatethesetoanafterschoolprogramforat-riskyouth,butbeforeIdo,care

foraquickgame?”I’llasksweetly.

BygameI’llmeancontest—notthatit’llbemuchofone.ThemomentIfinishthatRubik’sCubebefore

him,he’llbetheoneontheropes.NothingunsettlesLucasmorethanlosing.Balancewillberestored.

Thesoundoftheoffice’sbackdoorbreaksmeoutofmydaydreamandpanicmomentarilysetsin

beforeIhearDr.McCormick’sofficedoorcreak.There’sstilltimetogathermyselfbeforeIseeLucas.

Still,Idon’tgetittogether.

Ialmostgiveawaymyintentionsallmorning.Mydiabolicalplanseepsfrommypores.

“Youarewaytoocheerful,evenforaFriday,”Lucastellsmewhenwe’regoingoverthechartforour

firstpatient.“Didyourfriendfromthedatingeventfinallycall?”

Theneedtoparticipateintherealworldsnapsmeoutofmyvillainousscheming.“Lucas,youdo

realizethattheonlythingsadderthanbeingatasmall-towndatingeventislurkingaroundoutsideofone,

right?”

Myrebuttalgetshimoffmybackforalittlewhile,buthe’sstillsuspicious.

“You’resmirkingagain,”hesaysjustbeforelunch.

“AmI?”

“Yes.LiketheCheshirecat.”

Justthen,Mariahcomesaroundthecorner.ForthelastweekI’vepliedherwithsmiles,frappucinos,

andthepromiseofaraiseassoonasItakeoverforDr.McCormick.Shefitssnuglyinmypocket.

“Thepatientinroomtwoisreadytoseeyou,Dr.Bell.”Shebeams.

“Perfect,”Ireplywithanappreciativesmile.“Thankyou,Mariah.”

Itap,taponthedoorforexamroomtwoandwalkin,leavingLucasinmywake.

Iknowmyhappinessisthrowinghimforaloop—hisTypeAbrainshort-circuitsatthethoughtof

juicyinformationbeingkeptfromhim.Allafternoon,Igettoenjoyhowworkedupmysilencegetshim.

Hewon’tstopflickinghiseyesovertomeduringtheexams.IcanfeelhimguessingatwhatImightbe

hidingandtryingtouncovermymotiveswithhiseyes.Mymysterioussmilesareawarningshot.Ashe

seeshisfinalpatient,Ipreparetheuppercutbyheatingthemuffinsandslippingintospandex.Ihumalittle

tuneasIdoit.I’mshakingwithexcitement.TheimageofhisfacewhenIbeathimattheRubik’sCube

willsedatemefordays,ifnotweeks.

“Dr.Bell?”

It’sMariahagain,ontheothersideofmyofficedoor,hesitanttoenter.

“Comein!”InearlysingthewordslikeaDisneycharacter.IfIknewlyricalchoreography,I’dbreak

intoit.

“Woah!Dr.B…”

WhenIglanceovermyshoulder,Mariahstandsinthedoorway,eyeswideatmygetup.Afterten

seconds,herheterosexualeyeshavestillnotleftmycleavage.Lucaswillpeehimself.

“What’sup?”

Hermouthhangsopen.Sheclosesitandshakesherhead.“Dr.Thatcherneedsyourhelp—”

Oncue,aloudwailsoundsthroughtheoffice.Lucas’lastpatientwasapediatricscase:asix-month-

olddueforaroundofshots.

“He’sinwithMrs.Heckmannandherlittlebaby.Heaskedforyoutocome,quick.”

Couldthisdaygetanybetter?

MyheartfluttersandIyankthenowuselessstopwatchfromaroundmyneck.Mariahmightaswell

haveannouncedthatChristmascameearly.

Yousee,sincetheverydawnofourstrife,we’veeachadheredtoasolitaryunspokenrule:neverask

theotherforhelp.Gotsick,missedschool,andneedacopyoftheday’snotes?Iwouldwalkformilesto

anotherclassmatebeforecallingnextdoor.Bloodynoserightasthecurtainsgoupattheschoolplay?I

didn’tcareifLucaswasthepresidentofatissuefactory,I’dhavebledoutbeforeaskingforone.So,if

Lucasistrulycallinginalifeline,Iwon’tneedmuffinsorRubik’sCubesanymore.I’vealreadywon.

Thewailingisgettinglouder,andIdon’thavetimetochange.Iyankmywhitecoatoffthebackofthe

dooranddrapeitovermyworkoutattire.Thewhitecoatextendsafootpastmyshort-shortsandI’m

awarehowpornographictheeffectis.IamsuddenlyDr.Sexy,rightofftherackattheHalloween

superstore.Ismiletomyself.

Mariahleadsmetoexamroomoneandthedoorisopen,beckoningmein.There’safrettingmom

sittinguponthetable,holdingherchildinherlap.Herworrylinesaresodeep,shedoesn’tevennotice

myinappropriategarb.Iexplainitanyway.

“Mrs.Heckmann,IwasheadingtothegymwhenIheardthecommotion,”Isaywithasugarysmile.

“Dr.Thatcher,needmyhelp?”

Lucasturnsoverhisshoulderatthesoundofmyvoiceandlikeacartoon,histonguerollsouttocarpet

myentranceintotheexamroom.It’saninvoluntary,cavemanreaction,oneheoverridesalmost

immediately.Ialmostfeelbadly,asifI’mcheating.Hisjawlockstightandhislargehandsturntofists.

Iknowwhatheneedsmetodo,butIwaitforhimtosayitanyway.Iwouldn’twanttopresume.

“I’mhavingtroublewiththeseshots.”

And,Isaywithmyeyes.

“AndIthinkthepatientmightbemorecomfortableifyoudothem.”

Iwalkuptothemetaltrayhehassetupinfrontofhislap.Icouldmoveit,butwhere’sthefuninthat?

Myspandex-cladassislessthanafootawayfromhisface.Hecouldrollhischairaway,butIguess

there’snofuninthateither.

“What’shername?”Iask,miningvastdepositsofuntappedmotherlymojo.

“Ava,”Mrs.HeckmannrepliesshylyasIpopthelidoffthefirstsyringe.Lucashasalreadyloadedthe

shotsforme,soallIhavetodoisalittlesleightofhand.

“Howpretty!”IturntoMrs.Heckmann.“Isitafamilyname?”

Duringmypediatricrotationyearsago,Ilearnedthetrickinadministeringshotstobabiesisto

distractboththechildandthemother.Lucasprobablyneglectsthesecondpart.Ifmomistense,thebaby

istense,andthepositivefeedbackloopgetsugly.

Italk,makefaces,playpeekaboo,andperformamagicactthatstartswithahandfulofshotsandends

withasmiling,inoculatedbaby.

“Thankyousomuch,”Mrs.Heckmannsays,staringupatmefromtheexamtablelikeIamthemessiah

cometosetherpeoplefree.ShetriestospareLucas’feelings.“Sometimesshegetsnervousaroundmen.”

Whenwe’rebackoutinthehall,Lucasstripsoffhisthick-framedglasses.Heisnolongerthemild-

manneredClarkKent,butintimidatingandevil.

Inmyhead,Itellhimtochinupbeforepattinghimonhiswhitecoat,rightovertheLucasThatcher,

M.D.embroidery.Itellhim,I’mmorethanhappytohelpyouanytimeyouneedit.

Inreallife,Lucastailsmebacktomyoffice.HisarmsarecrossedinmydoorwayandIfeellikea

cagedanimalwithhimblockingmyexit.Heistoobigforhisowngood—poorAvaprobablythoughthe

wasabear.Heneverusedtoworkoutinhighschool,stayinglongandleanfromcrosscountry.Nowheis

tallandmadeofbrick.Thebigbadwolfcouldnotblowhimdown.

Ihesitatebeforestrippingoffmywhitecoat.Iwanttoputmyblouseandpencilskirtbackonovermy

workoutclothes,butI’vegainedtoomuchgroundtoretreatnow.

“You’regoodwithkids,”hesays,andinthewarmthofmyvictory,Ifoolishlytakethebait.

“Yousoundsurprised.”

“IguessIshouldn’tbe—theirinnocentmindsareprobablyeasierforyoutomanipulate.”

“Haha,Lucas.Isthatwhyyourmindissohardtocrackinto?Lackofinnocence?”

Hedoesn’treply,buthedoesn’tleaveeither.Ipullmytennisshoesoutofmyduffelbag,noticethe

Rubik’sCubes,andfeellikeafool.Heneverwouldhavefallenformyploy.Heatfloodsmycheeks,andI

keepmyheaddownasItiemyshoes.

Theairistense.Idon’twanttobrushpasthim,butIcan’tstandhiseyesonmeanylonger.Witha

boredsigh,Istandtoleaveandtossmyduffelbagovermyshoulder.JustasIthinkI’llmakeitout,he

blocksmyprogresswithhisbody.Hesmellslikehejustshoweredinthewildernessanddriedoffwith

freshlylaunderedwoodlandcreatures;Idetectpineandsandalwood.

Hisnoseisnosloucheither.“Arethoselemonpoppyseedmuffinsinthekitchen?”

Istarestraightahead,smackdabathischest.“They’reforbookclub.”

“Ohyeah?”Hedoesn’tbelieveme.I’veneverbeenagroupkindofgirlandheknowsit.“Whatare

youreading?”

Tocallhisbluff,Itiltmyheadandlockeyeswithhim.“AGameofThrones.Youremindmealotof

Joffrey.”

HesmirksandIblinktomentallyphotographitforlater.

Still,hedoesn’tletmepass;I’mstartingtosweatandIthinkheknowsit.Heknowstheballisbackin

mycourt,buthestillwantstoplay.

“Makeway,Dr.Thatcher.”

Hisfacedipsdownandhislipsnearlybrushmycheek.“Havefunatbookclub,Dr.Bell.”

Ishiverandshovepasthim.

Onmywayhome,Ipassagroupofkidsplayingsoccerbehindanoldchurch.Ifeelstrangepullingup

inacarandofferingthemfreetreats,butit’sworthittowatchthemgreedilydevourthemuffinsmeantfor

C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N

Madeleineinvitesmetoherhouselaterthatnighttomakeupfortheshittysinglesnightshedraggedmeto.

IacceptherofferbecauseeventhoughIwouldliketostayangrywithher,Ialreadyknowfromdecadesof

experiencethatIwillcaveinafewdays.Idon’tpossessthewillpowerforlong-termgrudges.Besides,it

isn’tlikemysocialcalendarisexactlyburstingattheseams.

Iaminstructedtodressupabitbecausetheremightbeotherguestsinattendance;Iguessshe’sscared

I’llwearamatchingpajamasetandembarrassherinfrontofhernewfriends.Whotheyare,Ihaveno

idea.MadeleineandIhavebeeneachother’sonlyrealfriendsforupwardsoftwentyyears.We’relike

antisocialbutterfliesthatnevermadeitoutofthecocoon.

ExceptwhenIarriveatherhouseonFriday,Iamshockedtofindnotonlyafewextraguestsat

“movienight”,butaslewofcarsliningherstreetandblockingherdriveway.Iparkoneblockoverand

hoofitbacktoherhouse,tryingtopinpointwheretheheavybassiscomingfrom.Myfirstinstinctisto

assumeMadeleine’shousehasbeenbrokeninto.Theperps,uponarrival,decidedtostayandgetcozy,

makethemselvesathome,andthrowaparty.It’smuchmorelikelythanMadeleineThatcherthrowinga

full-onfrathouserager.

I’mhalfwayupthepathwith9-1-1pre-dialedonmyphonewhenthedooropensandmybestfriend

appearsinthedoorway.She’swearingatightbluedressthatcomplimentsherslenderframeandlight

brownhair.Sheisstunningandgiggly—I’devengosofarastosaydrunk.

“DAISY!You’rehere!”Shethenproceedstoshoutoverhershoulder,“HEYEVERYONEDAISYIS

HERE!”

“Everyone”cheersasiftheyknowwhoIam,andwhenIwalkthroughthedoor,I’mshocked,because

theyactuallydo.ThisisahighschoolreunionifI’veeverseenone.

Iwave,tryingmybestsmileonforsize,andthenturnandyankMadeleineintothekitchen.

“Youcouldhavewarnedme!”Ihiss.

“What?Why?!Youlookcute!”

I’mwearingmyfavoritejeansandacreamsweater.ObviouslyIlookcute;that’snotwhatImeant.

“Youtoldmethiswasamovienight.”

ShelaughsandreachesaroundmeforanopenbottleofFireball.“Movienightschmovienight.Thisis

yourrealwelcomehomeparty!Nowhere.Tossbackashotwithmeandloosenthatscowl.You’llget

wrinkles.”

Idon’twanttoacceptthewhiskyfromMadeleinebecauseshe’sforcingitonme,butIslingbackone

shot,andthenanother.IfI’mgoingtogobackintothatlivingroomandconversewithpeopleIhaven’t

seensincehighschool,Ineedtobeundertheinfluence.Likeanadult.

MybuzzsetsinquicklysinceIhaven’thadarealdinneryet;Iwasplanningonstuffingmyfacewith

popcornwhilewewatchedmovies.Clearly,thatisnolongeranoption.

Madeleineparadesmearoundtheroommakingfaketrumpetnoises,ensuringthateverysingleperson

inattendanceknowsI’vearrived.Itrytocataloguethechangesinmymind:wholooksdifferentthanthey

didinhighschool,whoseringfingersarenowblingfingers.MosteveryonelooksaboutthesameasI

remember.

Thepartyhasextendedintothebackyardwheresomeguyshavesetupmakeshiftbeerpongtables,and

Ievenfindmyselfintriguedbyastrangerwithhisbackturnedtome.We’llcallhimNiceAss.Mr.Tall

NiceAss.Madeleinehandsmemythirdandfinalshot,Idownit,andIpointtohimlikeI’mcallingdibs.

Thatone.ThestingfromthewhiskystilllingersasIsauntertowardMr.TN(forshort).I’mpreparedto

layonthecharmwhensuddenlyheturnsandIcatchsightofsomethingotherthanhisderriere.Hisprofile

stopsmedeadinmytracks.I’msickenedbythesurprise.

Lucas?!

Madeleineistitteringbehindme,morethanpleasedwithherself.

Lucasturnstolookoverhisshoulder,seesme.Ihalf-wavewithmycastedhand.Hefrowns,clearly

notpleasedtoseeme,butIampleasedtoseehim—thankstothewhisky.It’stheonlywayIcanexplain

awayhowIfeelabouthisamplyfillednavybluepantsandwhitebutton-up.Heworetheensembleto

work,butwiththesleevesrolledtohiselbows,he’stransitionedintoplaymode…andmaybeIhavetoo.

IconsiderberatingMadeleineforinvitingLucas,butIknowherresponsewillinvolvecriesofsibling

guilt.She’schockfullofit.Me?Icountmyselfluckytobeanonlychild.Nonastyolderbrotherstodrag

medown.

“HavingfunLucas?”Iask,interruptingthegameofbeerponghewasplayingwithouroldclassmate,

JimmyMathers.

Jimmypausesmid-shot.“Ohhey,Daisy.Happyhomecoming.”

Neitherofthemseemveryhappytoseeme,butIdon’tletthatruinmyfun.

“HowaboutIplaywinner?”

Jimmylaughs.“WellconsideringLucasisabouttobeatmeforthesecondtimeinarow,I’lljust

concede.Thegameisyours.”

Lucasreachesforhisbeerandshakeshishead.“Don’tthinkit’sagoodidea.Whydon’tyougoback

inside?”

Ibawklikeachicken,earningmeafewlaughsfromthepartyguestslingeringoutside.

Lucaswipeshismouthwiththebackofhishandandthereisanittybittysmilethere.Ijustknowit.

“Fine.Grabafewbeers,Jimmy.Daisymustbethirsty.”

Fortherecord,Ihaveneverinmylifeplayedagameofbeerpong.Mycollegedayswerespentatthe

library,studying,butitwouldn’tbethefirsttimecompetitionwithLucashasforcedmetobeaquick

learner.Inthesummerbeforejunioryearofhighschool,IcondensedthreeyearsofSpanishintothree

monthsafterfindingouthetooksecretlessonstobeefuphiscollegeapplications.Losiento,Lucasito.

LucassetsuptenredSoloCupsinatriangleinfrontofme,andInodwithapproval.

“Verygoodformation.Mypreferredarrangement.”

“Doyouevenknowtherules?”

Ilaugh.“Pfft.Pah.DoIknowtherules?Enoughabouttherules,sissyboy.Let’sgetstarted.”

Ifeelluckythatmycastisonmynon-dominanthand,butIamfoolingnoone.Bymythirdturn,I

haven’tevenmanagedtosinkaballwithinafootofthetable.Lucas,meanwhile,hassunkalmostevery

oneofhisshots,forcingmetodrinkthetepidbeerinthecups.

“Youcanforfeitwheneveryouwant,”hesays,hiseyesrifewithmischief.

“Iwouldratherjumpoffamillionbridges.”

Thosearethewordsmybraintellsmymouthtosay,butthereisadistinctslurthataccompaniesthem

thatevenInotice.HeprobablyhearssomethinglikeIdratherpumpmybritches.

“Let’smakethisahalfgame,”Lucassays,eyeingmyemptycups.“Firstpersontofive.”

He’sbeingatricky-tricksterbutIseerightthroughhim.

“Youdon’tthinkIcanactuallybeatyou,”Isay,takingaimformynextshot.Itryadifferenttactic,

closingoneeyeandtryingtolineupthetrajectoryofmyballusingonlythesoundofthewind.Ithrowand

theballfliesoverLucas’head…andhitsJimmyMathersrightabovehisear.

“HEY!Watchit!”

“Ha!”Iclap.“IplaybyEastCoastrules.Ifyouhitthelastloserinthehead,youautomaticallywin.”

“Nicetry.Youdorealizetheobjectiveofthegameistogettheballinsidethecups,right?”

HetakeshisturnandthenIdownanotherfewouncesofbeer.

“OkayIthinkthat’sprettymuchgame.Didyoueatdinnertonight?”

“Yep.Ihadasexydate.Heboughtmelotsoffancyfood.Letmeeatitoffhisabs.”

Anotheroneofmyballsgoesflyingacrossthebackyard.Notetoself:Spanishiseasiertolearnthan

beerpong.

IstarttoregretchallengingLucas,butthenaloudcrashsoundsfrominside,bailingmeout.Themusic

stopsandsomeoneisshoutingaboutcalling9-1-1,aboutneedingadoctor.

“I’madoctor!”Ishout,dashinginsidetosavetheday.Ienvisionperformingatracheotomywitha

ballpointpenorstitchingupmortalwoundswithcraftstring.

I’mdisappointedtofindthataguestwascuttinglimesfordrinkswhentheynickedtheirfinger.

Anotherpersonsawthebloodandpassedout.Itrytowrapmyheadaroundboththings,butmyvisionisa

bitfuzzyandIcan’trememberwhatdayitis.

“Okay.Cansomeonerepeatthattome?Slowerthistime?”

Lucassidlespastme.“HeyMaryAnne,let’sgetthatfingercleanedupsoIcanseeifyouneed

stiches.”

Justlikethat,hetakescontrol.Confident.Strong.Relativelysober.MaryAnnestaresupatLucaslike

he’sjustproposedcoitus.Heguideshertothekitchensinkandrunswateroverherfinger.Shewinces—

it’seitherpainoranorgasm.

“Thankgodhe’shere,right?”

IhearsomeonewhisperthosewordsbehindmeandIwanttobarf.

“Justanothersecond,”Lucaspromises,tiltingherhandtogetabetterviewofthedamage.“Itlooks

likemorebloodthanitreallyis.You’llbefine.”

“That’sclosetothejoint.Youprobablywantstitches,MaryAnne.”

Thatismyadvice.I’mahealthcareprofessionalsoshehastotakeit.

Lucasdisagrees.“ABand-Aidandsomeantibioticcreamoughttodothetrick.”

Ithrowupmyhands.MaryAnnewouldprobablytakeLucas’adviceevenifhesuggestedamputation

attheelbow.Whereisthatotherpatient?Theheadcase?

She’slyingonthecouch,nursingherheadwithanicepack.Ipickupherfeetandsitdown.

“Howyafeelin’?”

“Aren’tyouadoctor?”

Igrin.“Bingo.”

“WellIthinkIhaveaconcussionorsomething.”

I’vebeentrainedforthisscenario.Headtraumaswereroutineduringmyrotationinemergency

medicine—thoughifI’mbeinghonest,Itreatedthosecaseswithsignificantlylessalcoholinmysystem.I

tellthattomypatient.

“Great,”shesays,sarcastically.“You’rewasted.IwantLucas.”

Irollmyeyes.“Nonsense.Nowfollowmyfinger.”

Shedoes.

“Howmanydoyousee?”Iask.

“Justtheone?”sheoffersskeptically.

Iboopheronthenosewiththesamefinger.“Yougotit!”

Ashadowfallsovermeandmypatient’seyeswiden.“Lucas!Finally.Iwashopingtogeta,uh…

secondopiniononmyhead.IfaintedwhenIsawMaryAnne’scut.”

Hewavesoffherconcern.“It’sprobablyjustalittlebump.Getsomebodytodriveyouhome.Ifyou

feelconfusedorhaveaheadachethatwon’tgoaway,youmightwanttogoseeadoctor.”

Shefrowns,clearlydisappointedthatshewon’tbegettingherownminiexamcourtesyofLucasthe

Mucus.

Istand,annoyedthateveryoneconsidershimthemedicalauthority.“No,goahead,Lucas.Shewants

youtotouchher.Feelherup.”

“Ihitmyhead!”sheinsists.Oh,nowshe’sbeingcoy.

“Daisy,canIspeakwithyouforasecond?”

Lucastriestosteermeoutofthelivingroomandawayfromtheotherpartyguests,butI’mnothaving

it.Atleast,Itrytojerkawayfromhim,butheseemstohavesuperhumanstrength,andintheend,hevery

easilyguidesmewherehewants—outontothefrontporch.

“Areyouokay?”heasks,handsonmyshoulders,headdippeddownsohecanmeetmyeyes.

Igrin.“Bien.”

“Daisy,droptheact.Nobody’saround.Youneedfoodandwater,andtimetosoberup.”

Iseerightthroughhisguise.“AmIthethirdpatientnow?You’veseentheheadcaseandthefingercut,

nowyouneedtocheckonpoordrunkDaisy.”

Heletsgoofmyshouldersandyankshishandsthroughhishair.“Icantakeyouhomeifyouwantme

to.”

Ilaughlikehe’sjustproposedadate.“Nothankyou.”

HiseyesnarrowandI’mremindedofMr.TallNiceAss.SuddenlyIhavetheurgetoleanforwardand

tellLucasthateventhoughhe’sstillinhisworkclothesandhishairisallmussedupthankstohishands,

heisshockinglyhandsomeforanemesis.

IreallythinkI’lltellhim.MymouthisopenandmycastedhandispressedtohischestsoIcanleanin

andwhisperthewords,butthefrontdoorisyankedopenandMadeleineisthere.Ipullbackandwobble

onmyfeet.

“I’vebeenlookingforyouguyseverywhere!”shesays,oblivious.“Lucas,MaryAnneisaskingabout

you,andDaisy!C’mon,I’mmakingaChick-fil-Arun.”

ShedragsmedownthepathtohercarandIlookbackatLucas,watchingusleave.Helooksstrangely

sadstandingbeneaththeporchlightallalone.Ihavehalfamindtoshoutbackathimandremindhim

aboutthefairinthemorning,butthenIrememberthatIdidn’twanthimthere…didn’t,asinnowIdo,but

that’sinaccurate.Idon’twanthimthere.Myhatredforhimisaliveandwell.

Ithastobe.

C H A P T E R F I F T E E N

Thedecisiontowearcutoffdenimshortsandapairofredcowboybootstothefairispurelystrategic;I

don’twanttostandoutlikeasore-thumb-city-slickerinmysmart-casualkhakis.Mylimegreencast

cannotbehelped,butmymomcurledmyhairandsuddenly,I’mJessicaSimpsoncirca2001.IknowI’ve

donewellwhenIarriveatthefairgroundsandgarnerafewsecondglancesfromtheFFAcowboys.Yes,

boys,thesebootsaredefinitelymadeforwalking.

I’mconfidentmyboothwillbeahit.Sure,I’mstillslightlyhungoverfromthenightbefore,andsure,

thefairorganizershavestuckmeinnoman’slandbetweenadeep-friedTwinkiestallandanelderly

womanhawkingbedazzleddreamcatchers,butIwon’tletthathinderme.AfterItellDr.McCormickthat

hundreds,nay,thousandsofpeoplelineduptogettheirbloodpressurecheckedbymoi,hewillshower

mewithpraisebeforelookingruefullyatLucas.Whathashedoneformelately?

Ibroughtpropswithme:asmallposteroutliningtheimportanceofhearthealthIpeeledoffanexam

roomwallandsomebrandedpensIfoundinthebottomofthestoragecloset.Theyaredustyandtheink

hasdriedoutinmostofthem,butthey’rebetterthannothing.

ThescentoffreshlyfriedTwinkieswaftsoverandforasecondIdoubtmyself.Therearealreadya

dozenpeopleinlineforthem,andtheyhaveyettogivemyboothevenacursoryglance.There’saslight

chanceIoverestimatedfairgoers’enthusiasmforpreventivemedicine.Acornerofmyhearthealthposter

comeslooseandcurlsdown.

AndthenIseehim,justasIturntofixthesign:LucasThatcher.

Whatthehellishedoingheresoearly?

ThenoteIleftforhimspecificallysaid:Booth1933,6:00PM

Butthereisnobooth1933andthefairendsatfiveo’clock.

“Goodmorning,”hesays,pleasedwithhimselffordisarmingmytrap.

“Lucas.”Inod,assessinghim.“Gladyoucouldmakeit.”

Hisblackbaseballhatandmatchingt-shirtarebothprintedwiththeMcCormickFamilyPracticelogo.

HelookslikeanA-listhollywoodactorwepaidtobethespokespersonforourpractice.Onhis

shouldersresttwoheavyduffelbags.Hedropsthemonthetableandmypensgetpushedtotheside.

“Easy,jeez.Arethosebodies?”

“No,butthisboothdoeslooklikeamorgue.”

Helooksatthedozenscatteredpenslikethey’retrash.Then,hezipsopenthefirstduffelbagand

startstoloadourboothupwithrealswag—thegood,expensivestuff.Adorablemugsthatsay“Keep

HamiltonHealthy”inascrollingdesignerfont.Extrabaseballhats.Fittedt-shirts.

“Afewlocalbusinessesagreedtosponsorraffleprizes,”hesays,pullingoutarollofraffletickets.

“Toenter,fairgoersjusthavetogettheirbloodpressureorBMIcheckedwithus.They’regoingto

announceitontheloudspeaker.”

It’sabrilliantidea,butIdon’ttellhimso.

“Yeah,wellyou’reclutteringtheboothwithallthisstuff,soifyoucouldjust—”

“Ohthosemugsaresocute!”theelderlydreamcatchinggypsycutsin.

Iwanttotellhertomindherownbooth,butLucasisquicker.Hetakesoneofthemugsandhandsit

overtoher.“Thanks.Ifyouhavetimelater,we’redoingfreebloodpressurechecks.”

Shesmilesathimwithadorationandcradlesthemugtoherchestlikeshe’llcherishitforever.My

breakfastthreatenstomakeasecondappearance.

Inamatterofminutes,myboothhasbeentakenoverbyLucas.It’snowcolorfulandinviting.We’ve

alreadyhadfourpeoplestoptoentertheraffleandthefairhasn’tofficiallystarted.

“Ibroughtanextrat-shirtforyou,”Lucassays,holdingitout.Itlookstobemyexactsize.

IyankitoutofhishandandafterI’vechanged,we’retransformedintotwomatching,smilingdoctors.

We’resoontobethemostpopularboothatthefair,butforreasonsneitherofuscouldhaveimagined.

“LucasThatcherandDaisyBell?!”Oneofourclassmatesstopsandstaresbetweenus.“Isthisreal?

Areyoutwoactuallyworkingtogether?HeyBARB!Youaren’tgoingtobelievethis.”

Barbdoesnotbelieveit,butwhensheseesit,shedoestellAmandawhotellsSamwhotellsRyan.

Soon,wordhasspreadthroughouttheHamiltonFounder’sDayFair.ThoughI’dassumedLucas’raffle

wouldattractthemostpeopletoourbooth,intheend,peoplelineuptogawkatthegreatestsideshowof

alltime:DaisyBellandLucasThatchermanningaboothtogetherwithoutcomingtofisticuffs.Toso

many,it’sunimaginable.

“SoyouandDaisy,huh?”Ben,anotherclassmate,askswhileLucaspositionsthebloodpressurecuff

onhisarm.

“What?”Lucasasks.

“Areyoutworeallytogether?Youtwocouldn’tevengetthroughhighschoolalgebrawithoutMr.

Lopperseatingy’allacrosstheroomfromoneanother.”

“We’reworkingtogether,”Lucascorrects.“AndI’dliketothinkwe’vematuredsincethen.”

ImeetBen’seyesoverLucas’shoulderandshakemyhead.“Wehaven’t,”Imouth.

Bylunch,we’reoutofraffleticketsandmyhandhurtsfrompuffingupthebloodpressurecuff.

Thankfully,thebarbecuecook-offstartedafewminutesago,finallydrivingattentionawayfromour

booth.

Isitdownandyankmystethoscopefromaroundmyneck.

Lucastakestheseatbesideme.

Icansmellsmokedbrisketandmymouthwaters.

“Hungry?”heasks.

It’sthefirstbitofnormalconversationhe’sdirectedatmeandI’mtooscaredtolookathim.The

intrusivethoughtshaven’tdiminished—they’vegrownworse.OnTuesday,hekissedme.OnWednesday,

hespottedmeatasinglesevent.OnThursday,hetoyedwithmeinthelab.OnFriday,hecagedmeinside

myofficeandthenIalmostcameontohimatMadeleine’sparty.Iambreakingthepattern.Saturdaywill

bedifferent.Iamgoingtotakethoseintrusivethoughtsandburythemsixfeetunder.

“Notgoingtotalktome?”

Ishrug.

Heignoresmysilenttreatment.“Howwasbookclub?”

Ican’tresistanylonger.Iturntohimandhe’sstaringdownatthespotwheremydenimshortshave

riddentomyupperthigh.Hiseyesarethecoloroftoastedwalnutstoday,dark,justliketheywereafter

ourkiss.Iheedtheirwarningandstand,leavingLucastomantheshipalone.

Itfeelsgoodtoputdistancebetweenus.EachstepItakeawayfromhimgivesmehope.Control.I

wanderthroughthebarbecuecook-off,usingthecrowdtoshieldmyselffromtheunsettlingtruthstryingto

stuffthemselvesintomybrain.DidIgiveLucasthewronginformationabouttheboothsoIwouldn’thave

tosharecredit,orwasitbecauseIknewIcouldn’ttrustmyselftobearoundhim?Atonepoint,Ieven

foundmyselfwatchingLucaswhilehetendedtoacurvybrunette,wonderingifhethoughtshewaspretty.

IwassoperturbedbythesightthatIdidn’tregisterthefactthatmyoldclassmateBeau’sfingershad

turnedbluefromhowhardI’dinflatedthebloodpressurecuffonhisarm.Right,well,hisfingerswere

probablybluebeforehecametoourbooth.

Iwalkaroundthefair.Twice.Ieatabarbecuesandwichandthendoublebackandstandinlineagain

togetoneforLucas.I’mtwopeopleawayfromorderingwhenIrealizewhatI’mdoingandbolt.Idonot

careaboutLucas’hunger.

WhenIfinallymakeitbacktoourbooth,I’vebeengonefortoolong—Lucasispackinguphis

stethoscopeandbloodpressurecuff.

“Whereareyougoing?”

WasIreallygoneallafternoon?Ilookupandthesunisstillhighinthesky.He’sboltingearly.

“Talkingtomeagain?”hesays,tossingmeaknowingsmile.

Ihatewhenhedoesthat.Smiles.

“Areyouleaving?”

IrealizeI’vesteppedcloserandamgrippingthehandleofhisbagtoripitoutofhishandandmake

himstay.Iletgoandstepback.

WhenIspeakagain,Iensuremyvoiceisevenandnormal.“Imean,it’sfineifyouare.Iwasjust

wondering.”

Heshakeshisheadandstands.“IgotacallfromDr.McCormick.Heneedsmetogouptotheclinic.”

“Whatfor?”

“Oneofhisclosefriendsisheadedthere.JamesHolder.Remembertheguythatcameinwithflu

symptomslastMonday?Apparentlyit’sgottenprettybad.”

“WellI’mgoingwithyou.”

“Youcan’t.”

Irollmyeyes.“LikehellIcan’t.You’renotgoingtogosavethedayandleavemehere.Besides,half

thepeoplewhosebloodpressurewetakeendupgoingtotheTwinkiestandanyway.Ithinkwe’relosing

thebattle.”

“Fine.Wecanrideovertogether.”

Mymomdroppedmeoffatthefairandtheclinicisoveramileaway.Iconsiderdeclining,butI

won’tgivehimthesatisfactionofthinkinghemakesmeuncomfortable.

“Yeah,fine.Whatever.”

ItellLucastoholdtheduffelbagopenattheendofthetable,andthendramaticallysweeptheleftover

swaginside.MycheappensendupinthetrashwhenLucasisn’tlooking.

Histruckisold,blacklikehissoul,andinneedofamajorfacelift.I’msurprisedhe’skeptitallthese

years.Hisparentsgaveittohimwhenhewassixteenandheusedtospendtimefixingitupwhenwe

wereinhighschool.Igivetheclunkerafifty-fiftychanceofmakingittotheclinicwithoutbreaking

down.

Iopenthepassengersidedoorandstareinside.Ithasonelongbenchseatfilledwithitemsthatbelong

toLucas:anextrastethoscope,runningshoes,workoutclothesfoldedneatlyonthepassengerseat.Lucas

movesthem,butwhenIhopupandtakeaseat,I’mengulfedbyhim.Hisscent.Withaspine-tingling

shiver,IrealizeIaminhislair.

Hestartsthetruckandbucklesup.Itrytodothesame,butthebucklegetscaught.

“It’sbroken.Here,letme.”Heunbucklesandreachesovertohelpme.OnesecondIhadawhole

benchseatofseparationandnowLucasishere,rightontopofme.Hishardchestbrushesmineand

suddenlyI’mawareofeverynerveendinginmybodycracklingtolife.Hismouthisinchesfrommineand

becauseIdon’ttrustmybody,Izipmylipsandpressmyselfsohardagainsttheseatthatmyskinfuses

withtheoldclothfibers.Mygoodhandisfistedatmyside.

“Youhavetosortoftwistitandthentugrealhard,”heexplains.

Arewetalkingabouttheseatbelt?

“Daisy?”

Iclosedmyeyesatsomepoint,soIprythemopenandhe’sthere,hoveringovermewithahalf-baked

smile.

“You’reblushingagain.”

Hethinksheknowssomething,andIcan’thavethat.

“Iwasjustrecallingallthedatesyoudrovearoundinthistruckbackinhighschool.”HesquintsandI

likehowthetableshaveturned,soIcontinue.“Incrosscountry,JessicaMayweatherusedtogoonandon

aboutwhatyoutwowoulddointhistruck.Hopeyougottheseseatsdeepcleanedatsomepoint,Lucas.”

Heyanksmyseatbelthardandbucklesmein.It’stootight,butIdon’tstruggle.

“Shewasexaggerating.”

Iturntowardthewindowsohecan’tseemysmile.

Wedon’ttalktheentirewaytotheclinic.It’sagiftconsideringIstillcan’tquitewrapmyheadaround

thefactthatI’msittinginhistruckafteralltheseyears.Iwasn’tevenlyingearlier.JessicaMayweather

didrunhermoutheveryday,braggingaboutherescapadeswithLucas.Intotal,theyweretogethera

coupleweeksourjunioryear.Inmyhead,itwasyears.

“Ididn’trealizeyouknewsomuchaboutmylovelifebackinhighschool,”hegoadsoncewe’reon

MainStreet.

Wellit’snotlikeIhadmyowntofocusonoranything…

Ishrug.“Girlstalk.”

“Guystalktoo.”

“Ohyeah?”

Hewhipshistruckintoaspotinfrontoftheclinic.“Yeah,IthinkIrecallBobbyJenkinsgoingon

abouthowmuchofastruggleitwastoevengettosecondbasewithyou.Saidyouwerereallystiff.”

Mycheekshavesecond-degreeburns.IfIeverseeBobbyJenkinsagain,Iwillsinkadaggerinhis

heart.Nowwho’sstiff?

AnexpensivebluesportscarpullsintothespacebesideoursandIrecognizeJamesHolder,our

patient,behindthesteeringwheel.Withoutanotherwordaboutmyteenagebedroomskills,LucasandI

switchintodoctormode.Iwrapmystethoscopearoundmyneckandhopoutofthetruck.Bythetime

Lucashasthefrontdoorunlocked,Mr.Holderisshufflinginside,lookingtentimesworsethanhedidtwo

weeksago.

“Mr.Holder?”Lucasasks,hurryingtohelpcarrysomeofMr.Holder’sweight.WithLucas’help,we

gethimintoanexamroom.IretrievehischartfromthereceptionareaandjoinLucasintheroom.

“It’sgottenworsesinceIfirstcamein,”heexplains.“I’mnoteating,andontheoffchanceI’meven

abletofallasleep,Iwakeupalmostimmediately,drenchedinsweat.TherestofthetimeI’mjust

coughingupbloodymucus.Thismustbesomeflu.”

Afludiagnosismadesenseatthetime:it’sinfluenzaseason,he’solder,andhe’sonmedicationthat

weakenshisimmunesystem.BecausehewasDr.McCormick’spersonalfriend,wedecidedtoplayit

safeandsendoffaphlegmsampleforculture.

“Daisy,”Lucasstarts,“Iknowit’sSaturday,butcanyoutrycallingthelabtoseeiftheyhavethe

resultsyet?”

Nowisnotthetimetoargueaboutwhoshouldbeonadministrativeduty.IstrideouttoGina’sdesk

andcallthediagnosticlab’snumber.Afterahandfulofrings,Iampromptedtoleaveamessage,which

doesn’thelpusatall.Istepbackintotheexamroom.

Lucasischeckinghisheartandlungs.“Deepbreathforme.”

Mr.HoldercompliesandIstartaskingquestions.

“Haveyouchangedyourdietormedicationsrecently?”

“No.”

“Haveyoubeenoverseasrecently?”

“No.”

“Haveyoueverhadsymptomsthisbadbefore?”

“No,butit’sthedamnedestthing.TheonlytimeI’veseenanyonecoughlikethiswaswhenIvisiteda

sluminIndia.Wewentonamissiontripwiththechurch,andI’llneverforgetthehackingsomeofthose

poorpeopledealtwithfromallthatpollution.”

Myeyeswiden,andIflipthroughhischart.“Ithoughtyousaidyouhadn’ttraveledrecently?”

“Wellthatwasovertwoyearsago!DoyoualsowanttoknowwhatIatethedayReagangotshot?”He

triestolaugh,butitonlytriggersacoughingfit.

“Onthismissiontrip,didyoucomeintoclosecontactwithanybodythatlookedliketheyweresick?”

Iask.

“Hell,theyalllookedprettybad.Theyweretheuntouchables.Weweretherewashingtheirfeet,

handingoutBibl—”

Hissentenceisinterruptedbyaparticularlyraggedcough,andwhenhebringshishandsawayfrom

hismouth,they’refleckedwithblood.

IcastaworriedgazeatLucasandshakemyhead.WeneedtostepawayfromMr.Holder.Now.My

instinctstellmewe’redealingwithsomethingmuchworsethantheflu.Ifindtwofacemasksinthe

supplycabinetandhandonetoLucas.Iexpecthimtoargue,butheputsitonandthenturnstoensuremine

iscoveringmymouthproperly.

WestepbackintotheroomandMr.Holderisleaningoverwithhisheadinhishands,clearly

exhausted.Withoutalabdiagnosisorchestx-ray,there’snotmuchmorewecando.Wegatherwhat

informationwecan:histemperature,bloodpressure,andwhereexactlyhewastravelinginIndia,all

cluestoadiagnosis.

Oncewe’veperformedeverytestoursmallclinicallows,wetellhimtosittightaswewalkintothe

examroomacrossthehalltotalkinprivate.

“Ithinkwe’reboththinkingthesamething.Shouldwesendhimtocounty?There’sonlysomuchwe

candohere.”

Iagree,buttrythelab’sphonenumberonelasttime.

“Goddamnit,”Iexclaim,slammingthephonedownontothereceiverafteranotherfruitlesscall.I

closemyeyesinfrustrationandwhenIreopenthem,InoticethesmallredLEDblinkingontheanswering

machine.GinausuallycheckstheweekendmessagesfirstthingonMonday,butIhitplayontheoffchance

itwillhelpus.

“Dr.McCormick,Billy’sgotchickenpo—”

Ihitnext.

“CanyougetmeinonMonday?Ineedarefill—”

Next.

“Thecowsgotoutofthepastureagain,Ineedtoresche—”

Next.

“Hello?ThisisErikawithMissionLabs.Itisextremelyimportantthatyoureturnthiscallassoonas

possible.WereceivedapositivecultureforM.tuberculosisforapatientJ.Holderandthisindividual

needstobeplacedinisolationimmediately.Anyoneinclosecontactshouldbemonitoredaswell.Ifwe

don’thearbackfirstthingMondaymorning,wearelegallyobligatedtoalerttheCDC.”

“Lucas!”Ishout.“DONOTGOBACKINSIDETHATEXAMROOM!”

C H A P T E R S I X T E E N

“Thisissomehowyourfault.”

“Ohreally?”Lucasreplies.“Please,tellmehowitismyfaultthatourevangelical,

immunocompromisedpatienttraveledtoIndiaovertwoyearsago,beforeIevenknewhim.”

“I’mstillholdingyouaccountable.”

Lucasrollshiseyesandcollapsesbackontheexamtable:ourlittlebedforatleastthenext24hours.

TheCDCwasquick—probablystilljumpyaftertherecentebolascarethatsweptthenation.Theyhad

fourpublichealthofficialsatourofficewithinthehour.TwoofthemescortedMr.Holderoutintoa

waitingambulanceandtwoofthemstayedbehindwithus.Isuspectedtheywantedtogatherthepatient’s

historyandaskafewquestions,butitwasn’tuntilIsawtheiroverkillhazmatsuitsthattheideaofafull-

blownquarantinebecameapparent.

TheofficialsgentlyguidedLucasandmeintoanexamroomandtoldustostayput.Theypromised

they’dreturninafewminutesandwebelievedthem…justlikeMr.Holderhadbelievedus.Quickerthan

Icouldhaveimagined,theyhadredtapeunravelingandourdoorlockedfromtheoutside.Ipanicked.

“Hey,wait!”Ishouted,poundingonthedoortogettheirattention.

“Ma’am,pleasecalmdown.We’retransferringMr.HoldertoanisolationfacilityinHoustonfor

treatment.”

“That’swonderful,”Isaid,shakingthedoorknobtogetoutoftheroom.“Sowecango?”

“Notsoquick.”Theofficialhelduphisglovedhand.“I’vegotgoodnewsandI’vegotbadnews.The

badnewsisthatbecauseyouwereinsuchclosecontactwiththepatient,weneedthetwoofyouto

remainhereinquarantineuntilwe’resureyoudidn’tcontracttheinfection.Thegoodnewsisthatifyour

skintestsarenegativeafter24hours,you’llbefreetogo.”

24hours?HowcouldbeinglockedinanexamroomwithLucaspossiblyqualifyasgoodnews?

“Right.Okay.Andsoyou’reonlygoingtokeepDr.ThatcherheresincehewastheonetotouchMr.

Holder,andIgettostayathomeonamandatoryvacation?Soundsreasonable.Ifyoujustpullthatred

tapebackabit,Icansliprightout.”

Theystaredblanklywithoutindulgingmyhysterics.

“Justbegladit’sonlyaday.BecauseyoufirstsawMr.Holdertwoweeksago,anyinfectionwould

havehadtimetobecomedetectable.”

Hetoldusallofthisanhouragoandsincethen,Ihaven’tgivenuphopeofescaping.Lucashas.He’s

lyingontheexamtablewithhisarmthrownoverhiseyes.Ithinkhe’sasleep.

Myescapewillhavetobeanindividualeffort.

“Hey,psst,buddy.Pal.”

Itapontheglasswindowontheexamroomdoorandtrytoearntheattentionoftheofficialpostedup

rightoutside.HeismyjailorandIhaveaplan.

“Iknowyoucanhearmeoutthere.Doyouhaveaname?”

Hedoesn’tmove.HislastjobmusthavebeenwiththeQueen’sGuard.

“Listen,I’llhaveyouknowthatIamaverysexydoctor,witharobust…immunesystem.”Myvoice

hastakenonaslightedgeofhysteria,butIhopeitcomesoffasseductive.“Ifyouletmeoutofhere,I’ll

unzipthatvinylsuit,ripoffthatmask,andshowyoujusthowuninfectedIam.”

Thesuggestiondoesn’ttempthim,soItryamoreobviousapproach.

“Oops.Mytopjustfelloff.I’mnakedrightbehindthisglasswindow.Sooooonaked.Nakedasthe

dayIwasborn—butsexier.”

“Daisy,hehasheadphonesin,”Lucassaysfrombehindme.

Iscowl.“Howdoyouknow?”

“Isawthem.”

Somehowthatisthelaststrawforme.Iturnfromthewindowandstartpacingthesmallexamroom.

“Areyoukiddingme?!We’restuckinthisroomwithnothingtoentertainusandhe’souttherelisteningto

apodcast?”

“Couldbeanaudiobook…”

Heisamused.

Heisstuckinthisroomwithmeforthenext24hoursandheiswearingalittlesmirkandrecliningon

theexamtablelikeheisonabeachinIbiza.

“Wait.”Apanic-inducingthoughtspiralsthroughme.“Howarewegoingtosurvivefor24hours

withoutfood?”

“Theygaveusfood.”

HepointstoasmallTupperwareonthecounterandIgoovertoinspectit.Thereareafewgranola

bars.Bottlesofwater.MREs.IkeepriflingthroughourrationsuntilIcomeupwithachocolatechip

cookietheymusthavedroppedintokeepmoraleup.IslipitintomypocketwhenI’msureLucashas

closedhiseyesagain.

Ilookaroundtheroomandthewallsseemtohavecontractedanimperceptibleamount.Ispythesmall

bathroomattachedtotheexamroomandshudder.

“YoumeanIhavetopeewithyoufivefeetaway?Areyoukiddingme?”

“Oryoucouldholdit."

Asmall,pitifulnoisecomesfromthebackofmythroat.

“Areyoulosingit?Becauseifyouare,youshouldletmeknowsoIcanrestrainyou.”

Ishoothimaglare.“I’dliketoseeyoutry.”

MovementoutinthehallwaydistractsmeandIleaptowardthedoor.“Hey!Yoohoo!”

Theofficialhaspulledachairovertothedoorsohecansitdown,andI’vegrowndesperate—so

desperate,infact,thatIshoutthroughthedoorthatIamstartingtoexhibitsymptomsofTB.It’salie,I

hope.

“Youknowwhat?”Icough-coughlikeKarenfromMeanGirls.“Ihavechestpain,chills,andafever.

Ithinkyou’dbettertakemetoHoustontoo.”

Hefinallyturnstofaceme.

“Ohthankgod!”

Icantastefreedom.Hewillletmeout.Hehastolisten—Iamadoctorafterall.Whenthetestscome

backnegative,we’llalllaughandI’llbeonmywaywiththechocolatechipcookiestillstuffedinmy

frontpocket.Lucaswillbebackhereeatingcoldsurvivalporridge.

“She’slying.Shejustwantsout,”Lucaswarns,bored.He’sfoundastressballsomewhereintheroom

andisthrowingitupoverhisheadandcatchingit.Overandoverandover.

“Lying?”Ishout,alltooawarethatI’veexceededthevolumeofaninsidevoice.“I’mnotlying!”

Theofficialshakeshishead;he’ssickofmyshit.HeturnsthevolumeuponhisiPhoneandIcatcha

glimpseofhisaudiobook:HarryPotterandthePrisonerofAzkaban.It’sironic,andIcan’thelpbutfeel

akinshipwithSiriusBlack—exceptinsteadofbeinglockedawaywiththousandsofsoul-sucking

dementors,I’veonlygotone,andhe’scurrentlystaringatme.

“Youmightaswellrelax,”hesays.“We’renotgettingoutofherebeforeourskintestsarenegative.”

He’sstilltossingaroundthatdamnstressball,andI’vereachedmylimit.Withouthesitation,Istorm

acrosstheroomandsnatchitoutofhishands.Inafeatofsuperhumanstrength,Iripitdownthemiddle.

Tinypiecesoffoamfloatdownaroundus;forafewseconds,weliveinsideashittysnowglobe.

“Well,you’veofficiallylostyourmind,”Lucassays.

“Howmuchlongerdowehave?”

Hecheckshiswatch.“22hoursand35minutes.”

Iwon’tsurviveit.

“Lucas.”

“Yes?”

“Ithinkyoushouldrestrainmenow.”

H O U R 2

Todistractmefrommycrumblingsenseofsanity,Lucasagreestodoaquickinventoryoftheroom.We

havethefollowingitemstoentertainusforthenext22hours:

-5Highlightsmagazines,3ofwhichhavealreadyhadtheirdifferencesspotted

-1Sharpie,1pen

-6boxesofgloves,87tonguedepressors,55Q-tips,and164cottonswabs

-1boxofpaperdrapes

-7one-size-fits-allgowns

-CDC-issuedblanketsandcot

-abunchofothermedicalsuppliesthatdon’thelpmeforgetthatI’maprisoner

“Well,thereisonlyonelogicalwaywe’regoingtosurvivethis,”Isay,gatheringupthe87tongue

depressorsandgettingtomyfeet.

Lucaseyesmecuriously.IstandatthedoorandputonefootinfrontoftheotheruntilIhavetheroom

mappedout.120squarefeetdividedbytwoleaveseachofuswith60squarefeettocallourown.Of

courseonepersonwillgettheexamtable,buttheotherpersonwillgetaccesstothebathroom,soourtwo

autonomousnationswillhavetoinstitutesomeformoftrade.

“Whatareyoudoing?”heasks.

Inudgehimwithmyfoot.He’sinthemiddleofmytonguedepressordividerline.

“Givingusaborder.ItworkedforKorea,itcanworkforus.”

MytonguedepressorDMZdoesn’tkeephimoutofmysideforlong.

“Hey,youhavetoformallyaskifyouwanttocomeintomyspace.”

“Youkeptthefoodonyourside.”

Thatwasn’tanaccident.

Heriflesthroughourstoresandthensettlesonanapple.Forthenexttenminutes,Ilistentohim

crunchingonitwithmyteethgritted.

“Howcanyoubesoresignedtothis?”

Heassessesmeoverhishalf-eatenapple.“HaveyoueverthoughtthatmaybeIdon’tmindbeingstuck

inherewithyou?”

Ilaugh.“Hilarious.”

Heshrugsandbitesoffanotherpieceofapple.He’seitherpracticedhisstraightfaceinamirrororhe

wasn’tbeingsarcasticjustthen.Noneofmytraininghaspreparedmeforoptiontwo.

“Listen,enoughwiththetherapy.Ihaveonelastideaforhowwecangetoutofhere.”

Hedoesn’thumormewitharesponse,butIcontinueanyway.

“Ifyouhoistmeup,Icanreachthosepanelsintheceiling.I’llpoponeoffandclimboutthroughthe

airducts.WhenIfindthetime,I’llcomebackforyou.”

Hefinisheshisappleandtossesthecoreintothetrashcanonmyside.I’mstillwaitingforhimtoreply

whenheheadsintothebathroomtowashhishandsinthesink.Hepatsthemdryslowlyandthenwalks

backout,leansagainsttheexamtable,andcrosseshisarms.Hiseyesmeetmine.Hetiltshisheadandhe

studiesme.Isweatunderhisgaze.

“Whydoyouwanttogetoutofheresobadly?”

Ifrown.“Isn’tthatobvious?Whowantstobestuckinquarantinefor24hours?”

“No,youdon’twanttobeinherewithme.Why?”

“Ifyoudon’tknowbynow,afterallofourhistory—”

“Ithinkyouwantmetokissyouagain.”

Mymouthdropsopenandwordsslipoutlikestonesploppingintowater.“Me?Want.You.Want.

Kiss?Again?HA.”

Shockingly,hedoesn’tunderstandmynewdialectofEnglish.

“It’sjustatheory,”hesays,thencalmlychangesthesubject.“Let’splayalittlegame:truthordare.”

“Wedon’thavetimeforgames.”

Thisisthefirsttimethatcomebackdoesn’tapply.Wehavenothingbuttime.Isigh.

“Fine.”Irollmyeyesathavingtoindulgehim.“Dare.”

“Let’sstartslow.Idareyoutogivemethatchocolatechipcookieyoustuffedinyourpocketearlier.”

Howmanyeyesdoeshehave?!

“No!”Ipatmypockettoensureit’sstilltuckedawaysafely.It’smytinysliverofhopeinanotherwise

bleakexistence,andtokeepit,Ihavetochangemychoice.“Fine.Truth.”

Hesmirks,pleased.“Haveyoufantasizedaboutourkissinthehallway?”

C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N

LucasismakingarealshowofeatingthecookieIsurrendered.It’sfilledwiththosebigchocolatechunk

piecesandI’msurehedoesn’tevenappreciatethem.

Heshovesthesecondhalfbackintothecellophanewrap.“IthinkI’llsavetherestforlater.”

“Oryoucouldgiveittome.”

Hearchesabrow.“Oh?Areyoureadytoanswerthequestion?”

“Notsofast,asshole.It’syourturn.Truthordare?”

“Dare.”

Myimaginationrunswildwiththepossibilities.ThechancetoforceLucasThatcherdoanythingI

wanthimto.Ican’tscrewthisup.

“Idareyou…to…”Myeyeswandertothebathroomdoor.

“I’mnotlickingthetoilet,Daisy.”

“Ugh,fine.Icommandyoutogivemetheotherhalfofthatcookie.”

Heseemsdisappointedashehandsitover,andItrytoguessatwhathewashopingmydarewould

be.Somethingfunny?Somethingsexy?

H O U R 3

“Whatareyoudoing?”heasks.

“Whateveryonedoesinthesesituations—I’mturninginanimateobjectsintofriends.TomHankshad

Wilson,andIhaveGary.”

IholdupthebluenitrilegloveIcraftilystuffedwithcottonballs.WithaSharpie,IdrewGaryaface.

Lucassmilesforafractionofasecondbeforeturningandshakinghishead.

“Wesawthat,”GaryandIsay.

H O U R 6

LucasisnappingandI’mgoingthroughhisthings.I’mnotnormallyasnoop,butI’msobored.Iwas

countingthefrecklesonmyarmwhenIlookedupandnoticedthepileofhisthingssittingonthecounter.

Carkeys.Straycoins.Wallet.

Thewalletwastootemptingtopassup.

Theleatherissmoothandworn;Iguesshe’shaditforever.Allthesleevesandpocketsarefull,andI

takemytimegoingthrougheachone,checkingovermyshouldereveryfewseconds.He’sstillasleepon

thecot.

There’salittlebitofcash,afewstraybusinesscards,apunchcardfromHamiltonBrew.Allvery

typical.Ipullouthisdriver’slicenseandsilentlylaughattheoldphoto.ComparingtheLucasinthephoto

withtheoneasleepinthecorner,IcanadmirehowthefeaturesIonceignoredhavebeenetchedand

sharpenedbytime.Itrytoshovethecardbackbehindthevinylsleeve,butsomethingblocksitfrom

slidinginsmoothly:asmall,foldedpieceofpaper.Itugitoutandrealizeit’saphoto.

Thefadedlinesfromthepicture’screasesdon’tdulltheshockofrecognition.It’soneofmyschool

photos.Seventhgrade.TheworstschoolphotoI’veevertaken.Evennow,Icringe.Letmedescribeit:my

blondehairisfrizzyandwild.Isportlargeeyes,desperatefortherestofmyfacetocatchup.Myfreckles

featureprominentlyacrossmynoseandcheeks.Braceshaveturnedmeintometalmouthandmyeyebrows

areout…of…control.

IthoughtI’dconfiscatedandburnedeverycopyofthisphoto,butapparentlyLucasgothishandson

one.He’sprobablysavingitformyfuneral,wherehe’llhaveitenlargedandproppedupwithdaisies

besidemycasket.I’mhalf-temptedtoripitintoamilliontinyshreds,butIdon’twanthimknowingI

rifledthroughhisthings.

Ihearrustlingbehindmeandreplacethephotoandhislicensewithsuperhumanspeed.Thewalletis

rightwhereIfounditwhenIhearhisfeethittheground.

“Whatareyoudoing?”

Idon’tturnaround.

“Nothing.”

Myvoicesaysdifferently.

Helaughswistfully.“Doyouevenknowwhatitfeelsliketotellthetruthanymore?”

Truth:haveyoufantasizedaboutourkissinthehallway?

Hewalksoverandyankshisstuffoffthecounter.Mygazeispinnedonthefloor.“That’swhatI

thought.”

H O U R 7

Iwakeupfromashortnapontheexamtableandinhalethesharpscentoffumes—permanentmarker

fumes.WhenIreachuptowipesleepfrommyeyes,thesmellgetsworse,andthenadevastatingsight

comesintoview:myentirecastiscovered.

“LUCAS!”

Isitupandseehimsittingonthestoolinthecorner,rearrangingtheitemsinhiswallet.

“LUCAS!”Ishoutagain.Hestilldoesn’tlookup.Hepullsanoldbusinesscardfromhiswalletand

tossesitinthetrash.

“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthis.”

“What?”

“LUCAS.YOUDREWALLOVERMYCAST!IlooklikeIjustgotbackfromamiddleschoolchurch

camp!”

Iholditupforbothofustoinspect.He’stakenaSharpieanddefacedtheentiresurfacewithhearts

andquotes.

IloveLucas

Marryme,Lucas

Daisy+Lucas=<3

“Lookslikethelovesickramblingsofateenagegirltome.Areyousureyoudidn’tdothatinyour

sleep?”

“Haha,”Isay,havingcalmeddownenoughtoappreciatethefactthatIwouldhavedonetheexact

samethingtohim.“Wellplayed.Itisobjectivelyfunnythatyourfacenowcoversmyforearm.Youeven

didsomeshading.Kudos.NowgivemethestupidSharpie.”

Hepointstotheuncappedpensittingonthecounter.“Alloutofink,I’mafraid.”

Anotheruselesscardfromhiswalletgetstossedintothetrash.

Heiscompletelyplacid,buthisstraightfaceisbetrayedbyaslightcurlatthesideofhismouth.Heis

pleasedwithmypanickedattemptstoresuscitatetheSharpie.

“Comeon.Comeon!”Islapitontheedgeofthecounter,tryingtoshakeoutanyinklodgedatthe

bottomofthepen.Ilickthefelttipandcringeatthetaste.

“Huh,Iguessitwasn’tdeadafterall,”hesays,eyeingmynewtonguetattoo.

AfterIwashthetasteofinkfrommymouth,Istayinthebathroom,decidinghowtoproceed.Blacking

theentirethingoutwillbetime-consumingandugly.

Besides,Iammorecreativethanthat.

EveryinstanceofIheartLucasbecomesIheartGeorgeLucas.

ThelargeportraitofhisfaceissurprisinglyeasytotransformintoanabstractinterpretationofR2-D2.

TheheartshehasscribbledalongthesidesbecometinyDeathStars.

MygraffitiedcastisnowanhomagetoStarWars,andwhenIwalkbackintotheexamroom,Lucas

acknowledgesmycraftinesswithanod.

“Youseemedprettyeagertohidethefactthatyouheartme.Doththeladyprotesttoomuch?”

“Theladyproteststheexactrightamount.Nowifyou’llexcuseme,I’mgoingtohangoutbytheair

vent,becauseI’mslightlyhighfromallthosefumes.Also,IthinkifIanglemyselfjustright,Icanpretend

youdon’texist.”

H O U R 9

It’s9:00PM,notexactlytimeforsleep,butIameagertobedonewiththeday.We’vecoveredthesmall

glasswindowontheexamroomdoorwithadrapetoblockoutthelightfromthehallway.

“Hey!Whoa!Slowdownthere,stripasaurusrex,”Ibellow.

Heturnsoverhisshoulder.“Sorry.Can’tsleepwithjeanson.”

“Ohcomeon.”

“WhywouldIlieaboutthat?”

Idon’thavetimetoanswerbecausehe’salreadyunzippinghispantsandslidingthemdownhislegs.I

turnaway,butnotbeforecatchingsightofhisass,cladintightblackboxerbriefs.Hisshirtgoesnextand

I’mmetbyanexpanseofnakedflesh.Broadshoulders.Asmooth,tanbackthattapersdownnearhis

waist.Ilookaway.Thenchanceanotherquickpeek.Ishouldn’thave.Suddenly,Ithinkthey’vecutoffthe

airsupplytoourroom.Isuckinadeepbreaththenreleaseitslowly,sohedoesn’tnotice.

IturntofacetheceilingandpullmyCDC-issuedblanketalittlehigher.Intruth,Idon’twanttosleep

inmyjeanshortseither.AssoonasLucascloseshiseyes,I’llhopofftheexamtableandslipthemoff

surreptitiously.

WhenIhearLucassituatehimselfonthecot,IturnjustenoughthatIcanseehisnakedchestand

shouldersoverthetopofthebristlyarmygreenblanket.Frommyperchontheexamtable,Ihavea

perfectviewofhim.Growingup,Isawhisbarechestahundredtimesatcrosscountrypractices,

swimmingparties.Itneverbotheredmebefore,butthisversionofLucaswherehecouldbeastuntdouble

forHenryCavillreallymakesithardtofocuselsewhere.Ireallywanttotouchhim,torunmyhand

acrosshistanskin.

Ibrushthethoughtawayandsilenceanotherdeepbreath.

Iwon’tbeabletosleep.IsitupanddecidethatifIchange,I’llfeelbetter.Itakeabluemedicalgown

intothebathroomandwhenIwalkbackout,Lucasisstaringattheceilingwithhishandsbehindhishead.

Istandattheendofhiscotandslowly,hisgazedropstome.Hesmilesasheseesmymakeshiftpajamas.

“Cute.”

Iinchclosertohiscotandfingerthescratchymaterialofmygown.Hesitsupandtheblanketfallsto

hiswaist.Inthedimlighthelookslikeawickeddream.Sharpjaw.Ruffledbrownhair.Tonedchest.The

airsizzlesandwe’renotinanexamroomanymore.We’reinadream,onewhereI’mnotatwarwith

LucasThatcher.

No.

No.No.No.

Ishakeawayeveryintrusivethoughtspringingtomind.Stepcloser.Bendlowandstraddlehimon

thatcot—

“Daisy…”

Lucassaysmynameandmyeyesflickuptohis.Mythoughtsarewrittenacrossmycheeks.Theyburn

withablushI’mhelplesstocontain.Hiseyesnarrowlikehe’stryingtoreadme.Ofcoursehecan.To

him,I’manopenbook.

Iwantyousobad,mybodysays.

Ishakemyheadandtrytomovepastthecot,butthenLucas’handcatchesmine.Hisfingerstighten

aroundmywrist.Hedoesn’tsayaword,buthedoesn’thaveto.Thesecondhisskintouchesmine,I’m

his.

AndthenI’mhavinganout-of-bodyexperience,becausemyheadistellingmetokeepwalking,to

climbontotheexamtable,andgotosleep…andyet,mybodyisdoingsomethingdifferent.Myintrusive

thoughtshavefinallybecomeintrusiveactions.

I’mnotsurewhomovesfirst.Hishandisthere,wrappingaroundmyforearmandtuggingmedown,

butIamalreadyonmyway.

MykneesfalloneithersideofhishipssoIstraddlehim,justlikeIsodesperatelywantedthemto.

Together,webarelyfit,buthekeepsaholdofmyhipsandIknowhe’sgotme.

Forsolong,Idon’tmove.Petrified.Hesqueezesmyhipsandtriestomeetmyeyes,butI’mstaringat

hischest.Mynon-castedhandreachesoutanddragsacrossthebareskin.It’shard,awallofmuscle,butI

canfeelhisheartbeatingawildrhythmbeneathmypalm.Ilingerthere,amazedbytheeffectIhaveon

him,buthe’sgrowingimpatient.Hishandstwistcirclesonmylowerback,workingthematerialofmy

gownintoajumbledmessnearmyhips.

Iretaliatebybrushinghisblanketlower,exposinghisabs.Heisatrulysuperhuman.Divine.Myhands

arethere,brushingacrosseveryinchofhim.SoonIwillcometomysensesandleapoffthecot,butfor

now,I’msuspendedinadream.

He’sdonewiththepatientgamethough.Hishandtrailsupmyspineandhenudgesmeforwarduntil

mychestfallstohis.WefitperfectlyandI’msogladItookmybraoffwhenIchangedintothegown.

We’renaked,separatedbyathingown,andthesensationissosensualthatwarmthbloomslowbetween

mylegs.Ibrushmychestagainsthiswithmyeyesclosed,greedyformore.IambehindenemylinesandI

feelalive.Justhowturnedoncanhemakeme?Iwanttofindout.

Mybreastsareheavy,full,andthenhishandsarethere,slidingfrommybacktocuponeandthenthe

otherfromtheoutsideofmygown.Icanfeelthewarmthofhispalmsradiatethroughthematerial.His

handsaresobig.Confident.HerollsovermynipplesandIarchagainsthimlikeagreedycat.He’s

patient,practiced.BetterthanIimaginedhecouldbe.

Thefactthatwe’resilentdoesn’tshockme.We’rewalkingatightrope.We’reholdingourbreaths.Our

weaponizedwordswillonlyupsetthedelicatepeacewe’vebuilt.

Iwon’ttellifyouwon’t,Isignalwitharollofmyhips.

Hisgroanisalegalcontract,signedatthedottedline.

Mygownislikeabikini,andbyundoingtwosimpletiesbehindmyneckandbehindmyback,Icould

benakedfromthewaistup.

Hegoesforthelooseknotaroundmybackfirst.Withaflickofhiswrist,thebowisgone,andthe

presentisnearlyunwrapped.Herevelsintheanticipation,glidinghishandsacrossmynakedback,up

aroundmyribs,andthenhe’scuppingmybreastsfrombehindthedrapeoffabric.Skintoskin,finally.He

brushesthecenterofhispalmsacrossmynipples,backandforth,gentlyteasing.It’saneroticlittlegame,

thewayheleavesthetiearoundmyneck.Hegetstofeel,butnotsee.Touch,butnottaste.

Isitbackandpressmyhandtohischest.He’shardmusclebeneathwarm,goldenskin—andallthis

time,Ithoughthewascold-blooded.HiseyesmeetmineandtheyareashadeofbrownI’veneverseen.I

shiverandhegrowsharderbeneathme.

Howfarwillyougo?Iaskwithanarchofmybrow.Howmuchcanyoutake?

Hishandsdriftuptomyneckandheyanksthelasttiefree.Yes,Ithink,divingintothelion’sden.God

yes.IwantLucastoseeme.Everything.Loosematerialgathersaroundmywaistandwhateverpeace

therewasisgone.Thereisdangerinhiseyes,notfrommalicebutfromhunger.Hetakesmein,from

flushedcheekstoquiveringstomach.It’sallthereforhimtosee.Everyinvisiblescarfromourwar.

“Daisy,”hewhispers,hoarse.

Suddenly,Ifeellikeatoythat’sbeenwoundandwoundandwound.

I’mreadytobesetfree.

Ineedtobe.

Ireachdown,takehishandfromaroundmywaist,andslideitrightoverthemiddleofmybelly.With

myguidance,itslipsdowninsidetheloosegown,justoverthedampmaterialofmypanties.Mythighs

arespreadoverhisandsilkseparateshisfingersfromme.Myeyessqueezeclose.Mymouthdropsopen.

There’salowgasp,andit’sme,shockedbyhowgooditfeelstohavehisthumbcirclethere.Gentlyat

first,justahintofwhat’stocome.Softcirclesthattease,aroundandaroundtheexactspotwhereIneed

himtobe.He’sgettingcloserandwithasmirk,IrealizeLucassomehowknowsexactlyhowtotouchme.

Knowthyenemytakesonnewmeaningforme.Itiltmyheadbackandthepressurebuilds,thesteam

rises,andinmymindI’mreachingforthereleasevalve.Istretch,I’malmostthere,I…

Asharp,loudknockonthedoorisapinpricktoourballoon.

Ishriekandleapoffhim,stumbling.Iyankmygownbacktocovermychest,onlythenremembering

wecoveredthewindowtoblockthehallwaylight.We’rehidden.

“Hey!Areyoutwookayinthere?”theCDCofficialasks.Apparentlynowhehastimeforquestions.

“Didyougetthecotsetup?”

“Forfuck’ssake,”Lucashissesunderhisbreath,sittingupandyankinghishandsthroughhishair.

Anotherknockindicatesthatwe’resupposedtoanswer.

“Fine!”Lucasshouts.“Sleeping!”

“Oh,sorryaboutthat.Night.”

Mysympatheticnervoussystem,reactingtoacocktailofstressandexcitement,hasfloodedmy

bloodstreamwithadrenaline.Asaresult,myheartrateandbloodpressurearethroughtheroof,mypupils

aresaucers,mylungshaveexpanded.It’smybody’swayofaskingfightorflight,butfromthewaythings

wereheadedwithLucas,IknowIwasgearingupforadifferentf-wordentirely.

Ibegintonormalize,butrememberIhavenowheretogo.I’mina10x12cage,withLucas,whois

currentlylookingatme,waitingformetospeak.

“Daisy?Shouldwe—”

Iturnbeforehecanfinishandscurrybackintothebathroomtoretiemygown.ThenIthinkbetterofit

andputanotheroneonoverit,backward.I’mateenager,doublinguponprotectionbecauseIthinkitwill

safeguardme.Itwon’t.

WhenIwalkbackintotheroom,Lucasisonhisside,facingawayfromme.

Apparently,there’snothinglefttosay.Withfuckgoneandflightoffthetable,thereisonlyoneoption

leftforustoturnto.

Iclimbontotheexamtable,tryingtobeasquietaspossible,likemaybeIcantrickLucasintothinking

I’mnotintheroomanymore.Ireallydon’twanttotalkaboutwhatjusthappened,buttheairdidn’tget

thatmemo.

TheroomiselectrifiedandeverymovementLucasmakessparksthroughme.

Idon’tfallasleep.Iliethereontenterhooks,waitingforhimtospeak,yell—anything.We’venever

beencloser,butinthismomentIfeelagulfbetweenuslargerthanthe11yearswespentapart.

H O U R 1 8

Inthemorning,Lucasisinasourmood,probablyupsetthathehadtogotosleepwithahard-on.BFD.

Weallthoughtthenightwouldendbetterthanitdid.

“Canyoupasstheeggs?”Iaskgenially.

Hetossesthepackofpowderedeggsmywaywithoutaword.

“Cheers,”Igrumble.

Idon’tcommentonhisadorablebedheadorthefactthathehasn’tputhist-shirtbackon.Atleasthis

jeansarecoveringhalfofhim.Iforkdehydratedeggsintomymouthandtellmyselftheydon’ttastelike

kittylitter.

Throughthemorning,weavoideachotherasmuchasourcellallows.IfashionafriendforGary

namedGlenda.Ipropthestuffedexamglovesuponthecounter,anditlooksasifthey’reholdinglittle

thumbhands.Great,Ithink,eveninanimateobjectsarelessdysfunctionalthanmeandLucas.

H O U R 2 2

GaryandGlendaareinthetrashandLucashascabinfever.He’spacingtheroomwhilerollinghis

shouldersandexudingclearleavemethehellalonepheromones.Iwanttoaskhimifhe’sokay,butI

thinkhe’lljumponmeifIdoandI’mnotreadyforarepeatoflastnight.Ifeelqueasyjustthinkingabout

it.

Whatever.

Hismentalhealthisn’tmyconcern.Besides,inafewhours,we’refree.

“Wee-ooh,wee-ooh,”Iintonelikeawarningsirenafterheaccidentallykicksadozentongue

depressorsoutofline.Ipretendmyfingersaremissiles,launchinginretaliationfortheborderviolation.

Myindexfingersloopandspintothecrudesoundsofrocketthrustbeforetakingaimathisnose.They

haltaninchbeforecontact,frozenbytheglarehe’sleveledatme.

Hisbrowsarepinchedtogether,forminganangrylinedownthemiddleofhisforehead.Icower.

“All’sforgiven,”Isaywithashrugandahalf-smile.“I’lljuststraightenthoseoutagain.”

Notetoself:Lucasisnotinthemoodforgames.JustaskGaryandGlenda.

H O U R 2 3

Idon’tlikethisnew,angryversionofLucas.He’shotheadedandrude.Hehasn’tspokenasinglewordto

meinhoursandit’sstartingtogettome.AsIchangebackintomyjeanshortsandt-shirtinthebathroom,

IconsiderhowfarI’mwillingtogotogettheoldLucasback.Itinvolvesswallowingmypride.

He’sdressedinhisjeansandat-shirtwhenIwalkbackout,buthisfaceisnomorerelaxed.He’s

standingbesidetheexamtableflippingthroughaHighlights.

Iwaitforhimtolookupandacknowledgeme,buttohim,I’minvisible.

“Yes,”Isay.

Heflipsanotherpage.

WhenIsaywhatI’mabouttosay,Ineedhimtolookatme.

Iwalkovertohimanddon’tstopuntilI’mnearlyontopofhim.Nochanceofhimignoringmenow.

“Lucas.”

Helooksup—barely,butItakeitanyway.

“Truth:yes,Ifantasizeaboutourkissinthehallway.”

Hearchesabrow,studiesmeforallofthreeseconds,andthenlooksbackdownathismagazine.It’s

likeI’vesaidnothingatall.

“Didn’tyoujusthearme?Ifantasizeaboutthekiss.Iwantyoutokissmeagain!Stop—juststop

pretendingtospotthedifferences!They’vealreadybeenfound!”

Iyankthemagazineoutofhishandandflingitacrosstheexamroom.Itlandswithaploponthetile.

IthinkI’vefinallygothisattention.Hecrosseshisarmsandstaresatme.Silent.

Iwanttoscream.

“Ifantasizeaboutourkiss!Howcrazyisthat?”

Heshakeshisheadandleansforward,bringinghislipsdangerouslyclosetomine.“Iheardyouthe

firsttime.”

Andthenhepullsawayandstandsbackup.

Justlikethat.

LikeIdidn’tjustaskhimtokissme.

Whothehelldoeshethinkheis?

Icrowdhiminagainsttheexamtableandfisthist-shirtinmypalm.Itrytotughisfacedowntome

again,andfortwoseconds,hedoesn’tbudge.Thenhehumorsmeandleansdown.We’refacetoface.

Almostmouthtomouth.Myeyesscorchintohis.Heseemsamused.

“Youlistenhere,LucasThatcher.Ihateyou,butyou’regoingtokissme.You’regoingtokissmeand

you’renotgoingtostop.”

HesmilesandthenIthinkhe’sgoingtolaugh,butIdon’tlethim.Ipressontomytiptoesandcrashmy

mouthagainsthis.It’spunishment.Toughlove.Iamkissinghimforhisowngood.

He’sfrozenatfirst,confused.IamkissingamouththatisnotkissingbackandIdieofembarrassment

justbeforehishandslockontomyhipsandhetugsmecloser.Istumbleintohimandpastemyselfagainst

hishardbody.Ohthankgod,Ithinkjustashisheadtiltsandhisteethfindmybottomlip.He’sbeenbad,

butI’mwillingtosharethepunishment.

HebitesandIsqueezemythighstogether.

Begood,Iwarnmybody.Wewillkiss,butnothingmore.

Whenhishandsstarttotugmyshirtupacrossmystomachandribs,Ijustifyitbecausecottonistrulya

difficultfibertokissin.Myjeanshorts?Thoseareinthewaytoo.

Wearethetypeofunpredictablefrenzythatscaresme.Myfingerstingle,mytoescurl.Myheartisin

mythroatandmystomachflipsalongsideit.Istringmyfingersthroughhisthickhairandhegrowlsinto

mymouth.It’sthesexiestsoundI’veeverheardanditearnshimoneleg,thentwowrappedaroundhis

waist.That’sright,Lucas—withgoodbehaviorlikethat,Imightjustcommuteyoursentence.

FindingmyselfcoiledaroundLucasThatcherlikeapythonwouldnormallyshockme,butatthe

momentthereareotheremotionsfightingformyattention.Fearandanxietybothtrytowrestleforfirst

place,butlustwins.

MypantiesbrushagainsthisjeansandthesensationisoneIwillneverforget.It’sroughand

merciless.Solid.He’sashardashewaslastnightandIwillnotletanyoneinterruptusthistime.Iamall

tooawaretheofficialsmightknockandletusoutanysecond,soIyankhisshirtupoverhisheadand

makemyintentionsclear:keepgoingordie.

Heturnsandpressesmeupagainsttheexamroomwall.There’snoapologyasthetexturedpaint

scratchesmybackandhisstubbleturnstheskinonmyneckcrimson.

Hislipsfeelfamiliar,evenagainstaplaceonmybodythey’veneverbeen.Theyattendtomychinand

thenmyneck,lowerandloweruntilhekissesmybreaststhroughmythinbra.It’sstilltechnicallyakiss,

Itellmyself,proudofmylogic.Histonguewetsthelaceanditturnstranslucent.Mytightnipplesare

completelyvisibleandI’msoobviouslysensitivethere.Heexploitstheknowledge,suckingandlicking

withease,soconfidentwithhismouththatI’mconvincedhe’stakenlessonsatsomepoint.

Withhismouthoccupied,hisstronghandshavetakenchargeofexploration.Healternatesbetween

lightcaressesandforcefulpressure,asiftoremindmethathe’sstilldangerous.HeleansbackandI

watchhimslowlydraghisgazeacrossmychestandthenlower,betweenmylegs.Mypantiesaren’t

much,butthey’rethelastbarrierIhave.Hereachesdownandbrusheshisknuckleacrossmycenter.My

mouthdropsopen.Closes.MyteethsinkintomylipsoIdon’tscreamsomethinginappropriate.IfI

thoughthisjeansfeltgood,itdoesn’tcomparetohistouch,hisfingerbrushingthematerialaside,pausing

foraneternityatmywetness,andthensinkingintome.

“I’vealwayswantedyouwrappedaroundmyfinger.”

Mymouthdropsopenagainbutnosoundescapes.

LucasThatcherhasneverownedmeasmuchashedoesinthismoment.

Hehaswon,andfromhissmirk,heknowsit—buthe’snotgreedy.He’sgoingtosharetheprize.He’s

goingtomakemefeelasgoodashedoes.Hislongmiddlefingerslidesindeepandthendragsslowly

backout.Thisishowit’salwaysbeenwithLucas—whocangothedeepest,whocangettherethefastest?

Mynon-castedhandgripshisshoulder.Hisneck.Hisbicep.ItrytostabilizemyselfwithanythingIcan,

buthe’sgoingtoofast,drawingoutpleasurabletinglesthatIcan’thide.

Hisheadfallstothecrookofmyneckandhisbreathwarmsmyear.Hisfingercirclesandcircles,

dippinginsidemeandbringingtheslicknessbackuptomymostsensitivespot.AnotherfewcirclesandI

willcomeundoneforhim.

“You’reclose,”herasps,morecommandthanstatement.

IwishIcouldcorrecthim,butit’strue.

Myteethsinkintohisshoulderasthefirstsparksstarttofly.He’stellingmetocomeandIamcoming

andhisfingerskeepuptheirpaceandI’mshakinginhisarms,tryingtogripontoeveryripple.Hecircles

andcirclesuntiltheverylastburstofpleasurehaswashedoverme,andthenI’mlimpinhisarmsand

he’skissingmyneck,justbelowmyear.Hislipsaretenderandsweet.He’snotgloatinglikeIassumed

hewould.

Whichmeanshedeservesalittlerewardofhisown.

Iletmylegsfallfromaroundhiswaist.Icanbarelyputanyweightonthem,notafterwhathe’sjust

donetome,soIsinkdowntomyknees.

Somewomensaygivingoralisanactofsubmissionorsubserviencetomen.AsLucas’eyeswidenin

shockandhismouthdropsopen,IrealizeI’veneverdisagreedmore.There,onmyknees,Iholdallthe

powerIcanpossiblycarry,andmore.

HeaskswhatI’mdoing—asifanyguyisconfusedwhenawomanlooksupfrombeneathher

eyelashes,tuggingatthebuckleofhisjeans.Heasksmoreasacourtesy.Inthisinstance,Whatareyou

doing?meansAreyousure?

Irefusetoanswerhim.Iunbucklehisjeansandtugthemdownalongwithhisboxerbriefs.I’mnotas

patientashewas.Afterall,there’snotimetoteasewhentheCDCcouldcomeinatanymoment.

LucasThatcherishardinmyhand.Soverylarge.Ismirkupathim;nowonderhe’sanoverconfident

ass.Hedoesn’tseemelookingupathimthough.Hisheadhasfallenbackagainstthewall.Hiseyesare

closed.Hisbrowsarepinchedandhislipshavefallenopenonanexhale.HeisaBaroquesculpture:The

EcstasyofLucasThatcher.

Iglidemyclosedpalmoverhim,upanddownuntilhegrowsanotherinchinmyhand.It’sthesortof

thingIalwayswanted—Lucasundermycontrol—Ijustneverthoughtitwouldhappenlikethis.

IwrapmylipsaroundthetipofhimandthenItakehimdeeperintomymouth.Thefirsttasteisalmost

enoughtobreakusboth.

“God,Daisy.”

Heisn’tsurewhotoworship,butI’llhavehimconvincedsoonenough.Iwrapmypalmaroundthe

baseofhisshaftandslidemymouthonandoffhim.Imoveslowly,draggingouteverymovementjustlike

hedidwithme.It’ssensual,havinghiminmymouthlikethat.ItastehimonmytongueandIclosemy

eyes,tryingtoseducehimasbestaspossible.

Hisfingersstringthroughmyhair,tighteningwhenIhitjusttherightspot.

Youlikethat,don’tyou.

Itoywithhim;Ican’thelpit.

Thenhishandreachesdownandcupsthebackofmyhead.He’sfinishedwithgames.

Ismirkandtakehimdeeper,pumpinghimwithmyhand.

Hedoesn’teaseupandmybreathsarestartingtogetlabored.Igripthebackofhisthighsandlethim

fuckmymouth.It’sanintimateact,trustinghimnottohurtme.

“ThisiswhatI’vewanted,”hesays,caressingmycheek.

Iclosemyeyessohecan’treadtheemotioninthem.

Andthenhe’scoming.Nolead-in.Nowarning.

Ibarelyregisteranythingbutthesoundcomingfromhismouth.Thedeep,satisfiedgroan.Thewayhis

hipsbuckforward,slippingoutofhiscontrol.HeiscompletelylostinmeandImakesureitstaysthat

way.Forsolong,wehoverthere,regainingourbreath.Istayonmyknees,staringupathim,andhe

finallylooksdownatme.It’sthefirsttimewe’velockedeyessinceIkissedhimandtheintimacyofthe

eyecontactismoreshockingthananythingwe’vedoneyet.Thedelayedvulnerabilityfindsitstarget,and

self-preservationtakesover.

Ilookawayandstand.

Ilockmyselfinthebathroom,staringatmyreflectioninthemirror.Iamredandraw.Mybreathis

stilllabored,recovering.Mylipsarealittleswollen,carryingtheevidenceofwhatI’vedone,andmy

eyesaredilated.I’mstillinshock.

Ileanforwardandsplashwateracrossmyface.ItfeelsgoodsoIdoitafewmoretimes.I’mdrying

myhandswhenLucasknocksonthedoorandinformsmethatthey’rereadytoconfirmournegativeskin

tests,andthenwe’llbefreetogo.How’sthatfortiming?

Iimagineaparadewaitingforusoutside,abevyoflocalandnationalreportersfightingovereach

othertogetthescoop.Americawillbesogladtoseeusfreeandsafethatthey’lldeclaretodayanational

holiday.Yetwhenwestrolloutoftheclinic—notmakingeyecontact,keepingourdistance—thesidewalk

isempty,andtheonlyparadeistheprocessionofnewemotionalbaggageweeachdragbehindus.So

muchformyfifteenminutesoffame.

Tohercredit,mymomisacrossthestreetatHamiltonBrew.Whensheseesme,shewavesaplastic

bagoverhead.

“Daisy!Ibroughtyoucleanunderwear!”

Theuniversecanbesocruelattimes.

C H A P T E R E I G H T E E N

L U C A S

From:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

To:daisybell@duke.edu

Subject:#351

Sometimeslyingtoyourselfcanbehelpful.Therapeutic,even.Buttherearesomemomentsinlifewhen

thetruthissowhite-hotthatyoudon’tevenhavethechoicetoignoreit.Itdemandstobeheard.

Soaskyourself,Daisy:doyouregretwhathappened?

Idon’t.

Forafewhours,youfinallystoppedfightinganimaginarywarinsidethatbeautifulmindofyours.Youlet

goofallthethingsthatshouldn’tbeandguesswhat?Itwassexyashell.Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifyou’ve

alreadyconvincedyourselfitwassomekindofdefeat.Butdon’tworry,Daisy.Eventhoughyouwereon

yourkneesinthatexamroom,Iwastheonetrembling.Ihadyourblondehairwrappedupinmyhands.

Yourdelicatefeaturesweresoserene,sofocusedonwhatyouweredoing.Yourheart-shapedmouth.

Yourlips…

Jesus,Daisy.

It’snowonderyoufreakedoutafterward.Thosebigblueeyescaughtmineandyoufroze.Idon’tthink

we’veeverbeencloserthaninthatmoment.

SoI’mnotgoingtostopnow.

NotwhenIknowhowgooditcanbe.Howtrue.

You’llsee.

C H A P T E R N I N E T E E N

Asacourtesy,Dr.McCormickgivesLucasandmethedayoffonMondaysowecanrecoverfromthe

quarantine.Apparently,Mr.HolderisdoingwelldowninHoustonandI’mglad,butIcan’tseemtothink

ofanythingbeyondwhathappenedinthatexamroom.It’seatingawayatme.

MymomgetssuspiciousbecauseIdon’tgetexcitedabouthomemadechickenpotpieonMonday

night.Infact,Ibarelyeatanyofit.Isitacrossfromheratourdiningtableassheregalesmewithstories

ofherweekendwithoutmeandIonlyseemtocatcheveryotherword,likeshe’stalkingthroughabad

cellconnection.Sheknowssomethingisoff,andIthinkthat’swhyshecallsMadeleineover.She’sthe

specialforcesunit.

ShearriveswhenI’mbackupstairs,standingatmybedroomwindowandstaringatLucas’childhood

roomnextdoor.Withhiscurtainsdrawn,Ican’tseemuch.

“Wecandothistheeasywayorthehardway,”Madeleinedeclares,walkingintomyroomwithabag

inherhands.

Frominside,sheextractsabottleofwine,chocolate,andsourgummyworms.

Idon’tpickuponherployuntilI’vemademychoiceandrippedopenthebagofworms.

“Ohgod.Something’sreallywrong,”shesays,shakyhandcoveringhermouthlikeI’vejustannounced

aterminalcancerdiagnosis.

Itossthebagbackonmybedandreachforthechocolateinstead.

“It’stoolate!Yougrabbedtheworms!Whatthehellisgoingon?”

Yousee,Madeleineknowsmytells:wineisforeveryday;chocolateisforyouraverage,run-of-the-

millbadday;butgummyworms—thoseareforredalert,codeblacksituations.

Idon’tseeapointintiptoeingaroundthetruth.Mythoughtshavebeencirclingthemselvesallday.Her

opinionmighthelp.

“LucasandInearlyhadsexwhenwewereinquarantine.”

Aftermysentencesettlesinmyroom,Ithinkshehasaministrokebecauseherlefteyestartstotwitch

andhermouthgoesslack.Iholdoutafingerandtellhertofollowmymovements,butsheshovesitaway

andgripsmyshoulders.

“Whatdidyoujustsay?”sheasks,tryingtoshakesenseintome.

“LucasandIfooledaround.Ow.Okay.Backoff.Twice,actually.Ithinkwewouldhavehadsextooif

theCDChadn’tbeensopunctual.”

“Ew!”Shefinallystepsawayandshakesawaytheimagesswirlingaroundherhead.Herhandscover

herears.“No.No.No.Idon’twanttothinkaboutmybrotherdoingthat.”

“AndyouthinkIdo?!Wewerepracticallyforcedintoit!”

“Whatdoyoumeanyouwereforced?WasthatpartoftheCDCinfectionprotocol?Boningyourarch

nemesis?”

“Therewasnowayaroundit.Whatlittleairwehadintherewasthickenoughtocutwithascalpel.

Thetwoofusjustaren’tmeanttobelockedinlikethat—itcouldhavejustaseasilyendedwithmurder.”

“Areyoubeingseriousrightnow?”

“Yes.Withthatinmind,Isupposeweshouldconsiderourselveslucky.Honestly,Madeleine,itruined

everyassumptionIhadaboutwhyhehasn’tbeenabletoholddownagirlfriendalltheseyears.Theguy

hasskills.”

“STOP.”

“Sorry,you’remyonlyfriend.Youhavetolisten.”

“No.It’snothealthy.”

“Ohplease.Youweretheonewhowantedmetomakenicewithhim!Wellguesswhat,wemadenice

allright.Wemadenicealloverthatfreakingexamroom!”

Madeleinehasfallenontomybedandburrowedbeneathmypillowstotrytoblockoutthesoundof

myvoice.Icontinueanyway.

“I’vebeenthinkingaboutitalotsincetheyreleasedusandI’vedecideditdoesn’tchangeanything.I

stillhatehim.”

“Ofcourse.”

“Truthfully,thefactthatheisskilledinthatdepartmentpissesmeoffevenmore.”

“Sowhatareyougoingtodowhenyouseehimatworktomorrow?”

“WhatdoyouthinkI’mgoingtodo,Madeleine?BehaveliketheadultthatIam.Sincenothinghas

changed,Iwon’tchangethewayIconductmyself.Nothinghaschanged.Onemoretime,sayitwithme:

nothinghaschanged.”

“Youdon’tsoundveryconfident.”

“Wellbytomorrowmorning,Iwill.Nowpassmethosegummyworms.”

WhenIstrollintoDr.McCormick’sofficethenextday,Iamthepictureofprofessionalism.I’mwearing

mysmartestblackfittedpantsandacreamsilkblouse.Myheelsgivemeafewinchesandmywhitecoat

hasbeenfreshlystarched.IhavebrusheduponallthepatientswewillbeseeingandI’veconfirmedthere

isinkineveryoneofmypens.

Lucashasdonethesame.Hishairissomehowthickerthanusual.Morebrown.Beggingformyhands.

Hisjawisfreshlyshaved,andhisglassesrestconfidentlyonthebridgeofhisnose.He’saKendoll

masqueradingasadoctoranditbothersmethatheprobablywakesuplikethis.

“You’reavoidingme,”hesaysasIbrushpasthiminthekitchen.Mymugissteamingwithfreshly

pouredcoffee.

Ipathisshoulder.“Notanymorethanusual,Dr.Thatcher.You’rehighlyavoidable.”

HereachesoutandcatchesmyhandbeforeIcanscurrybacktomyoffice.“Ilikethattopyouhaveon.

HowfardoyouthinkthebuttonswillflywhenIripifoff?”

“Yes,”Ireply,raisingmyvoice.“Ididhaveagoodweekend.Thankyouforasking.”

Dr.McCormickturnsintothekitchen.IheardhimcomingdownthehallbeforeLucasdid.Ismirkand

hestepsback,releasingmyhand.

Dr.McCormicksmilescheerfullyasherefillshiscoffeecup.Heisjollierbytheday,probably

excitedabouttheprospectofimpendingretirement.“Goodtoseeyoutwogettingalongthismorning.

Quarantinemusthavedoneyousomegood.”

“IthinkDr.BellenjoyeditmorethanIdid,”Lucasreplies.“Atleast,shewasmorevocalaboutit.”

Hisdoubleentendrerushespastwithallthesubtletyofafreighttrain,butDr.McCormickoffersno

signofrecognition.Idigtheheelofmyshoeintohisfootbeforeturningaway.

“Dr.Thatcherwastherealtrooper.Infact,confinementseemedtosuithim.Ithinkhewoulddowell

inprison.”

Dr.McCormicklaughs.“Iguesssomethingsneverchange.”

Fifteenminuteslater,LucasandIarestandinginthehallway,preppingtogoseeourfirstpatient.It’s

7:55AMandIamhot.Bothered.Mypictureofprofessionalismisdevolvingintomoreofaporny

polaroid.

“Wouldyoustop?”Iblurtout,angry.

“Stopwhat?”heasks.

Practicedinnocencedripsfromhischiseledfeatures.

“Stoplookingatmelikeyou’veseenmenaked,”Ihissundermybreath.

Hismouthperksup.“Idon’tthinkPandora’sboxworkslikethat.Howwouldyouprefermetolookat

you?”

“Likebefore.Withhatred.Adashofcontempt.”

“Howaboutthis?”

“Worse.”

Withhimstandingrightbesideme,hischestpressedagainstmyarm,I’mswayinglikeahaphazard

stackofblocks.Aclumsytoddlercouldknockmeonmyass.

“Justlooktheotherwaywillyou?I’mtryingtofinishreadingthischart.”

“I’vealreadygoneoverit.Mr.Nichols.58.Routineannualexam.CanIlookatyouagain?”

“Hedidn’tmentionanycomplaintsontheintakeform?Andno.Nothingchangesbetweenus.What

happenedinthatexamroomstaysinthatexamroom.”

“Nocomplaints.He’sfitasafiddle.Iagree,theexamroomisoff-limits,sohowaboutyoumeetmein

myofficeatlunchinstead?I’dlikearoundtwo,andfromthewayyou’vebeeneyeingmeallmorning,I

knowyouwouldtoo.”

Myeyeswidenathisbrazenness.Itissaidthateyesarethewindowstothesoul,butinthatmoment

theyexposemylibido.IwishIhadcurtains.

IknockonMr.Nichols’doorandstridein.It’sLucas’turntotakethelead.

“Goodmorning,Mr.Nichols.I’mDr.Thatcherandthisismyassociate,Dr.Bell.”

“Why’stheretwoofyou?”

Iholdupmycastedhand,whichisnowablacked-outmessthankstomyattempttocoverupLucas’

handiwork.TheStarWarscover-upwasonlytemporary;Ineededhishandwritingandhisheartsoffmy

sleeve.

IperchinthecornerwhileLucasstartstheannual.He’slisteningtoMr.Nichols’heartwhenIrealize

withastartthatwe’rebackatthesceneofthecrime.Thisistheexamroom.Mariahhasreplacedthe

Highlightsmagazineswithfresheditionsandmytonguedepressorlineislonggone.Therestisjustaswe

leftit.ThewallwhereLucashadmepinnedisrightinfrontofme.Taunting.WhenIblink,Iseeusthere:

Lucaspressedupagainstme,grindinghishipsagainstmine.Iseemyheadthrownbackagainstthewall

andhishandsstrippingmebare.I’mnakedandhismouthisonme.Hotandwet.Dippinglower,making

memoan.

Thepopofanitrileglovesnapsmebacktoreality.

Lucasisdonewiththeannual.He’sassuringMr.Nicholsthatwe’lluseanin-networklabforhis

workup.He’sleadingmeoutoftheexamroomafterhimandI’monlyatouchmorecognizantthana

houseplant.

“Youlookpale,”Lucassays.

Thereisconcerninhisvoice—concern!

SoIgripthelapelofhiswhitecoatanddraghimafterme.Thehallwayisemptyandhisofficeistoo.

It’stinierthanmine.I’veneverbeeninsidebecauseIneverhadareasontogoinbefore,butnowIhavea

reasonandthatreasonisinconvenientlylocatedbetweenmylegs.

IconfirmnoonespottedusslipinsideandthenIclosethedoortight.Click.Wearealone.Ilockit

too.Wearereallyalone.Lucasisshocked.

ButI’malreadystrippingoffmywhitecoat.

“ListenRomeo,I’monlyusingyou,”Isay.

Mywhitecoatistossedontohischair.

“Iwanttogetinsideyourhead,dullyouredge,”Icontinue.

Mysilkblouseisinvertedovermyheadandtossedtothefloor.

“Ineedyoutofallforme.IwantyoutohandyourheartoverwillinglysoIcanbreakit.Thatway,

you’llleaveandgivemethepractice.”

MypantsareunbuttonedandI’msteppingoutofthem.

“It’stheoldesttrickinthebook,Lucas.”

IstandbeforehiminamatchinglacesetthatIputonthatmorningfornogoodreason.Hisgaze

devoursmefromacrossthesmallspace.Hishandsfist.Relax.Fistagain.Thenhismouthcurlsandhe

startstostripoffhiswhitecoat.

“Whatacoincidence,Daisy.I’monlyusingyou,”hedeclares.

Hetosseshiscoatontothebackofhischairandmystomachdips.

“Iwanttofuckwithyou.Makeyoufallinlovewithme.”

Hestepstowardme.

“SothatwhenIbreakyourheart,you’llleaveandgivemethepractice.”

Myheartispoundinginmyears.Mykneesareshaking.Hishandscupmyneckandhetiltsmyhead

backsothathisnextfewwordsaredeliveredrightagainstmymouth.

“Andbelieveme,Ireallywanttofuckwithyou.”

MykneesgiveoutattheexactmomentLucasturnsmearoundandhaulsmeagainsthim.I’matoyin

hisarms.Pliable.Bendable.Hishandswraparoundmychestandcaressmybreaststhroughmybra.He’s

rough.Possessive.Ireachupandstringmyhandthroughhishairashetugsthecupsdownandtakesmy

barebreastsinhishands.They’reheavyinhispalms,fillinguphisgrip,andhegroansinsatisfaction,so

verypleased.

Hekissesmyshoulderandcircleshispalms,tighteningonmynipplessothatwhenhedragshishands

lower,theevidenceofhistouchlingersbehind.

Ifheappreciatesthesizeofmybreasts,Iappreciatethesizeofhishands.TheygripmywaistlikeI’m

nothing.Theypressmein,cagingmebetweenhimandhisdesk.Hislefthandreachesbackupformy

breastandhisrighthandflattensagainstmynavel.Hedipslower.Steady.Gentle.

Mylacepantiesarethin,nothingagainsthim.Hishandslipsaroundandcoversmywarmthoverthe

lace.Mybellyclenches.Mynerveendingssizzle.

I’mnotawareofanysoundescapingfrommylipsuntilhislefthandleavesmybreastandcoversmy

mouth.

“You’llgetuscaught,”hewarns.“Thennobodywins.”

Thewarningshouldscareme,butIleftrealitythemomentIsteppedinsidehisoffice.Maybehe

knowsitbecausehedoesn’tremovehislefthandashisrightoneglidesbackandforthbetweenmylegs.

Theheelofhispalmpassesovermycenter,rightovermybundleofnerves,andIbuckagainsthim.He

whispersinmyear.

“ShouldItrythatagain?”

I’mnoddinglikeafool.

Hesmilesagainstmyneckanddragshishandbackandforth,backandforth.Eachregionofhispalm

providesadifferenttexture.Hard.Soft.Abrasive.Smooth.

Ithinkhe’sgoingtomakemecomelikethisuntilhishandhooksinsidemypantiesandhetugsthemto

onesideofmyinnerthigh.Onefingerbecomestwoandhe’sfuckingmelikethat,againsthisdesk.

Itrytofallforward,torestmyupperbodyonthecoldwood,buthekeepsmepressedagainsthim.I

shiverwhenheslipstwofingersin,andagainasheslowlydragsthemout.Mydesireseepsfromaplace

ofprimalinstinct,ofintuition.Myneolithicbrainisreducedtobasicimpulses.Moaning.Gasping.

Clenching.

“I’mgoingtomakeyoucomelikethis,Daisy.Justlikethis.”

Soundslikeafuckingplan,Iwanttoshoutathim.

Butthenhisfingerspumpfasterandmyretortsoundsalotlike,Yes.Please.God,Lucas.

Arippleofdesiretravelsfromthebaseofmynecktotheverytipofmyspineandhefeelsit.Heuses

itasanexcusetogoharder,faster.I’msweatyagainsthischest.Myfingersaretuggingstrandsofhishair

hardenoughtoyankthemfree.I’mcloseandIneedhimtoknowit.I’mfeelingthosefirstfewtendrilsof

pleasure,suchanintoxicatingpromiseofwhat’stocomeinafewseconds.Ifonlyhekeepsgoing.Ifonly

hetouchestheexactrightspot.Ifonlyhislefthandslipsuptocirclemynippleandtheaddedsensationis

acatapult.

Am.

There.

HismouthcapturesmyearlobeandhegentlybitesasIgrindmyhipsagainstthepalmofhishand.

Againandagain,Ishakeandshudderagainsthim.Onewavecarriesintoanotherandeventuallymysoft

criesturntopanting,andthenmybreathingstartstosteady.

“Wehaveanotherpatient,”heremindsme,amused.

MyeyespopopenandI’mbackatwork.Dr.McCormickisrightontheothersideofthedoor,talking

toMariahinthekitchen.Istepoutofhisreach,hitthedesk,stepbackintohim,andthensortofvolley

aroundlikeashort-circuitingrobot.I’veyettoregainmymotorskills.

“Right,thepatient.”

IfeigncalmnessasIruninsmallcircles,gatheringmyclothes.Myblouseissowrinkledthatafew

shakeswon’tcutit.Ituckitbackintomypantsandthentrytoconcealasmuchofitaspossibleundermy

whitecoat.Idon’tevendarethinkofwhatmyhairandmakeupmustlooklikenow.AndLucas?Myeyes

avoidhimbyanymeanspossible.

“I’mgladwe’reonthesamepage,”Lucassays,reachingouttostraightenmywhitecoatandthen

tuckingafewstrandsofmylonghairbehindmyear.

“Yes.”Myvoiceisshaky.“Mythoughtsexactly.”

Asweslipstealthilybackoutintothehallway,IrealizeIhavenocluewhatpagethatis,oreven

whichbookIcouldfinditin.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y

Atlunchthenextday,Lucascomesintomyofficeuninvitedanddropsasteamingmugofcoffeeonmy

desk.He’seventakenthetimetoaddasplashofcream.

“Whatisthat?”Iask,keepingmyattentiononthemugandnotLucasstandingbesidemychair.

“Coffee.”

Asmallkindnessfromhimfeelslikeadiamondring.

IpushthethoughtasideandreachfortheplateofcoffeecakeIsavedforhim.

“Cake,”Isay,handingtheplateovertohim.

I’mamusedbythefactthatwe’refeedingandcaffeinatingeachotherlikeanoldcouple.Considering

theeventsofthelastfewdays,Isuspectwe’resubconsciouslykeepingourenergyupinanticipationof

impromptuofficeorgasms.

Itakeasipofmycoffeeandhetakesabiteofcake.Weholdeyecontactwhilewedoit,likeweknow

it’spoisoned.

Thecoffeeisjusttherighttemperature.

“Doyouownjeans?”Iaskcasually,motioningtohispressedslacks.

“Ihadthemonduringquarantine.”

Onsecondthought,thecoffeeistoohot.Isetitdownwithasigh.

“WellputsomeonSaturdayevening.YouandMadeleinearecomingtogamenight.Mymomhasbeen

insisting.”

It’salie—shehasn’tbroughtitupinweeks.It’smyidea.It’stoolatetoignoreLucas,andforthetime

being,it’simpossibletoputanyspacebetweenus.So,I’vedecidedtousecontrolledenvironmentsto

studyhim,toseeifIcanfigureouthismotiveforactingthewayhehas.It’stheclosestthingtoadatethat

enemiescanhave.

“WhatifI’mbusyonSaturday?”heaskscoyly.

“Thatwouldmakemethehappiestgirlintheworld,”Isay,claspingmyhandsinmockprayer.

“I’llletyouknow.”

He’sposturing,butIalreadyknowhisanswer.Criminalscan’thelpbutwanttoreturntothesceneof

thecrime.

“Youdothat,”Isay,turningsohecan’tseemysmile.

MymomistickledpinkthatIamnotonlywillingtoattendgamenight,butthatI’mtakingtheinitiativeto

planit.

OnFridaynight,we’reatthegrocerystoregettingsupplies.“Weneedappetizersandfingerfoods.

Lotsofdrinks.DefinitelyJackandCoke.”

“Isn’tthatLucas’favoritedrink?”mymomasks.

“Everyonelikesthatdrink,Mom.”

“Notme,givesmeacidreflux.”

“Okay,everyoneunderfiftylikesit.”

Bythetimeweleave,ourcartisoverloadedwithpartysupplies.Ilooklikeacontestanton

SupermarketSweep,andthecashierasksifwe’rehavingabigparty.

“Arager,”Ilie.

Thenextmorning,Lucasismowingmymother’slawnagainandIamstandingatthewindowwithacup

ofcoffee,watching.Ourneighboracrossthestreet,Mrs.Bettyisdoingthesame.Itipmymugtoherand

shesmiles.It’sasilentagreement:Iwon’ttellifyouwon’t.

“Enjoyingtheview?”mymomasks,comingupbehindme.

Atfirst,Ipanic,afraidI’vebeencaught—butthenIrememberI’mnotdoinganythingwrong.

“Justmakingsurehedoesn’tmessup.”

“Wellc’mon.Ineedyourhelp.”

Sheputsmetowork.Fortheentireday,Icleanandcook.Iwhipupchickensaladandguacamole.I

sprucethepillowsonthecouch,stepback,andthensprucethemagain.Imeticulouslyhideanychildhood

photothatportraysmeinabadlight,andIhelpinthekitcheninbetweenitall.

Madeleineistherealchampion.Sheshowsuparoundlunchtimewithchampagneandorangejuicefor

mimosasandIgreedilyacceptheroffering.IsipglassafterglassuntilI’vegotaperfectbuzzgoing.The

pressureofplanninggamenightisnowadullmemory.

“Whyisthissuchabigdealforyou?”Madeleineaskswhenwegoupstairstogetchanged.

“It’snot.”

“Youcuteachsandwichintoaheart.”

“Ithoughttheylookedcutethatway.”

“Youputballoonsonthemailbox.”

“It’saparty,Madeleine.It’sgottolookfestive!”

“Yourearrangedthefurnitureinthelivingroomfourtimes.”

“Yes.Mymomreallyneedstobringinafengshuiconsultant.There’ssomeprettybadjujuinthis

house.”

“Uhhuh.Here,turnandI’llzipyou.”

Idon’ttellMadeleinethatIputanequalamountofthoughtintopickingouttheperfectdress.It’sred,a

colorIusuallyavoid.IsawithangingonamannequininashopwindowdowntownandIknewIhadto

haveit.It’sshortandflirtyandI’veneverwornanythinglikeit.

“DaaamnDaisy,”Madeleinesays,steppingbacktoassessme.

I’veonlymanagedhalfasmilewhensomethingoutonthefrontpathcatchesmyeye.Partyguests!

Iruntothewindowandpeerdown.WithmymomandMadeleinealreadyhere,thatonlyleavesLucas

andhisparents…butthepersonwalkingupthepathisanunexpectedguest,someonemymotherdefinitely

didn’trunpastme.

“KellyO’Connor?”Madeleineasksbehindme,clearlyinshock.

Itrytosetmyhandonthewindowsill,miss,andhitmyforeheadonthewindow.Kellylooksup,

startled,andIjumpawayfromthewindow.

“Whatthehellisshedoinghere?!”

KellyO’Connor.KELLY.O’CONNOR.Firstgradeteacher.ChairmanoftheHamiltonPumpkinPatch

Festival.Beautiful.Sparkly.Hasnoenemies.

Ineedtohaveawordwithmymother.

Fortunately,she’sinthekitchenpouringchipsintoabowl.Icornerheragainstthecounter.

“KellyO’Connor?Seriously?!”

Shespinsaround,beaming.“Ohperfect,hasshearrived?”

Thebellrings,andIhearMadeleinegotogreether.

“Whatwereyouthinkinginvitingher?Ican’tstandKelly.”

“Ohc’mon,Kellyisn’tsobad.”

“SheinsistedonplayingthebabyJesusinthechurchnativityplayuntilshewasthirteen.Evenworse,

everyonewashappytogiveherthepartbecauseshewassoangelic.AmIseriouslytheonlyoneintown

thatthoughtbracesontheLambofGodwasabitofastretch?”

Mymomlaughs.“WellIthoughtshedidafinejobasJesus,andanyway,Ididn’tinviteherforyou.”

Itdawnsonmelikeaslapintheface:mymominvitedKellyforLucas.

Ifshehadn’tbirthedme,Iwouldhavemurderedherrightthen.

Ican’tbreathe.Mydresswasflirty,butnowit’sjustconstricting.Iwanttotearitoffandexpandmy

lungstomaxcapacity.

“Uninviteher,”Idemand.“Tellherthere’sbeenadeathinthefamily.”

Infact,theremightbe.

“She’sinourlivingroom,Daisy.”

Isqueezemyeyesclosedandtrytothink.Kellyisasdumbasadoorknob.MaybeIcouldtellherthe

firstgameishide-and-seekandconvincehertohideinabushforsixhours.You’rethebestatthisgame,

Kelly.That’sright,justcurlrightup,likeyou’reinamangerhalfyoursize.

“I’mconfused.Whatexactlyareyouupsetabout?”

“You’retryingtosethimupwithsomeone.”

“Andwhydoesthatupsetyou?”

“BecauseIwantLucasalone!Sadandmiserableanddefeated.”

“Daisy…”

“Fine.Whatever.Ijustdon’tseehimwithKelly.They’renothingalike.”

“Oh?SowhodoyouthinkIshouldhavesethimupwithinstead?”

“Howaboutyoutryto,Idon’tknow,setupyoursingledaughter?It’snotlikeIhaveguysbanging

downmydoornowthatI’mhome!”

Aknockonourdoorcomesasecondlater.

Knock-knock.Knuh-knock-knock.It’sachipperlittlesong,whichmeansit’snotLucas.

Mymomisgiddy.“ThatmustbePatrick!”

Patrick?WhoisPat—

“PatrickBrubacher?!”Ihissassheslithersoutofmyweakhold.I’msocaughtoffguardthatshe

slipsrightaroundmeandintothelivingroom.Shecompletelyignoresmyquestion,butitdoesn’tmatter.I

hearPatrick’svoiceassoonasMadeleineletshimin.

PatrickisthemaleequivalentofKellyO’Connor:weak,blond,blandlyhandsome,likeawell-built

shoe.He’saveterinarianwhooncerescuedadogfromawellandnursedhimbacktohealth.You’veseen

thephotocollages:day1,thedoglookslikeagoner;day30,he’swearingaspiffyredbandanaand

smilingalongsidehisnewowner.Patrickisthatowner.

“DaisyBell?Goodness,isthatyou?”

Naturally,Patrickisdelightedtoseeme.He’sneverfeltanemotionotherthandelight.

IlethimhugmeandIsmellhiscologne.It’sgood.He’stallandhisblondhairiscutshort.Hissmile

ishismostprominentfeatureandIthinkthat’sfitting.Kellystandsbehindhim,waitingtogettome.

“HiKelly,”Ioffer,immediatelywishingIcouldtryagainwithabitmoreenthusiasm.

Shedoesn’tnoticethough.Howcouldshe?She’sprogrammedtocarryoutabinaryexistence:be

pleasant,orbedead.Andshe’sstillbreathing.

“Ihavetoadmit,itwasablastfromthepastwhenyourmominvitedmetoagamenight.It’sbeenages

sinceI’veseenyouorLucas.”

Myheartsinks.ThatmeanssheagreedtocomepriortoseeingLucas2.0.Thetall,hunky,manversion

willarriveanyminuteandI’msureshe’llbepleasantlysurprised.Withthatrealization,Ihatemymother

evenmore.

IstepbackfromKellyandPatrickasafirmknocksoundsfromthefrontdoor.Madeleineanswersit

andIstandfrozenasLucasstridesintomyhousewithhisparentsandDr.McCormickintow.Ibarely

registerthefactthatmymomhasinvitedourbossbecauseLucasiswearingjeansandacobaltblue

sweater.Thecobaltblueisshocking,thecolorofSuperman’ssuit.Whatthefuck,Lucas.Whatthefuck.

“Wow,”Kellywhispersunderherbreath,blushinglikeaschoolgirl.Shelookstomeforsupportand

thenrealizesIwon’tbejoiningherinlustingafterLucas.I’mhisrival.“Oh,nevermind.”

IleteveryonefinishintroductionswhileImakemyselfadrinkinthekitchen.Idon’trealizeit’saJack

andCokeuntilLucascomesupbehindmeandplucksitoutofmyhand.

“SincewhendoyoulikeJackDaniels?”

“Sincewhendoyouwearsweaters?”

Silence.Mycomebackisalittleweak,buthegivesittome.

“WhatareKellyandPatrickdoinghere?”

“Mymominvitedthem.Forus.”

“Forwhat?Extracompetition?”

“ShethinksKellywillwooyou.”

Helaughsandmyheartgrowsthreesizesinmychest.Withtheaddedbloodflowitprovides,Iwork

upthecouragetolookupathim.Hisbrownhairisridiculouslyadorableandwavy.Hischeekbonesseem

sharperthanever.Hebringsmycuptohislipsandtakesasipbeforehandingitbacktome.Iwantto

throwitinhisfacebutIalsowanttokisshim.LuckilyIseeKellyeyeingusfromthedoorwaytothe

kitchenanddoneither.IknowshewantstocomeoverandchatwithLucas,wantstoswoopinandbather

bigbrowneyes.Theimageofhersmilingupathimchurnsmystomach.

“SothatmeansPatrickishereforyou?”heasks,bringingmyattentionbacktohim.

Itoywithmycup.“Presumably.Ithinkmymomishopinghe’lladoptmelikeastray.”

“You’retoowild.You’deathimalive.”

Idon’tdenyit.

Mymomclapsandannouncesthestartofgamenight.AsIwalkbackintothelivingroomwithLucas

trailingbehindme,Irealizeshe’srearrangedthingsinthetimeittookMadeleineandmetogetready

upstairs.Somuchforfengshui.

“Lucas,you’llsitthere,andDaisy,you’rehere.”

She’sputusonoppositesidesoftheroomandeveryonelaughsexceptforLucasandme.

“You’vehiddenallthesharpobjects,right?”Patricklaughs.

“Doyouhaveabarrierwecanputbetweenthem?”Mr.Thatcherasks.

“Maybeafencewouldbebest,”Kellyadds,lookingaroundtheroomtoconfirmwefindherfunny.I

wanttotellhershekilledit.Thejokeisover.

“Allright,c’mon,”Lucassayswithaneasysmile.“We’vebothagreedtokeepthingscivil,right

Daisy?”

That’swhathesays,butmybraintwistshiswordsintoforeplay:We’veagreedtokeepthingssexual,

rightDaisy?

Iclearmythroatandnodweakly.

He’ssittingacrossthelivingroomfromme,smilingwithhisperfectmouthandperfectdimple,

wearingthatawfulcobaltbluesweater.It’sbeautiful.Iwanttomaulhim.

“Yup.Yeah.Agreed.Let’sgetthisshowontheroad.”

Thenexthourisspentinhell.I’mpositionedbetweenPatrickandMrs.Thatcher,andthoughIlove

Mrs.Thatcher,Ican’tgetawordinedgewisewithherbecausePatrickisdoinghisbesttomonopolizemy

time.Kellymeanwhile,hassandwichedherselfbetweenLucasandourdustybookshelf.Therewasno

chairthere,butshedraggedoneover.It’suncomfortable,butshedoesn’tmind.ShestaysclosetoLucas

andIdidn’tnoticeitbefore,butherdressisreallylowcut.Everytimesheleansinclosetotalktohim,

herboobsgrazehisarm.Iwanttoannounceanopencastingcallforthechurch’sChristmasplaysoshe

willbecompelledtoleave.

NooneletsuponmeorLucas,andtheywatchuslikehawks.It’sasifwe’rearebootseasonofa

long-canceledTVshow,andthey’rewatchingtoseeifit’sstilljustasgood.Ispitethembystayingonmy

bestbehavior.Standing,Itakemyturnincharades.Patrickismypartnerandhe’ssupposedtoguesswhat

movietitleI’mmiming,buthisguessesmakenosense.

“Um…uhh…TheGodfather?!No…FindingNemo!”

IlookbackatLucasandhemouths,“StarWars.”

Idropmyimaginarylightsaberandstandfrozen.I’mbackinthatexamroomonmykneeswiththe

tasteofhiminmymouth.Lucasknowsit.Hetiltshisheadandsmiles.Thebuzzerchimesandwelose

anotherround.

“We’llgetthemnexttime,Daisy!”Patricksays,chipper.

“Youguysaredownbytenpoints,”Madeleinepointsout,thenseesmyfrownandadds,“ButIguess

anything’spossible.”

KellyandLucasareintheleadandDr.McCormicksaystheymakeagreatteam.I’msickofplaying

andmaybeIgrumblealittletooloudlyasIgobacktomyseat.

“Don’tbeasoreloser,Daisy,”mymomsaysinfrontofeveryone.

Mycheeksburn.

“RemindsmeofthetimeLucasbeatheroutforpreschoollineleader,”Mrs.Thatchersayswitha

laugh.“Shewassofurious.”

Dr.McCormickandmymomareupnextandIeyethestairs,wonderinghowawkwarditwouldbeifI

leftinthemiddleofgamenight.Inearlydoit,butthenit’sLucasandKelly’sturnagainandIwatchthem

becausethistwistingsensationinmystomachisnew.It’snewandithurts.IfocusonitasKellymimes

AliceinWonderlandandLucasguessesitinrecordtime.Kellysquealsandthrowsherselfintohisarms.I

leapupfrommychairlikeI’vebeenpersonallyviolatedandeveryonewhipsaroundtowatchme,waiting

formetoreact.

“Exc…excuseme,”Imumble.“Notfeelingwell.”

MaybeIactuallyamillbecausemystomachreallydoeshurt.Igoupintomybathroomupstairsand

leanoverthetoilet,waitingtothrowup—andthenIrealizewithajoltthatit’snotnauseaI’msuffering

from.It’ssomethingworse.

“Daisy?”LucasknocksonmybedroomdoorandIflushtheemptytoiletandthenwalkouttoopenit.

“Needadoctor?”Hegrins.

He’sstandingonthethreshold,holdingaboxofcrackersandaglassofwater.

Likethatwillfixmyproblem.

“Areyouokay?”

“Peachy,”Isay,steppingbackandleavingthedooropenforhim.Theinvitationisclear:hecancome

inifhewants.In28years,hehasneverbeeninsidemyroom.Iwatchashestepsinandclosesthedoor

behindhim.He’sagiantsteppingintoadollhouse;mythingsseemsmallandchildishcomparedtohim.

Heeyesthetrophiesandribbonsadorningthewalls,thepiecesmissingfromhisowncollection.He

smilesashepassesbytherowofplaquesfromourhighschoolsciencefairs.Myshelvesarestuffedfull

ofoldcollegetextbooks.Theposterabovemybeddoesn’tdepictaboybandoroneoftheTwilight

characters;it’sananatomicaldiagramofthehumanheart.

Isit,watchinghiminspectmythingsfrommyperchonmytwinbed,andwhenhefinallyturnstome,

hisgazefallsdownmybody,ontothesmallbed.

Ipanic.

“Madeleinewillprobablycomecheckonmesoon.”

Hismouthhitchesup.Hecanprobablysmellmyfear.

“Yourmomtookeveryoneoutbacktoshowoffhergarden.We’vegottime.”

“Howdidyousneakaway?”

“Ivolunteeredtocheckonyou,consideringyou’resick.”

Hesoundsamusedbythenotion.

“Ireallyam.”

Hemovescloser.

“Yeah?Whatareyoursymptoms?”

“Tighteninginmychest.Faintfeeling.Twistinginmystomach.Adesiretoinflictbodilyharmon

Kelly.”

Hehideshissmileanddropsthewaterandcrackersdownonmynightstand.“JustasIfeared.”

Ifallbackdramaticallyacrossmybed.“Iprobablywon’tsurvivethenight,willI?”

Theoldmattresssinkswithhisweightashedipsdownbesideme.Forasecond,wejustsitthereon

mychildhoodbed,nottouching,respectinghouserules,butthatdoesn’tlastlong.

“Justafewmoretests,thenwe’llknow.”Hishandbarelytouchesmystomachandthenhedrawsa

softcircle,twirlingthefabricofmydressaroundhisfinger.“Howabouthere?Doesthishurt?”

Inodandclosemyeyes.“Yes.”

Hishandslidesupovermyribsandchestuntilitrestsdirectlyovermyheart.

“Andhere?”

Ireplywithashakyvoice,“Worstit’severfelt.”

Heleansdownandhismouthhitsthesideofmyexposedneck.“Here?”

“I’mnotsure.Doitonemoretime.”

Ifeelhissmileagainstmyskinashishandtrailsdownbetweenmylegs.He’sgatheringthesilky

fabricofmydressinhishandsandtuggingitupgently.Mykneesarebaredtohim.Thenmythighs.The

bottomofmypantiesisjustbarelyvisibleandthecoolairhittingthatforbiddenpatchofskinmakesme

shiver.

Lucaspausesandpullsback,leavingmeexposedforhimtoperuse.

“Spreadyourlegs,”hesays.

Hiswordsarecommanding,buthistoneisgentle—sogentleinfact,thatIcomply.Ipartmythighsand

mydressridesupanotherfewinches,andthenitgetsworse.Lucasisfingeringmypantiesandsliding

themdownmythighs.Ihavetobendmykneessohecantugthemdownmylegs,butmybodyisn’tmy

own.Itlistensanddoesexactlywhathewants.

OnceI’mnakedfromthewaistdown,Lucaspushesoffthebed.

Ipropmyselfuponmyelbowstowatchhimmoveinmyroom,hungryforhisthoughts.Whatishe

thinkingasheleansbackagainstmydresserandassessesmecooly?Stillcladinhisjeans,he’sgotthe

advantage.I’munderdressedandyet,Idon’tmakeamovetotugdownmyhemline.

“Showme.”

Myeyesflickuptohimandhisattentionisbetweenmyspreadlegs.Hisarmsarecrossedoverhis

chest.Hismouthisaflatline.Hiseyesareonfire.

“Showmewhatyouusedtodoinhighschool.Lateatnight,whenyouwereallalone.Whenyou

shouldhavebeensleeping.”

Ismirk.“HandmethatoldcalculustextbookandI’llshowyou.”

Hebarelysmiles.“Wrong.”

Mygazeflickerstothewindowsheepishly.Couldhesomehowseeinhereallthoseyearsago?No.

Hecouldn’t.Theangleisn’tright,andtheblindsblocksilhouettes.Still,helookssoconfident,watching

metrytorecover.

“Isthissomefantasyofyours?”Iask.

“Afantasyisathingimagined.This—you,DaisyBell,touchingyourself—that’ssomethingIwantto

see.”

“Youregotrulyknowsnobounds,”Iscold.Evenso,Idon’tcovermyself.

“Putyourhandbetweenyourlegs.”

Iarchabrow.Mylimbsdon’tmove.Hedoesn’tgettobebossyhere.

Thenhepushesoffthedresserandmakesamovelikehe’sheadingforthedoor.Myarmliftsoffthe

bedandmyhandsettlesagainstmythighinrecordtime.

“There,”Isay,notquiteascalmlyasIwouldhavehoped.

“TheDaisyIknewwasneverthisshy.Sheneverbackeddownfromachallenge.”

It’sabald-facedattemptatreversepsychology.He’stryingtomanipulateme,butittipshishand.He’s

growingimpatient,desperate.

“Isthatwhatthisis?”Isoundoutofbreath.“Achallenge?”

“Yes.”

Myhandslidesupmythighslowly.“But,achallengeforwhom?”

WhenIgetclose,hisjawtightens.Ilikeit.

“Runafingerupanddown.”

Mygazeflickerstothedoor.Window.Him.He’sleaningforwardeversoslightlyandIwishhe

couldn’tseehowturnedonIam.Theevidenceisstickingtomyfinger.IdowhathetellsmebecauseI

wantto,andbecauseitfeelsgoodtotouchmyself.He’scallingtheshots,butI’mtheonebitingmylip.

Rollingmyhips.Lettingmyeyesflutterclosed.

“Lookatme.”

Ido.

“It’stooeasyifyoucloseyoureyes.Youcanpretendyou’realone.IwantyoutoknowI’mwatching.”

Irealizethenthatthecobaltbluesweaterisdeceiving—noGapmodelevertoldagirltofinger

herself.Heshouldbewearingleather.Chains.Amask.

“Daisy?”

“Yes?”

“Dipyourfingerinsideandtellmehowitfeels.”

Iblushsohardmyskinprickles,butmymiddlefingerisalreadymoving,draggingbackandforth

acrossmyfoldsuntilIgentlypressinside.Lucas’audiblegroanspursmeonandIslipmyfingerin

anotherinch.

Ibarelyhearhimremindingmeofhisorder:tellmehowitfeels.

“Tight,”Isay.

Myfirstwordundoeshim.HestepsawayfromthedresserandIchallengehimbydraggingmyfinger

outandbackin.

“Warm.Wet.”

ThreewordsandLucasisonme,tuggingmeuntilmyhipsrestontheedgeofthebed.Hekneelsdown

betweenmylegsandmyfingerisinhismouth.Helicksitcleanbeforereleasingit.ThenIusethathandto

mufflemycriesashisheaddipsdownbetweenmythighs.Seeinghimthere,feelinghisbreathhitthat

sensitiveskinissexyonascaleI’venevercomeclosetobefore.Hishandsholdmeopenforhim,biting

intomythighsuntilIbruise.There’snoescapingthatfirstgentlelick.Onlyataste,buthewantsmore.

Hekissesthegrooveatthebaseofmythigh,thepatchofskinjusttotheleftofwhereIneed.He

circlesthespotandonlywhenmyhandisclaspedtightovermymouthdoeshelethistonguerunacross

me.Ibuckoffthebedashelickshigher,swirlinghistongueandlappingmeup.LucasThatcherhasnever

fuckedme,butwithhismouth,hecomesclose.

Lightningripplesthroughme.Iwantmore,Iwantitall.Hismouthkissesitswayacrossthecenterof

mybody.I’mallbutspreadeagleforhim,myhandsgrippingswathsofblanketoneithersideofmyhead.

It’sthebestIcandotorootmyselfdowntoearth.IfeellikeI’mfalling.

Hepartsmewithonehandanddipsbackinformore.

“It’stoomuch,”Icry,squeezingmyeyesclosed.

Hedoesn’tagreeandhedoesn’tletup.

“Too—ah!Lucas!It’stoomuch!”

Whenheaddsafingertothemix,I’magoner.Hepumpsitinandoutofme,workingintimewithhis

mouth.Ibeghimtocontinue.I’mpromisingmyfirstborn,thepractice,everycenttomynameifonlyhe

won’tstopdoingthat—rightthere—withhisgloriouslylongfingersthatseemtoputoutfiresIdidn’teven

knowwereburning.

WhenItugmyhandsthroughhishairandhehitsthespot,Ithink,Idon’thateLucas.Idon’thate

Lucasatall.HisfingersstayinsidemeasIstarttocomeandmyhipsarerolling,pushingmeupagainst

hismouth.

Myorgasmtakesonalifeofitsown.Itbreaksrecordsandsetsnewones.Ifighttostayquietthrough

it,butifIcould,IwouldbeshoutingLucas’praisesatthetopofmylungs.

HEYEVERYONE.TURNSOUTLUCASREALLYKNOWSWHATHE’SDOINGINBED.

Maybeit’sforthebestthatIcan’t.“Wa-water,”Icroak,pointingtotheglassonthebedsidetable.

Lucaslaughsashegrabsitthenwalksintothebathroom.Ihearhimsplashingwateronhisfaceand

whenhereturns,I’mstillfloatingonmypost-orgasmhigh.Nothingiswrong,everythingisbeautiful…are

thosecartoonbirdsflyingaroundmyroom?

Isipthewaterandhuminappreciation.

Lucaspolitelytugsmydressdownandwaitsformetogathermywits.He’sdroppingakisstomy

cheekwhenthedoorswingsopenandmymom’svoicefillstheroom.

“Daisy!AreyoufeelOHMYGOD—”

Shedidn’tknock.

WHODOESN’TKNOCK?

Hershoutsarecutshortwhenaceramicmugshattersonthehardwood.Steamingteascaldsherlegs

andshewinces,buthereyesarelockedonus,frozeninthemosteasilydecipherabletableauinhistory:

Lucashoveringovermeonmybed,mybodyflushfromanorgasm,myeyesfilledwithanemotionI’mnot

quitereadytocopupto.

“DAISYBELL!”

Atfirst,Ithinkshe’sfurious,butthenshelaughs.Anditwon’tstop.She’sstuckinanever-ending

loop.

“Mrs.Bell,”Lucassays.“Holdon.”

Hejumpsintoactionandgrabsatowelfrommybathroomtocleanupthespilledtea.

MadeleineandMrs.Thatcherstandinthedoorwaybehindherlikemuseumgoers.Ididn’tnoticethem

before.

Ileapoffmybedandsliponmyunderwear.Inearlylosemyfooting,butLucascatchesmeatthelast

second.I’mreclinedinhisarmslikehe’sdippingmeonthedancefloor—nodoubt,inthispose,weare

cuteasshit.

“It’snotwhaty’allthink,”Isay.

LucastiltsmeuprightandmakessureIhavemyfootingbeforelettingmego.It’sathoughtfulgesture

andeveryonenotices.

“Oh,dotrytoexplainyourwayoutofthisone,”Madeleinesayswithanevillittlesmile.

Mrs.Thatchergrins,holdsherhandsup,andturnsforthestairs.“Noneedtoexplain!Ididn’tseea

thing.”

“Hey,Patrick!Willyoubringabroomuphere?”mymomshouts.

“Onit!”

I’mmortified.Forthenextfifteenminutes,theparadecontinues.Myroomisarevolvingdoor.Dr.

McCormickcomesuptomakesuremymom’slegsaren’tbadlyscalded.PatrickishelpingLucassweep

upceramicshardsandKelly,blessherheart,comesupandsitsobliviouslyonmybed.Intheexactspot

whereIjustlay.Mybuttcheekswererightthere.

“Ooh,warm,”shechirps,settlingin.“Areweplayinggamesupherenow?”

I’mtickledbyherobliviousness.Mymortificationturnsintoresignedamusement,andoutofnowhere

Istartlaughingmaniacally.Whatevermyconditionis,itmustbeinfectious,becauseMadeleinejoinsin,

thenmymom,followedbyeveryoneelse.EventhoughI’membarrassed,Istillunderstandthe

ridiculousnessofitall.ItislikewalkinginandfindingWileE.CoyoteandtheRoadrunnerinbed

together.

“Ah-ha-ha,ah-ha,haaa,”laughsKelly.“Whatarewelaughingaboutagain?”

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- O N E

IwasprobablywrongtotakethingsthisfarwithLucas.Formuchthesamereasonyoudon’tadoptababy

pythonbecauseit’scute(theyonlygrowafewfeet,right?),youdon’tstartfoolingaroundwithyour

lifelongrivaljustbecauseyou’rehorny.It’sallfineanddandytohaveadevil-may-careattitude,upuntil

thepointthatthedevilmarchesintoyourroom,takesoffyourpanties,andshowsyoujusthowmuchhe

reallydoescare.

BeforeIstartedmixingbusinessandpleasure,thingsweregood.Ihaditall.Aneventemperament.A

motherwhocouldlookmeintheeyeswithoutgiggling.Amulti-phaseplantotakeoverDr.McCormick’s

practice.Iwasgoingplaces.

Now,I’mdownonepairofunderwear—Ichuckedtheminthetrashaftergamenight—andtheonly

placeI’mgoingisDairyQueen.Shocker.Tomydismay,theyaren’topen;apparentlyI’mtheonlyone

whoneedsatastytreatat5:45AMonaMonday.

Whatiscompellingmetostrayfroma28-yearmethodwithprovenresults?AllIhadtodowaskeepa

distance.Becomeakickassdoctor.MakeLucascry.

It’sLucas.

He’stheonethatchanged.

TheminutehemovedbacktoHamiltonhewasall,lookatmewithmymusclesandmyfittedpants.I

oncesawhimeatingquinoaforlunch—QUINOA,agrainhehadn’tevenknownexistedthelasttimeI

sawhim.

Ishouldhaverealizedhewasaftersomething,andnow,itmakessense.Hewasn’tkiddingwhenhe

toldmehewantedmetofallinlovesothatafterhe’sbrokenmyheart,I’llmoveawayandgivehimthe

practice.Hereallythinksthatword—thatfour-lettersissyword—willwinhimthiswar.

It’sgoingtotakemorethanonecobaltbluesweaterandahandfulofaccidentalorgasmstomakeme

forgetwhoheis.Whatweare.

Enemies.

“Gamenightwasfun.Weshoulddoitagain.”

Lucassaysthattomewhenwe’rebothpreparingourcoffeeonMondaymorning.

“Whichpart,exactly?”Iask,radiatingmybestcouldn’t-care-lessvibe.

Hepassesmethecreamer.“Thepartwhereyouspreadyourlegsforme.”

MymugclatterstothecounterasIturnandpushhimtothesideofthesmallkitchen,outofviewofthe

hallway.“Areyouinsane?Areyoutryingtogetusfired?”

“We’retheonlyonesintheoffice.”

It’strue,we’rehereridiculouslyearly.IguessI’mnottheonlyonewhocouldn’tsleep.

“Still,Dr.McCormickprobablyhasthisplacemikedorsomething.”

Hisgazedropstomylips.“Sostoptalking.”

Withoutrealizingit,I’mpressedrightupagainstLucas,hiptohip.Myhandsaregrippinghischest.

HishandsarewrappedaroundmywaistandIcannotresist.

Onekisswon’thurtme.

Twowon’teither.

Lucas’lipsarelikeasleeveofOreos:youknowyoushouldn’thavethematall,butyoucan’tstop

withjustonetaste.

“Thesekissesaren’tforyou,”Iwarnhim.

“Idon’tcare.”

Andthenhetakesover.Hepicksmeupandpropsmeonthekitchencounter.Mybackhitsthecabinets

andmybuttcrushesafewpacketsofsugar.Theysprinkleoutontothefloor,butLucasistiltingmyhead

backandtuggingonmybottomlip.

“Ican’t,”Ibreatheoutinbetweenkisses.“Babypython.”

“What?”heasks,brushinghislipsacrossmyneck.

“Oreos.”

Thebackdooropensandthelittlebellsontheknobjingle.Ginaishummingalittletunetoherselfas

LucasandIjumpapartandquicklytrytorestoreordertothekitchen.I’msweepingupthesugaroffthe

groundwhenshecomesaroundthecorner.

“Morningearlybirds,”shesayswithatipofherheadbeforecontinuingontoherdesk.

Istandfrozen,waitingforhertocomebackandreprimandusformakingoutbeforethesunhasfully

risen,butshedoesn’t.Fortherestofthemorning,Iwalkaroundwithashit-eatinggrin—thatis,untilmy

mothershowsupandruinseverything.

Mymothermakesitseemsensible.Forthenextweek,ourhousewillbegettingfumigatedfortermites—

orwasitroaches?Ican’tremember.Shesworeshetoldmeitwasapossibility,butIcan’tforthelifeof

merememberhavingthatconversationwithher.

“WhenIwaswashingyourhair!Youdon’tremember?”

IguessI’vebeenbusylately.

“Sothere’sgoingtobeoneofthosebigcircustentsoverthehouse?Wherearewegoingtostay?”I

ask.

That’swhenshepatsmeontheshoulderandhandsoveraduffelbag.

“I’mafraidthat’saquestionforyou,notwe,sweetie.Ihaveaplaceforthenextweek,butyou’llhave

tofindsomewheretostay.I’msureyou’llmanage!”

I’m28andsuddenly,anorphan.

“Whereareyoustaying?”

Shekissesmeonthecheekandstartstobackaway,downtheoffice’shallway.Mymy,she’sinahurry

toleave.

“Ohjustwithafriend.Callifyouneedanything.Toodles!”

“Yousaytoodlesnow?Whoareyou?”

WhenImakeitbacktomyoffice,Iunziptheduffelbacktoseewhatshe’spackedme.There’salittle

noteuptop:Justthebareessentials!HopeIthoughtofeverythingyou’llneed.Loveyou,Mom.

Sure,thereareworkclothesandmytoothbrush,butshealsotookthelibertyofdiggingthroughmy

underweardrawer.Halfthebagisfilledwithlingerie,thekindIbuyformyselfwhenit’sonsaleafter

Valentine’sDaybutneveractuallywear.WheredoesshethinkI’llbeforthenextweek?Onmy

honeymoon?

Lucas’voicedriftsinfromhisofficenextdoorandtheanswerhitsme.ShethinksI’llbestayingwith

him.Whatalittlemeddler.Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifthathousewascompletelypest-freeandthe

exterminatorswerejustaploy.Imean,shedidn’tevenpackmyphonecharger,butthelacepanties?The

sheerbra?Thoseareaccountedfor.

Izipthebagup,tossitundermydesk,anddialMadeleine.

“HAHA.No.Sorry.”

That’sherreplywhenIbeghertoletmestaywithherforacoupledays.

“Madeleine!ComeON,youaremybestfriend.You’resupposedtobethereformewhenIneedyou.”

“Listen,I’dlovetohaveyou,butmyplaceisn’treallysetupforroommatesatthemoment.Thereare

boxes…I’llprobablybebringingguyshomemostnights…youknowthedrill.Maybenextweek?”

“YourealizeI’mgoingtobehomeless,right?Likeliving-under-a-highway-underpasshomeless.“

“Where’syoursenseofadventure?”

“Ohmygosh,areyouinonthis?YOUARE,AREN’TYOU?!”

“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.Look,mybossiscallingme.I’lltalktoyoulater.Oh,and

makesuretosendtheaddressforyourparticularunderpasssoIcancomevisiteverynowandthen.”

“Hilarious.Bye.”

Itdoesn’ttakelongforwordaboutmysituationtospreadaroundtheoffice.MymomtoldDr.

McCormickwhotoldMariahandsoon.Lucasknowsbylunchtime.

“IheartheLoneStarMotelhasgoodratesthistimeofyear,”hesays,leaningagainstmydoorway.

“Funnyyoushouldmentionit,Ialreadyhavearoomsetupthere,”Igloat.

“Gross.Daisy,Iwaskidding.Obviously,youcanstaywithme,ifyouwant.”

Ireachforthesecondhalfofmyturkeysandwich.“Noneed,Dr.Thatcher.Ihaveitalltakencareof.I

don’tmeantobrag,butthere’sagardenvieweconomysuitewithmynameonit.”

Turnsoutthegardenviewwasabitofanexaggeration.Inmyhotelroomthatevening,Iactuallyhavea

viewofthelumpyparkinglotandanabove-groundpoolcollapsinginonitself.Thepoolisfilledtothe

brimwithcloudy,blueishgreenwater.Maybeit’sabacterialgarden.

Iturnfromthewindowandinspecttheroom.Fadedfloralcomforter.Crumblingpopcornceilings.

Crackedlinoleumtile.There’sevenahandwrittennotefromtheguestwhostayedintheroombeforeme:

Watchforcricketsatnight.They’llgetcha.Ican’tbesure,butIthinkthereareactualcricketguts

smearedonthebottomofthepage.

Nobigdeal.It’s6:45PM.Sure,Ican’tsitonanyofthefabricsurfacesintheroomforfearof

bedbugs,butIcanpropmyselfagainstthewalluntilI’mtiredenoughtofallasleeplikethat.Ooh,or

maybeI’lljustgositonthesideoftheenameledbathtu—oop,hellothere,giantbloodstainpooledaround

thedrain.Ifyoudon’tmind,I’lljustbegettingmythingsnow.

LucasThatcher,you’reabouttogetyourselfanewroommate.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- T W O

Lucasdoesn’tseemsurprisedtoseemestandingonhisdoorstep.Hehasawaterbottlefilledwithicein

onehand,likehewasinthemiddleoffillingitup.He’swearinggymshortsandat-shirt,andIshiverat

thepossibilitieshiswaistbandhintsat.

Hestepsbackandwavesmein,likethisisn’tthemostinsaneideaever.

“Iwasabouttogotothegym.”

“Don’tyouwanttoknowwhyI’mhere?”

“Iknowwhyyou’rehere.Thatmotelisdisgusting.Iheardthey’reweeksawayfromcondemningthe

wholeplace.”

“Soundsaboutright.NowIknowwhyit’scalledthelonestar—it’stheYelprating.”

Hisloftismassive,withexposedbeamsontheceilingandoriginalshiplapwalls.Ithasanopenfloor

plansothelivingroomandkitchenareallonebigspace.Thelightfromthesunsetstreamsinthroughthe

industrial-sizedwindowscoveringtheentirebackwalloftheloft.It’snice,whichthrowsmeforaloop.

I’mstillinspectingtheplacewhenhetakestheduffelbagfrommyhandandsetsitdownbesidethe

kitchenisland.Thenhegoesbacktofillinghiswaterbottle.

IstayrightwhereIamonhiswelcomemat.

“HeyLucas,haveyouheardaboutthatChristmasEvetruceduringWorldWarI?”

“WhenthesoldiersonbothsidesclimbedoutoftheirtrenchesanddrunkenlysangChristmascarols

andplayedsoccertogether?”

Inod.“That’swhatthisis.TheminuteImovebackhome,thewarcontinues.”

Helaughsasheapproachesandgrabsasmallgymbaghangingnearthedoor.“It’snotChristmas

Eve.”

“I’mjustsaying,don’tgettoocomfortableoutsideyourtrench.”

“Right.WhatareyougoingtodowhileI’mgone?”

“Probablystandrighthere,wonderingwhatmistakeshaveledmetothis.”

Helookslikehe’sgoingtoleaninandkissmycheek,buthedoesn’t.“Wellifyouevermakeitoffthe

welcomemat,makeyourselfathome.”

Ha.

Home.

HomeinsideLucasThatcher’sloft—whataridiculousconcept.It’snotthatIdon’twanttobethere.

Foryears,Idreamedofsteppingfootinsideaspacethatbelongedtohim,butthosedreamsusually

involvedaskimaskandabottleofNair.HeleavesforthegymandI’mthereinhisspace,unsupervised

andfreetodoanythingIplease.There’sastackofhismailonthekitchencounter.Icouldrootthroughit

andthrowawayhisbills,ruinhiscredit.Onhiscoffeetablesitsawornpaperback.Icouldmovehis

bookmarkupafewpages,orwritespoilersinthemargins.Hislaptop.HisDVR.Allofitwouldbeso

easytotamperwith,butintheend,Istayrightonthatwelcomematuntilhereturnsfromthegym.

Thedoorhitsmeinthebackoftheheadwhenhewalksin.

“Ohshit.Daisy,sorry.”

“Yup.Noproblem.No,I’mfine.Nothanks,nothungry.”

HethrowsthebagoffrozenpeasbackinthefreezerwhenIrefuseit.

“Iwaskiddingaboutyoustayingonthewelcomemat.”

“Youjustleft.”

“Thatwas40minutesago.”

“Yeah,well.Iwasabouttomove.Ijustdidn’tknowwhereIwantedtogoyet.”

Hewalksoverandtakesmebytheshoulders,physicallyforcingmetostepoffthemat.Iexpectthe

floortobelava.

“Itsmellslikeyou,”Iannounce,“butyoujustmovedin.Doyoujustspraytheentireplacewhenyou

putyourcologneonorsomething?”

“Idon’tsmellanything.”

“Youwouldn’t.”

Helaughsandturnstofaceme.“I’mgoingtomakedinner.Doyouwanttositatthebaroronthe

couch?”

Hehastoaskbecauseifheletsgo,Iwillstayrightthereintheentryway.Frozen.

“Couch,Iguess.”

Heguidesmethereandsitsmedownrightinthemiddle.

“Ithoughtabouttakingthebatteriesoutofyoursmokedetectors,”Iadmit,lookingupathimashe

propsapillowbehindmyback.He’smycaretaker—mycaretakerwhosmellslikehejustfinished

workingout.Ishouldhateit,butIdon’t.

Helaughsunderhisbreath.“Iwouldn’texpectanythingless.”

Hestartstostraighten,butIgrabaholdofhist-shirtandgivelifetoanintrusivethought.“Let’sget

freaky.”

Iholdhimsteady,bentovermeandcrowdingmyspace.

Hesmiles.“Iwasabouttomakedinner.”

“Dinnercanwait.Ican’t.”

Hedoesn’tpullaway.“Haven’tyoueverheardthatanticipationisthegreaterpartofpleasure?”

“That’sstupid.”

“Ibetyou’dbethekidintheexperimentthateatstheonemarshmallowinsteadofwaitingfortwo.”

“Maybe,”Isay,lettinggoofhisshirt.“Butwe’readults.Wecaneatthewholebagifwewantedto.”

Heleavesmesohecanwalkbacktowardthekitchenandstarttopreparechicken.

He’smakingchicken?!Whocaneatpoultryatatimelikethis?

“Daisy,you’restartingtoscareme.”

IsupposeIdolookoff,sittingthereonthecouchwithmybackstraightandmyhandsflatonmythighs.

I’vebeenstaringstraightahead,butnowImakeaconsciousefforttoleanbackandcrossmylegs.There.

Iamnowacasualhouseguest.

“SoIknowthemarshmallowsweremetaphorsforsex,butdoyouactuallyhaveany?Foran

appetizer?”

“Tellmeaboutyourday,”hesays,ignoringme.

“Good.Fine.Iwenttowork.I’madoctor,didyouknow?”

“No.”Heplaysalong.“What’sthatlike?”

“Iworkwiththisguy.He’shardtolike.Everyoneintheofficethinksso.”

“Yeah?”

“He’sjusttheworst.”

“Howdoyoumanage?”

Iturnandwelockeyesoverthekitchenisland.He’sbusysautéingandI’mbusyimaginingwhatit

wouldbelikeifhebentmeoverthatislandandpulledupmydress.

“Ijustsexuallyassaulthimandthatusuallyshutshimup.”

“Doyouwantgreenbeansorasparagus?”

“Whichcooksfaster?”

“Greenbeans.”

“Thenthat’swhatIwant.”

Afewminuteslater,dinnerisready.It’srecordtiming—soquick,infact,I’mnotsurprisedthatwhenI

cutintomychicken,it’spinkinthecenter.

“Lucas,”Isay,turningmyplatetoshowhim.“It’snotcookedallthewaythrough.”

Helooksup,halfinadaze.“IguessIwasinabitofahurry.”

Mysmileishiddenawayashestandstoretrievemyplatealongwithhis.Hedepositsthembothon

thekitchencounter,propshishandsbesidethem,andshakeshishead.Hedoesn’tmoveforagoodfew

secondsbeforeIinterrupt.

“Sodinnerwasgreat,”Itease.

Myeyeslightupashestandsandstartstotugoffhist-shirt.

“ButnowIguessit’stimefordessert?Yup.Iwasthinkingthesamething.”

“Notsofast.Istillhavetoshower.”

“Why?Becauseyoujustworkedout?Becauseyou’restillalittlehotandsweaty,andyouhavethis

masculinemuskgoingon?”

Heknowsnothing.HeisJonSnow.

“Lucas,”Isay,releasingadeepbreathandcirclingthekitchenislandtowardhim.“I’veaskedyou

politelytohavesexwithme.NowIonlythinkit’sfairthatyoufulfillthatrequest.”

Hesmirks.“Turnaround.”

IdoasI’mtoldandwarmhandshitmyneck.Heholdsthemthere,teasingmewithagentlekiss

beneathmyhair.Ithinkhe’sabouttounzipmydressandgetthispartygoing,butthenhespeaksup.

“Actually,Ienjoymakingyouwait.Let’sgotodinnerfirst.”

Thenhishandsslipaway.

Ilaugh,exasperated,andthentwistaroundtofacehim.“Lucas,comeon!Allofasuddenyou’resome

kindofgentleman?Youwanttotakemeonadate?”

“Sure.Callitwhateveryouwant.”

Ihavehalfamindtostripoutofmydressandforcetheissue,butevenIhavemylimits.

“Fine.Luckilyforyou,I’macheapdate.Justorderapizza.Meanwhile,I’mgoingtogoshower.”

Halfanhourlater,I’msittingwithLucasonhiscouchwithwethair,sportingamatchingpajamaset.

It’sthemostmodestthingmymotherhaspackedformetosleepinandeventhen,it’snotmuch.Theshorts

areskimpyandthetanktopofferslittleinthewayofboobcoverage.Lucasshoweredtooandnowhe’s

wearingnothingbutflannelpants.Theshowwehaveonisboring,somecookingcontestonPBS.Neither

oneofusmakesamovetochangethechannel.Ichanceaquickglanceoverandhisgazeisonme,burning

acrossmyskin.Ithinkmyoutfitisgettingtohim,butwhatdoesitmatter?Themomentfeelslikeit’s

passed,becauseeverythinghe’sdonetonightseemstosignalonething:wearen’thavingsex.

Thedoorbellrings.

“That’sthepizza,”Isay,hoppinguptoanswerthedoor.

“I’llgetit,”Lucasinsists,grabbingforhiswalletonthekitchencounter.

Ichoosetoignorehimandwhenweopenthedoor,MickyChildressisstandingonLucas’doorstep

holdingonelargepizza.WhenheseesmetuckedbehindLucasinmyglorifiedlingerie,hiseyesgoround

asthepizzahe’stoting.

“DaisyBell?!LucasThatcher?!”

MickyistheyoungerbrotherofBobbyChildress,aclassmateofoursbackatHamiltonHigh.Ihaven’t

seeneitheroftheminyears,butMickyclearlyremembersus.

“Isheholdingyouprisonerhere?”Mickyasks,half-kiddingashehandsLucasthepizza.“Icancall

thepoliceifyouneedmeto.”

LucasshovesatwentyagainstMicky’schestandpusheshimoutofthedoorway.“ThanksMick.

That’llbeall.”

“Justblinktwice,Daisy!I’llsendtheSWATteam!”

Lucasshutsthedoorinhisface.

“Nicekid,”Isay,yankingthepizzaboxoutofLucas’handsandcarryingitovertotheisland.

“Heonlywantedtorescueyoubecauseyou’rewearingthat.”

“They’recalledpajamas.”

“That’saprettyliberalwaytodescribeclothesthatcouldfitonmymom’stoypoodle.”

Theboxisopenedandsuddenly,everythingisrightintheworld.Thepizzaisstillwarmfromthe

oven.Weeachextractapieceanddon’tbotherwithplates.Instead,wefaceeachother,leaningagainst

thecounter,anddigin.

“Soanyway,youweresayingyou’resexuallyattractedtopoodles?”

Lucasshakeshishead,concealinghissmallsmile.

“Orwasitthatyou’reattractedtome?”

“Eatyourpizza.”

IlaughandLucasisfedup.Hetakesthesliceoutofmyhandandholdsituptomymouth.He’s

feedingmetoshutmeupandI’m100%okaywiththat.Ibiteoffabigchunkandchewwithaconfident

smirk.

ThenIletmygazefallbelowhisneck,whichisacriticalmistakeinthequesttoretaintheupperhand.

Lucasisshirtless,andwhateverexerciseshedidatthegymmust’veworked.Reallywell.He’singreat

shapewiththatsortofbroad-shouldered,tapered-waistcombothatcompletelykillsthefemalebrain.I’ve

nevercaredaboutabsuntilIlookdownandseethesetLucashas—absthatleaddowntoflannelpants

thathavesettledlowonhiships.

“Thiscountsasdinner,right?”

ThelookhefinallygivesmewiththosedarkeyesistheonlyanswerIneed.

Holyshit.

Inamatterofseconds,thereischaosinhiskitchen.Ourpizzaslicesaretossed,forgotten.Theboxis

pushedasideandtipsofftheisland,butwedon’tcare.Lucaspicksmeupanddropsmeonthecold

granite.ItbitesthebacksofmythighsandIhissjustbeforehismouthcomesdownonmine.

Myhandwrapsaroundhisbareshoulderandtugshimcloser,betweenmyspreadingthighs.Hishands

slipupbeneathmysilkyshorts,slidingpastmyassandgrippingmywaist,pullingmeclosertotheedge

ofthecounter.I’dfallforwardifhewasn’tholdingmeupandsuddenlywe’rerightbackwherewewere

thismorning,onlynowLucasisyankingmytanktopovermyheadanddroppinghismouthtomybare

breast.Allofitishappeningsofast,asifhe’schoreographedhismovementsforweeks.Itrytoplay

catch-up,slippingmygoodhandpastthewaistbandofhisflannelpantsandwrappingaroundhislength.

Bedsandcandlesandstripteasesareforpeoplewithtimeandboredom.Whatwehaveishunger.

We’refrantic,anditshows.

Iworkhimwithmyhand,pumpingupanddownashetakesoneofmynipplesbetweenhislips.Icry

outandhegentlybites.Iretaliatebytighteningmygriparoundhim.

There’saknockonthedoor.

“HeyLucas!Ihadtogotothecartogetyourcha—”

MickyChildressisbackandLucaspolitelytellshimtofuckoffandkeepthechange.

“Hey!Thanks!”

IlaughandLucastakestheopportunitytowrestlemyshortsandpantiesoffofme.Hetugsandthere’s

aslightrip;Idon’tknowifit’sthematerialormysanity.Forafewseconds,I’mnakedonthatcold

granite,baredentirelyforLucas.Heassessesmefromtoptobottom,takinghistimeconsumingthesight

ofme.MyskinpricklesunderhisappraisalthenIreachoutforhimandheobliges,wrappingmeupinhis

warmth.

Heasksifweshouldmovesomewhereelse—thecouch,thebed,thefloor?—butit’sclearthatthe

islandistheperfectheight.ItcomesrightuptoLucas’hipsandwhenIspreadmylegsandletthemfall

open,hegetshisanswer.Here.Rightnow.Ponyup,bigboy.

Iexpecthimtogetnaked,tomatchmeinmyaunaturalestate,butheonlytugshisflannelpantsdown

enoughsothatmyhandisexposed,stillwrappedaroundhislength.Myeyeswiden.Imean,I’veseenhim

before—Itastedhim—butfromthisangle,itfeelsalltooreal.

“Yourealizewhatwe’reabouttodoright?”Iask.

“Ihaveaprettygoodguess.”

“Mychestistight.Ifeelwoozy.”

“Ishouldhavehadyousignaconsentform.”

“That’sprobablyagoodidea.CanIborrowapen?”

“Daisy.”

“Ohgod.Thisissostrange!LucasThatcherisabouttohavesexwithme.”

“Yesheis.”Lucaslaughs,tuggingmeagainsthischest.It’sanintimatelittlehug,areassuring,I’vegot

you.

“Wecan’tdothis,”Isay,evenasIpullhimcloser.

“Ifyouwanttowait,we—”

“NO!GOD,HAVEN’TYOUBEENLISTENINGATALL?!”

Atthat,Islammymouthdownonhisandkisstheever-lovinglifeoutofhim.Hegroansand

reciprocates,tuggingmeforwarduntilmyhipsarebarelyrestingontheisland.We’realignedperfectly,

hiptohip,justlikeIplanned.Hemakesfirstcontactandmyheartracesastinglesdriftupmyspine.I

wanthimtogetonwithit,butheteasesmewithhistouch.

Hispalmliesflatagainstmystomach,andgoosebumpsspreadashisthumbbrushesdownoverthe

heartofmysenses.Thefeather-lightswirlsmightaswellbeadrumroll,buildingtheintensityuntilthe

momenthepullsbackandlooksbetweenus.Isqueezemyeyesclosedandcurlmytoesashesinksinthe

firstinch.Mymouthfallsopen.Anotherinch.Atinysqueakescapesme.AnotherfirmthrustandLucas

usesallthosehard-earnedabmusclestoburyhimselfinsidemetothehilt.Iamstretchedtooblivionand

ItellLucas.

“Don’tmoveorI’llshatter.”

“You’llbefine.”

“You’llkillme.”

HepullsoutgentlyandIfeelhimshiver.OfallthesymptomsI’veeverwitnessed,Lucasovercome

withpleasurefrombeinginsidemeisthemostcompelling.

“Dothatagain,”Iplead.

Hedoes,drivingbackintomeanddraggingoutniceandslow.Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisneckand

pressmynakedchestagainsthis.Hardpectoralscomplementmyfemininecurves.Warmthexplodes

throughme,thefirstsensationthatwarnsofwhat’stocome.Hegripsmythighsandthrustsfaster.IfI

couldtalk,mywordswouldcomeoutdisjointedfromthebouncing,fromthepower,fromtheYES

RIGHTTHERE,LUCAS,YOUGOD.

Hishandonceagainfindsitswaybetweenmythighsandheaddsteasinglittlecirclestothe

repertoire.ThepadofhisfingerisroughbutIlikeit.

“I’msoclose,”Itellhim,andhecontinuesthosesensationalcircles.Hekeepsthemgoingatjustthe

rightpace,justtherightpressure,soeverytimeheglidesoverthatbundleofnerves,pleasuredetonates

throughme.I’mpickedupoffthecounterandshovedupagainstthepantrydoor.Lucasusestheangleto

leveragehimselfdeeperinsideme.HehitsawholenewlevelandIhaven’ttakenabreathinminutes.

There’snowaytotellifI’vediedornot,becausesurelythisisexactlywhatheavenmustbelike.

Fortoolong,everysensationbombardsmeandInearlytapout.Itfeelsliketoomuch.I’mburningup

fromwithinandthenhisthumbswipesoncemoreandIfinallyflameout.Lucasfollowsandtogether,we

holdeachotherup,gaspingandquiveringandcarryingeachothertothehighestofhighs.Wedon’tmove

fromthepantrydoor.Atthispoint,it’sholdingmeupmorethanLucasis.I’vegotonelegwrapped

aroundhiswaistandtheotherjustsortofdangling,tooweaktoholditselfup.

Somanywordsfloodthetipofmytongue.Apologies,congratulations.Apartofmenearlyconfesses

undyinglove.Forwhat?Idon’tknow.ButthenLucassetsmebackonmyfeetandwelockeyes.It’sthe

firsttimewe’velookedateachotherinawhileandashortburstoflaughterspillsoutofme.Ithinkit’s

residualpleasurestillripplingthroughme.Lucassmilestoo.It’slazyandsatisfied.

MystomachhurtswhileIbrushmyteethlater.Irecognizethefeeling:thesubtledreadassociatedwith

change,mixedwithanicedoseofanxiety.It’showIfeltthismorningbeforeLucastrickedmeintoa

kitchenmake-outsession.

Ilookatmyselfinthemirroranddon’trecognizethegirlstaringbackatme.Iwipeawaythesmudges

ontheglass,andnowIdo.Sheisme,satedafterhavingsexwithherlifelongrival.

Ispit.Continuetobrush.Anythingtodelaythenextfewminutesfromtakingplace.

Isuspectmyfreakouthassomethingtodowithmycurrentlivingsituationaswell.Innormal

circumstances,Iwouldrun.Iwouldretreatbacktomyhouseandhidebeneathmychildhoodcomforter.

ButI’mstuck.InLucas’apartment.Inhisbathroom,usinghissofthandtowel.

Hecomesinandcatchesmyeyesinthemirror.Thefeelinginmystomachswellstodangerous

territory.Imightthrowup.

“WhereshouldIputyourbag?”

Hisquestionisonlysixwords,buttherearevolumesofsubtextbetweenthem.

“Guestroom?”Ishrug.“Isthatwhereyouthinkitshouldgo?”

“Yeah,that’sprobably…yeah,”hesays,hoistingitontohisshoulder.

“Unlessyouthink—”

“No—Imean,you’vebeenthroughalot.”Henodsandwalksout.“There’sanextrapillowinthehall

closetifyouneedit.”

“Thanks,”Isay,mouthfulloftoothpaste.

Wearetwoballerinastiptoeingaroundoneanother.

Evenworse,whenIslipintotheguestroom,makinglessnoisethanamouse,Ispottheglassofwater

andbookhe’sleftonmynightstandandIsigh.WhileIwasworkingoutawaytoshimmythroughthe

bathroomwindowandescapeintothenight,Lucaswasworriedaboutmyhydrationand—dammit,the

bookisapsychologicalthriller,myfavoritegenre.

Lucas,youmanipulative,adorableasshole.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- T H R E E

Thenextday,LucasandIareactors,doingourbestimpressionsofadultscohabitating.He’sflipping

pancakeswhenIwalkoutoftheguestroom.Itakeintheglorious,bare-chestedsightofhimpouringmore

batterintotheskillet.It’samaterializationofadreameverywomanhashadatleastonce.

Wearrivetoworkearlyanddivvyupthepatientswithoutanyarguments.Dr.McCormickis

impressedandhesaysso.Ofcourse,hedoesn’tknowI’mcurrentlyshackedupwithLucas,butIdon’t

reallyseetheutilityintellinghimso.

Afterwork,weleavethepracticeandstrollacrossthestreettoLucas’apartmentwhilediscussing

dinnerpossibilities.I’mhopingforpastaandLucaswasplanningongrilledsalmon,buthe’swillingto

obligeme.Wetrotupstairsandheunlocksthedoortohisloft.

AfterI’vechangedoutofmyworkclothes,weuncorkareasonablypricedbottleofwine,putthe

spaghettiontoboil,andtakeseatsonoppositeendsofthecouchtoflipthroughthemonth’smedical

journals.LucassubscribestoallthebestonesandItellhimso.

“Youreallycan’tputapriceoncontinuingeducation,”hereplies.

“Indubitably.”

“Besides,thesubscriptionsaretax-deductible.”

Lookatusdiscussingtaxesandnothavingwildboutsofhatesex.

“Whatasavvybusinessmanyouare.”I’mnotevenbeingsarcastic.“Couldyoupassthewine?”

Insteadofpassingmethebottle,hetopsoffmyglassandthenhisown.Thebottleisemptyandweare

stilladultscohabitating.

“Ifyou’dlike,Icouldmakethepastasauce,”Isuggest,standingwithmywine.

“Wonderful.”

WhileIpullingredientsoutofhisrefrigeratorandpantry,Lucasturnsonmusic.It’scooljazz.Neither

ofusareactualaficionados,butinthisfantasy,weare.

Lucassurprisesmebyslidingupbehindme,offeringtohelpwiththesauce.It’snotlongbeforehe

wrapshisarmsaroundmymiddleandspinsmearound.

“Let’spauseondinnerforasecond.”

“Ohdear,thesaucewillburnwithtalklikethat!”Isayinanoverdone1950shousewifeimpression.

Helaughsunderhisbreathandtiltsmyheadbacktogainaccesstomyneck.Hekissesthesensitive

littleareajustbeneathmychin.

“I’llmakeitworthyourwhile,”heswears.

Ibatathischestandpretendtoputupafight,butit’sclearthatourperformanceartpieceisquickly

becomingaporno.

Ihopup,wrappingmylegsaroundhismidsection.Hestepstowardourpreviousspotonthekitchen

island,andIreprimandhim.

“Lucas,forGod’ssake,thecouchthistime.Ihavebruisesfromthegranite.”

Iwanttoliebackandfeelhisweightontopofme.Hecarriesmethereandwetumbledown.In

seconds,hismedicaljournalsaretossedtotheground,crumpledinaheap.Hisfootcollideswithhis

phoneanditcrashestothefloor.Thesoundofsoftjazziscutoff.

Afterourfastanddirtypre-dinnerromp,wedropthephonyact.Insteadofswirlingwineand

discussinginternationaltradedeals,weeatsoggypastawithrunnysaucewhileweflipthroughTV

channels,neverquiteagreeingonwhattowatch.

“Sowhatdoyouwatchupherewhenyou’reallalone?”Iask.

“Mostlythenews,orESPN.”

“Wooooow,talkaboutashocker.PutitonHGTV—IthinkFixerUpperison.”

“HowmanytimescanyouwatchJoannaGainessay‘Frenchdoorshere’and‘Putabeamonit’

beforeitgetsold?”

BeforeIcananswerLucaswithHowdareyouinsultJo,myphonerings.

Istandtoanswerandeyehimwithdisdain.

“H.G.T.V.Justdoit.”

BythetimeIreachmyroom,thecallclicksovertovoicemail,andIhitplayoncemydoorisclosed.

“Daisy!It’sDamian.How’sitgoing?It’sbeenforever.I’mnotsurprisedtogetyourvoicemailnow

thatyou’reabigimportantdoctor,butwheneveryougetthechance,givemeacallback.Ihavean

interestingproposition,somethingIreallythinkyou’regoingtowanttohear.”

Damianismyoldestfriendfromcollege;wemetduringorientationatDuke.Yes,therewasabrief

romance,butitwasfarmorefriendlythanamorous.AccordingtoDamian,hehasthatfleetingrelationship

tothankfordiscoveringhewasn’tbiafterall,justregularol’gay.Atthetime,Ididn’tknowwhetherto

beoffendedoramused,soIjustcongratulatedhimonhisself-discoveryandwe’vegoneonasfriends

eversince.

Iputonmyjacketandheadtowardthedoor,toocurioustowaituntillatertocallhimback.

“I’mgoingonawalk,”IsaytoLucas,whoistooengrossedinarerunofLawandOrder:SVUto

offeranymorethanthereal-lifeequivalentofkthxbye.

AsIhopdownthestairsandtaphisnameonmyphone,IrememberthatDamianwenttoworkin

marketingforabigurgentcareconglomerateafewyearsago.Iwonderifhe’senjoyingit.

“Damian?It’sDaisy.”Ismilewhenthecallclickson.“Longtimenotalk.”

“Daisy!”hebellows.“You’regoingtobehappyyoucalledbacksoquickly.”

“Whyisthat?Areyouintogirlsagain?”

“Noteven,Daisy.Thatshiphassailed.It’saboutsomethingelse.”

Wegothroughthecustomarycatch-upsandthenhejumpsrightintoexplainingthatsincewelast

spoke,hehasworkedhiswayupatacompanycalledMediQuik,acorporationbehindsomeofthose

shinyclinicsthatseemtobepoppinguponeverycornerthesedays.Nowhe’sinchargeofbusiness

developmentfortheentireeasternhalfofTexas.

“Sothepointis,I’moverseeingthecreationof75newlocations,oneofwhichwillbeinHamilton,

Texas.You’dmentionedgoingbackandworkingtherethelasttimewetalked.”

“Oh,wellI’mflatteredthatyouthoughtofme,”Isaypolitely,guessingwheretheconversationis

headed.“ButIalreadyhaveajob,Damian.”

“Ifigured,butjusthearmeout.IwantyouinchargeoftheHamiltonclinic.”

Hepausesfordramaticeffect.I’msilentbecauseI’mblindsided.

“Itwouldbeyourpractice.Wehandleappointments,billing,marketing,younameit,allforjusta

smallcut.Patientsloveit,nottomentiondoctors—myphoneisringingoffthehookwithguyslookingto

getinonthis.”

“Idon’tknow,itsoundsreallygreat,butIneverreallysawmyselfinoneofthosedoc-in-the-boxtype

places,”Isayindifferently.“Again,I’mflatteredthatyouthoughtofme.”

There’sapregnantpauseontheotherendoftheline.

“Wellthat’sthething—I’mnotjustcallingoutofprofessionalcourtesy,noramItryingtoflatteryou.

I’mtryingtodoyouapersonalfavor.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Look,Idon’twanttosoundinsensitive,but…it’sjustthatmom-and-poppracticestendnottofaretoo

wellgoingupagainstMediQuiks.Icansendyouthemarketdatafromlastyear,butthegististhatlocal

officesrarelylastmorethanayeargoingupagainstusheadtohead.”

Isee.Thiscallisn’tsomuchabusinessproposition,it’satsunamiwarning.Thewaveiscoming;grab

asurfboardorbewashedaway.

“Right,andyou’resuremylittleHamiltonisbeingconsideredforthis?”

“We’rebreakinggroundnextmonth.Hamiltonisn’tsolittleanymore.Ourresearchindicatesit’s

projectedtobeoneofthetopprospectsforthenextfiscalyear,andIwantyouatthehelm.”

Itakeamomenttotrytoconsiderhisofferobjectively.Onthesurface,itgivesmeeverythingI

originallysetouttoget.

Myownpractice.

AnopportunitytoliveandworkinHamilton.

AchancetoberidofLucas.

Inmyimagination,IentertainthescenarioinwhichIhandDr.McCormickmyresignationandwalk

downtheroadtomynewclinic.Hewouldbehurt,buthewouldhavetounderstand.Lucaswould

presumablytakeoverthepractice,althoughifwhatDamiansaysistrue,itwouldn’tbeforlong.

“Thisisalottoprocess.DoyoumindifIgiveyouacallback?”

“Ofcourse,takesometime.Italkedyouuptomyboss,andheagreedtogiveyoutherightoffirst

refusal.Wealwaysprefertorecruitbrightyoungdoctorsfromthearearatherthanmovinginatransplant.”

Ohgod.IrealizeI’mnottheonlyoneintownthatfitsthatdescription.WhatifIturnitdownandthey

askLucasinstead?

“Okay,thanksagainDamian.”

“Noproblem.I’llemailyouthecontract—it’sonlyanoption,nothingbinding.Callmeifyouhaveany

questions.”

AsIheadbackupstairs,myheadspins.Damian’sproposalcameoutofleftfield.Myownpractice?

Myownpatients?I’vebeensoconsumedbytheideaoftakingoverforDr.McCormickthatInever

consideredthepossibilityofanotherpracticemovingintoHamilton.

Ihadphasesandtheywereworking…well,kindof.ForallthenailpolishandlattesI’vebeen

delivering,thestaffdoesn’tseemtolovemeanymorethanLucas,andDr.McCormickdefinitelydoesn’t

favormeasmuchasIassumedhewould.And,well,PhaseIII:ForceLucasOuthasnowsortofmorphed

intoDoLucasinHisKitchen.MaybeDamian’sphonecallcameattheexactrighttime.Maybeit’sthe

pushIneed.

Forsolong,itwasmydreamtorunmyownpractice.Ithoughtthat’swhatIwouldbedoingwhenI

firstmovedbacktoHamilton,beforeLucasblindsidedme.Iadjustedmydreams,gotusedtosharingmy

workloadwithhim,butmaybenowIdon’thaveto.Maybeit’snottoolatetohaveeverythingIalways

wanted.

“Supersecretphonecall,eh?”Lucasaskswhenthedoorclicksbackintoitsframe.

Iglanceupandhe’srightwhereIlefthimonthecouch,butnowthere’sanopenbottleofredwineon

thecoffeetableandtwoglasseswaitingtobefilled.Ilookaway.

“Justmymom.ShewantedtomakesureIhadajacketforthecoldfrontthat’ssupposedtobecoming

in.”

Heappraisesmyanswer,asifhesomehowknowssomethingisamiss.Itwouldhavebeenmorein

characterformetotellhimtomindhisowndamnbusiness,andwhenhenods,Icringe.Lucasbelieves

me,andheshouldn’t.

IregretcallingDamianback.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- F O U R

I’msittinginmyofficeatwork.It’s3:15PM.Wedon’thaveanotherpatientfor30minutesandI’ve

securedthedoorwithasmallstooltuckedbeneaththehandle.Ifeellikeacriminal.MaybeIamone.

There’sanemailsittingatthetopofmyinboxfromDamian.Hewastednotimesendingoverthe

detailedproposal,completewithane-signatureboxatthebottomofashortoffersheet.Iglanceoverthe

figures,whichconfirmeverythinghesaidonthephonelastnight.

Intownswithsimilarpopulations,theaverageMediQuikclinicdoublesitsrevenueeveryquarter,

whileexistingpracticeslose40-60%oftheirpatientbasetoattrition.Focusdatareportsthateventhe

mostloyalpatientsoftenforgothefamiliarityof“hometown”practicesinfavorofmodernperks:same-

dayvisits.Noappointmenthassles.KeurigmachinespouringouthazelnutandFrenchvanillacoffeewith

thepressofabutton.

Dr.McCormickhasn’tsharedmorethanthebasicfinancialsforhispractice,butIknowenoughto

guessitwouldn’tsurvivelongafterablowlikethat,especiallynotwithtwodoctorstryingtopaythe

billsandmakealiving.

I’vespentalldaygoingovertheoffersheet.I’vealreadysignedit.It’snearlytoogoodtobetrue.A

fewweeksago,Iwouldhavesentitbackwithouthesitation.Thiswasalwaysthegoal.11yearsof

medicaltrainingleduptoit.EverytimeIpulledanall-nightertostudy,everytimeIhadtoskipouton

havingasociallifebecauseIwasworkingdoubleshiftsorputtinginextrahoursinthehospital,every

timeapatientyelledatmeorthrewuponmeorassumedIwasanurse,Itoldmyselfitwouldallbe

worthitwhenIcouldrealizemydreamandrunmyownpractice.

Now,Isitfrozen,staringatthesignedoffer,unabletosenditbacktoDamian.AtwhatpointdidI

change?Thedoctorsittinginmyofficeisnotthesamewomanwhowaschiefresident,topofherclass,

cutthroatgo-getter.Businessisbusiness—isn’tthatwhattheysay?SowhyamIscaredofhurtingLucas?

Ofcourse,Ialreadyknowtheanswer,andit’safour-lettersissyword.

There’saknockonmydoor.

“Dr.Bell?”

Mariah.

Isheepishlyshovethestoolasideandopenthedoor.

Shebeamswhensheseesme.“Weweregoingtodoacoffeerun.Wantanything?”

“Oh,nothanks.I’vegotenoughcaffeineinmetowakethedead.Thanksforaskingthough.”

ShenodsandturnsbackdownthehallwayjustasLucasstepsoutofthekitchenwithaglassofwater.

“Whatareyouupto?”heasksnonchalantly.Fromhistone,Ican’ttellifhe’saskingacasualWhat’s

up?orifit’saninterrogative,strap-me-to-a-chair-pour-water-on-my-faceWhatareyouupto?I’vetried

toplayitcoolallday,butIknowI’mfailing.

“Charts,”Igulp.

Herollshiseyesandturns,andnowIknowitwasn’taninnocentinquiry.Ipanicandblurtitout.Iam

vomitingwords.

“Lucas.Igotofferedanotherjoblastnight.Myownpractice.”

Heturnsbackslowly,walksovertomyoffice,browsraisedwithinterest.“Iknewyouwerehiding

something.Where’sthegig?”

“Hamilton.”

Heseemsequalpartssurprisedandrelieved,butitcouldbethefluorescentlightingplayingwithhis

frames.

“WithMediQuik,”Ioffer.“They’rebuildingaclinichere.”

Hedoesn’tneedtolookovertheemailfigurestoknowwhatthatmeans.Hisslownodsaysitall.

Forafewseconds,westandinsilence.HisgazefallsovermyshoulderandIknowwhathesees.The

offersheetisstilluponmycomputer.Zoomedin.Signed.

“Iguessitdidn’ttakeverylongtothinkabout.”

“No.Ihaven’t—”

Iknowitlooksbad.Isignedit,butthatdoesn’tmeanI’vedecidedtosendit.Thosearetwodifferent

things.Right?

“Goahead.”Helaughs,sullen.“It’salmosttooperfect,right?Togetridofmeandhaveyourown

practice.Sotakeit.”

“It’snotlikethat.”

“Ohyeah?IsthatwhyI’vebeengettingcallsfromhospitalsalloverthecountry?ApparentlyI’vebeen

sendingoutmyCV.Thanksforthatbytheway.IfyouwantedmetoleaveHamilton,youshouldhavejust

asked.”

“Lucas—”

He’salreadybackingaway.He’smadeuphismind.“It’sbetterthisway,Daisy.Really.AtleastI

knowwherewestand.You’relookingoutforyourself.Maybeit’stimeIstartdoingthesame.”

“OhLucas!”Mariahsays,peepingbackaroundthecorner.She’slikelyheardourwholeexchange,but

sheactsinnocentenough.“Coffeerun.Doyouwantanything?”

Heusesherinterruptiontoescapebackdownthehallway.Idon’thearhisreplytoher,andtherestof

thedayheavoidsme.Itrytocornerhimbetweenpatients,buthe’sadeptatstayingbusyandoutofmy

way.Ithinktostandoutsidehisofficedooruntilheshowshisface,butDr.McCormickseesmeand

smiles.

“NotwaitingonLucasareyou?Heleftearly,saidhehadsomepersonalbusinesstoattendto.”

Whatpersonalbusiness?Lucasdoesn’thavepersonalbusiness.

WhenIgobackintomyofficethere’sakeysittingonmydeskwithanote:Useit.Iwon’tbeback

untillater.

ItmakesmefeelworsebecauseeventhoughLucashatesmerightnow,hedoesn’twantmetobeleft

strandedwithnoplacetogo.

IbreakandcallmymomonthewaytoLucas’apartment.

Shesoundssochipperontheotherendofthephone.

“Isthereanywaywecangobacktothehouseearly?”Iplead.“Saytonight?”

“SorryDaisy,notunlessyouwanttohuffallthoseneurotoxinsforafewdays.Iseverythingokay?Are

yougettingonwellatLucas’apartment?”

I’mnotsurprisedsheknowsaboutmylivingarrangements.We’reinHamilton,Texas,afterall—word

alwaysgetsaround.

“No,notexactly.Iwanttogohome.”

“Notthistime,Daisy.”

“What?”

“Isaidnotthistime.You’retoooldtoberunninguptoyourroomtohidefromyourproblems,waiting

forthemtogoaway.Ifsomethingiswrong,youhavetoworkitoutwithhim.”

“Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”

“Ithinkyoudo.”

Mymomhasclearlyshackedupwithsomekindofhippyinthelastfewdays,becauseshe’sspouting

self-helpmumbojumbothatmakesabsolutelynosense.Itellhersoandshelaughs.ThenIhangupbefore

shecancontinueourtherapysession.

EventhoughIhavenocluewhatIwillsay,IhopetomyselfthatLucasishomeasIunlockthedoorto

hisapartment.Hewasn’twrongearlier.For28years,I’vewantednothingbuttoannihilatehim,andnow

thatIhavemychance,Ishouldtakeit.It’sfinallycheckmate.Noonewouldblameme.

“Lucas?”Icallout.

Nooneanswers.

Thesilenceistorture,likeaparentwhoshouldbeyellingbutinsteadsighsandshakestheirheadin

disappointment.IwanttotellLucashewaswrong.ThatInever,notevenforonesecondcontemplated

takingthatposition.ThatasmuchasI’vehatedhim,Idon’twantittoendlikethis.

Ineedtosayitoutloudtobelieveitmyself.

Itryhiscellphone,asequenceofnumbersIhavedialedmaybethreeorfourtimesinmyentirelife.

Hedoesn’tanswer.Ipacetheapartment,lookingforcluesforwherehecouldhavegone.Hisgymbag

isn’thangingbythedoorandhistennisshoesaren’twhereheleftthemyesterday.Myguessisthathe’s

workingout,butIhavenocluewhere.IcouldgotoeverygyminHamilton?Shouthisnamefromthe

doorwayuntiltheykickmeout?

It’sasolidplan,butIdon’tleave.Iwanttostayrighthereuntilhecomeshome,untilhewalksthrough

thedoorandIconvincehimtohearmeout,totrytoseethatsomehow,duringallouryearsoffighting,

I’veturnedintoahalf-decenthumanbeing.Icleanoutthelintscreeninthedryer,Ihelpelderlypeople

crossstreets,andIdon’tstabpeopleintheback,evenifIhavespentmywholelifecompetingagainst

theminabackstabbingmatch.

Lucas,whereareyou?!

Imakemyselfasnack.Changemyclothes.Pace.Iwanderbackintohisguestbedroomandsitdown

onthebed,regrettingthatIchosetosleepinhereandnotwithhimthelasttwonights.Itfeltliketoo

much,alittledesperate.Oh,sorry.Ineedaplacetostayandabedtosleepin,howaboutyours?Itall

seemstrivialandstupidnow.IaddittothelistofthingsIwilltellhimwhenhewalksthroughthatdoor.

Whichhefinallydoesanhourlater.

I’msittingonthecouch,staringatmyphoneandwillinghimtocallwhenhewalksin.Hehangshis

gymbagbythedoorandkicksoffhisshoes.Istandandwaitforhimtoseeme.HepretendsI’minvisible

andwalksintothekitchentogetaglassofwater.

“I’mnotgoingtotakethejob,”Ivolunteer.

I’mhopingmywordsareaspell.Iwillsaythem,Lucaswillunderstand,andbippety-boppety-boo,

wewillgobacktobangingonhiskitchencounter.

HeshakeshisheadandfinallyturnssoIcanseehisface.He’sdefeated.Shouldersslouched.Face

crestfallen.

Isaythespellagain,justincaseitdidn’tworkrightthefirsttime.

“Iwasn’tgoingtotakethejob!”

“Yousignedtheoffer,Daisy.”

“Lucas,youaren’tlistening!”

Hebrushespastmeandtriestomakeittohisroom,butImoveinfrontofhimandblockhispath.My

handsarepushingagainsthischest,keepinghiminplacewhenhereallywantstoplowrightthroughme.

“I’mdonewiththewar,Lucas!”Isay,wigglingacrudeflagImadeoutofatoothpickandaripped

squareofpapertowel.“Done.Isurrender.Okay?Nomore!”

HelaughsandIknowI’vesaidthewrongthing.

“Thereisnowar,Daisy.Forme,thereneverwas.”

Hepushesonmyelbows.Myarmsfoldandhepasses,justlikethat.

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?!”Ishoutafterhim.“Whataboutthegolf,thefruitbasket?Oh,andIseem

torememberacoupledecadesoffightingbeforethattoo.”

“Irealizedsomethingtoday,Daisy,somethingithastakenme28yearstounderstand.”

“Tellme!C’mon,youcan’tjustwalkawayfromme—fromus!”

“Thereisnous,Daisy!Youonlycareaboutyourself!Youthinkwe’vebeenatwarfor28years?Is

thatwhatitalwayswasforyou?Fighting,forthesakeofwhat?Fighting?”

“I…Idon’tknow.”

“You’vebeensoblindedbythecompetitionyou’vebuiltupinyourownhead,youcan’tseewhat’s

rightinfrontofyou—what’sbeentherethewholefuckingtime!”

“Tellmethen,Lucas!I’mhere,beggingyoutotalktome.Youcan’tactasifyoudidn’tfightwithme

too—youcan’tpretendyou’vealwayswantedthis.Whatabouttheothergirlsyoudatedincollege?!What

aboutwinterformalgirl?”

“Areyoukiddingmerightnow?”

Theglarehecastsmywaymakesmewanttodigmyheelsinmore.

“WhydoyouthinkI’veneverhadaseriousgirlfriend?Huh?”Hepusheson.“WhydoyouthinkI

alwaysbrokethingsoffbeforeIcamehometoHamilton?ItwasforYOU!BecauseIwantedyou.Every

otherrelationshipI’vehadhasbeenafutileattempttogetoveryou.Tomoveon.”

Hiswordsaresharplittledaggers,makingmefeelworse.Ifightagainstthem.

“Oh,comeon.Youcan’tjustpretendyouwereMr.NiceGuytheentiretime.Justbecauseyousaved

theFounder’sDayboothandgavemeaplacetostay,and…nevermind.I’mfinished.Didyouhearthat

part?Thestupidwarisovernow.Nomore!”

Hedoesn’tlisten.Heturnsandslamshisbedroomdoorandforagoodwhile,I’mstandingonthe

otherside,shoutingatthewood.I’mtryingtopleadwithhimtotalktome,butwhenhefinallywalksback

out,overnightbaginhand,Icantellhe’snotinterestedinlistening.He’smoredefeatedthanI’veever

seenhim.

“Youcanstaytonight,butthenIneedyoutofindyourownplace.”

He’snoteventalkingtome.It’slikehe’ssaying,Apartment,couldyoupleasetellDaisyI’mnotin

themoodtoargueandshehastoleave.

“No.Stay.I’llleave.Youshouldn’thavetoleaveyourownhome.”

ButLucasisalreadyatthedoor,tuggingitopenandshakinghishead.

He’sgoneandmythroathurtsfromshoutingandIrealizeLucasnevershoutedonce.WhenIthinkback

overtheyears,I’dalwaysassumedourconflictwouldendwithabang,notsilence.Now,we’redone,

andthequietisoverwhelming.IwavedtheflagandLucasleft.28yearshavebeenwipedoutinasingle

eveningandworstofall,thatexchangecouldn’tevenbeclassifiedasafight.Itwasaone-sideddesperate

attempttogetLucastoseereason.

Istandimmobilefortoolong,becausethesecondIrealizeIcouldhavefoughtharderandforcedhim

tostay,histruckisn’tparkeddownstairsanymore.Ihavenocluewherehe’sgone.

Itryhiscellphoneinvain.Tonight,Lucasisnotgoingtoanswermycalls.

Whatnow?

MythumbshavebeentwiddledwithinaninchoftheirlifeandIthinkIhavecrazyhair,butI’mtoo

scaredtolookinthemirror.Instead,Ilookaroundmyguestroom,whereLucashasboxespiledagainst

oneofthewalls.Iaskedhimaboutthemtheotherdayandhesaidhismomwascleaninghouseandtold

himtocomegrabhisoldthingsifhewantedthemorshewasputtingtheminstorage.Itseemedkindof

harshtome,butnowthatIseethemallpiledthere,itisquitealotofstufftohangontoovertheyears.I

pushoffthebedandpeerdownintothefirstunlabeledbox.Ikeepmyhandsclaspedbehindmyback,

figuringthatifIdon’ttouchanything,it’snotreallyaninvasionofprivacy.Insidethebox,thereare

trophiesandribbons,verymuchliketheonesadorningthewallinmybedroombackhome.

Theboxbesideitisfullofhisoldcrosscountrygear,oldshoesandworn-inuniforms.Therearea

fewbibsheworeduringraces,andlookingatthem,IrealizeItrulydespisecrosscountry.Alwaysdid.I

onlypickedupthesportbecauseofLucas.Ismileandmoveontothenextbox.It’sagoldmine,filled

withhomevideos.Fullofnostalgia,Ikneeldownclosetoreadthetitles,stillmakingsuretonottouch

anything.EachoftheDVDsiscarefullylabeled,andafewofthemsaythingslikeEaster1989or

Christmas1997.BabyMadeleineisprobablythestarattractioninallthevideosandIhavehalfamindto

watchoneofthem,butthenanotherstackofvideosintheboxcatchesmyeye.

LucasandDaisyDebateTournament-2006

L&DScienceFair-1999

1994-LucasandDaisySchoolPlay

Lucas&DaisyKindergartenGraduation

Therearedozensofthem,alllabeledformeandforLucas.Idecidethatifmynameisonthem,it’snot

reallybreakingtheprivacyrule,right?IsnatchthefirstoneinthestackandloaditintotheDVDplayerin

thelivingroom.Thevideoisn’tgreat,thanksinparttoMrs.Thatcher’sapparentvideographerpolicyof

moreismore.Shezoomsandpansandchangesorientationssomanytimes,I’mdizzybythetimeIlocate

thetwoofusintheframe.It’sfromoneofourlastcrosscountrymeetsoursenioryear.We’vefinished

racingandLucastookgoldinthemen’svarsitydivision.He’sholdinguphismedalforthecameraand

I’minthebackground,talkingwithMadeleine.Mrs.ThatcherandmymomtrytogetLucasandmetopose

foraphoto,butthelookonmyfacesaysitall:DoIhaveto?Lucasobviouslyagrees.

Heshakeshishead,cheeksredfromtherace,andletshismedalfallbacktohischest.“Mom.Stop.”

Heiseighteenallright,annoyedwithourparentsandnotafraidtoshowit.Hehuffsoutoftheframe

andthenmymomandMrs.Thatcherlaughoffcamera.

“They’resofunny.”

“Iguessyouwereright—theonlypeoplewhodon’tknowLucaslovesDaisyareLucasandDaisy,”

mymomsays,andMrs.Thatcheragrees.

Wait.

Whatdidshejust—

IrewindandwatchtheclipahalfdozentimesbeforeIleapoffthecouchandyankouttheDVD.

Iholditinthepalmofmyhand,studyingitbeforeslippingitbackintoitsprotectivesleep.Ilistenfor

soundsoffootstepsinthehall,willingLucastoreturn,butit’squietandI’mstillaloneinhisapartment,

waitingforhimtocomehomesowecanfight.It’swhatwe’rebestat.

IslipanotherDVDinandpressplay.It’slabeledLucasandDaisyDebateTournament2002,and

thereisasecondortwoofdebatecoverage:Lucasandmeasprecociousmiddleschoolers,sittingupon

theschoolstagewearingill-fittingchurchclothes,butthenthevideocutsoff.Someonerecordedoverthe

footage.

“Whichredbuttonmeansrecordagain?Oh!OkayIthinkit’son.Lookintothecameraandsayyour

nameandhowoldyouare.”

It’sMrs.Thatcher’svoice,buttheshothasn’tsettledintoplaceyet.Idon’tknowwhoshe’stalkingto

untilshepanstotherightandcentersonLucas,sittingontheground,choppinguppiecesofconstruction

paperintheirfamilyroom.

“Mom,I’mbusy.”

“Wellhi,‘Busy’.IthoughtyournamewasLucas,”sherepliesasonlymotherscan.“Andhowoldare

you?”

Herollshiseyesandstaresupintothecamera.Itnearlypunchesmeintheguttoseethisyoung

versionofLucas.Horriblebowlhaircut,braceslockedinplace.Hislimbsarelongandskinny,buteven

still,hewasoneofthepopularboysinourmiddleschool,aplacewhereawkwardphasesweretobe

expected.

“Thirteen.”

“Andwhatareyoudoingdownthereontheground?”

“Makingsomething,”hesays,lookingdownandgettingbacktoworkwithhisscissors.

Mrs.Thatcherdoesn’tgiveup.Shekeepsthecameraaimedonhimandprodshimforanswers.

“Isitagift?”

“Sorta.”

“Agiftforwhom?”

Hisspinegoespinstraight.“Noone.”

“Youknow,itkindoflookslikeyou’recuttingoutlittlewhiteflowers.”

Icanjustbarelymakeouttheedgeofthesmilehe’shidingfromthecamera.“Mmhmm.”

MyheartclenchesinmychestandIsitbackonmyheels,stillonlyafewfeetawayfromthe

television.

“Theylooklikedaisies.”

“Mmhmm.”

“She’sgoingtolovethem,”Mrs.Thatcherreplies.

Hisgazeflickersuptoher.“Thedanceisnextweek.IthoughtIcouldmakeherabouquettoaskher,

butsomeoftheguyssaidnottomakeitspecialincasethegirlsaysno.”

“Andwhatdoyouthink?”

“Ithinkshewouldwantsomethingspecial.”

Inthebackground,IhearfootstepsonthestairsandthenMadeleine’svoicedriftsintothevideo.

“HeyMom,canDaisyandIwalktogogetsomeicecream?”

“Dinnerwillbereadysoon.I’dratheryouwaitandgoafter.”

“Whatever.WhatareyoudoingLucas?”

“Don’tbotherhim,Madeleine.Gobackupstairs,orplayoutside.”

Shedoesn’tlisten.InsteadshewalksoverandcrouchesdowninfrontofLucas.Beforehecanstop

her,sheholdsuponesingulardaisymadeofwhiteandgreenconstructionpaper.Itwiltsinherhand.“Are

thesefor—youcan’tbeserious!”

“Madeleine!”Mrs.Thatcherdropsthevideocamera;theroomturnssidewaysandthenthevideogoes

black.

IrealizethenthatIrememberthatday.Irecognizethesoftbluet-shirtandcargoshortsLucasis

wearing.MadeleineandIplayedoutside,waitingfordinnersowecouldscarfdownourfoodandthen

walktogeticecream.

IrememberMadeleinerunningoutofthehousewithLucashotonherheels.Shewantedtotellme

something,wasdesperatetogetitout,butLucasspokefirst.HetoldmethatsinceIwouldprobablybe

goingtothedancealone,I’dbettergowithhimsopeopledidn’tpointandlaugh.Iwalkedupandpunched

himintheeye,rightunderneaththeiroaktree,andIgotintoahellofalotoftrouble.Evenstill,Iwas

allowedtogotothedancewithMattDelRey,andLucasnevershowed.Alltheseyears,Iassumedhe’d

beengroundedforbeingmeantome.Ilikedtoimaginehimathomewithcoldpeaspressedtohisbruised

face.

Thetruth…

Thetruthismuchworse.

InoticethereisaleakinLucas’ceiling,andthenIrealizethatit’sme.I’mcrying,becauseIamtoo

late.BecauseLucaslovedmeallalongandIsenthisCVtoHawaii.

Icallhimagain.Andagain.Idialsomanytimes,IfearmyphonecompanywillthinkI’vegonenuts

andcutoffmyservice.

Afterawhile,Irealizehemusthavehisphoneondonotdisturbbecausethere’snowayanyonein

theirrightmindwouldignorethismanycalls.ItryMadeleineandhisparents,buttheydon’tknowwhere

heis.I’mtemptedtochecktheLoneStarMotel,butit’salongwalkfromLucas’apartmentandthesunset

hoursago.

ItbecomesclearthatIwon’treachLucastonight.

Andthenmyemailpings.

From:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

To:daisybell@duke.edu

Subject:#352

Overtheyears,I’vewrittenyou351emails.ThefirstwastheweekIleftforcollege.Iwasmiserable

withoutyouandtoomuchofacowardtoeversayitoutloud,soItypeditupandsavedittomydrafts

folder.11yearslater,351emailshavebeenaddedtothatfolder.SometimesItreatedtheemailslikea

journal,butinreality,Ijustneededtofeelthetypeofconnectionwithyouthatoneclickofthemouse

couldprovide.ThisisthefirstoneI’veeversent,anditwillprobablybethelast.

LetmetellyouwhatIshouldhavetoldyouthen.

For18years,Ilovedyou.

Now,I’velovedyoufor28.

Itsoundslikequitetheaccomplishment,butit’salwaysbeensoeasyformetoloveyou.Throughall

thepain,alltheconflict,I’vealwaysknownthetruth.Wecaredabouteachother.Nobodyfightsover

somethingthatdoesn’tmatter—theyjustwalkaway.Andso,I’vealwaysknownthatifyoueverreally

wantedmetosuffer,allyouwouldhavetodoisjustthat.

Walkaway.

NowIseeIwasnaïve.Wewereneveronthesamepage.YouthinkIwantedtofightwithyoubecause

Ihateyou?BecauseIwanttowin?Whatdoesitevenmeanto“win”atthispoint?Whatarewefighting

for?Thejob?Hometownhero?OvertheyearsI’velosttrack,andIneverreallymindedbecauseforme,

itwasneveraboutthewaranditwasneveraboutbeatingyou.IjustwantedtohaveyouanywayIcould.

Iregretlettingitgosofar.Ishouldhavesaidsomethingtenyearsago.Ishouldhavenevercomeback

toHamilton.Insteadofwritingthatveryfirstemail,Ishouldhavewalkedoutofmydormroomandmeta

girl.Anygirl.Butitwasalreadytoolate;notonegirlIdatedovertheyearseverchallengedmelikeyou

did.Howcouldthey?Myheart,myfightwaswithsomeoneelse.

Iknowyouneveraskedmetosacrificesomuchtoloveyouovertheyears.Youprovedasmuchby

signingthatofferletter.Butasyoubaskinthewinner’scircle,Daisy,Iwantyoutolookbackatthedoors

you’veclosedbehindyouandaskyourselfonething.

Wasitallworthit?

-Lucas

___

Foraslongaswe’vebeeninconflict,itstrikesmethatthiscouldbethefirstrealfightwe’veeverhad.

Lucas’rawhurtandangerleapsoutfromthecomputerscreenandslicesrightthroughme.It’san

unrestrainedhonestyfromhimthatI’veneverfeltbefore.

Isenseflickersofmyoldself,thedesiretolashoutathimforwaitingsolongtotellmethis,theurge

tocallandheappartoftheblameforthismessbackontohim.I’mwillingtobeartheweightofyour

words,butnottheburdenof28yearsofsilence.That’sonyou,Lucas.

ButnowIcanseethatmynormalinclinations—attack,criticize,insult—they’reactuallyalldefense

mechanisms,waystohidefeelingsfrommyselfthathurttoomuchtoacknowledge.I’vereachedapoint

nowwhereithurtsmoretoleavethetruthunspoken.

SoinsteadofcontinuingawarI’mnolongerinterestedinfighting,IhitreplyandhopetoGodit’snot

toolate.

From:daisybell@duke.edu

To:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

Subject:You’rewrong,butfortherightreasons.

Pleasecomehomesowecantalk.Youthinkyouhaveeverythingfiguredout,butyou’rewrong.Iwasn’t

evergoingtotakethatjob.Yes,Iconsideredit—wouldyouhaverespectedmeifIhadn’t?Youknowit

hasalwaysbeenmydreamtoownmyownpractice.Foryears,Iworkedforthatgoal,sowhenitwas

deliveredtomeonasilverplatter,Ihadtotakeasecondtothinkaboutit.

Wouldyoubelievethatsomeoneyou’veknownyourwholelifeiscapableofchange?Ihopeso,

becauseIthinkthat’swhatishappeninghere.Tous.Don’tyousee?Youremailwasn’tthe352

something,itwasthefirst.

Pleaselettherebeasecond.

Love,

Daisy

___

Mynightisspenthittingtherefreshbuttononmybrowseroverandoverandover.Ihoverovermyinbox,

waitingforanewemailtopopupfromLucas,butI’mnotshockedthatheneverreplies.Thenextday,

whenIgointotheofficewithpuffyeyesanddroopyshoulders,Dr.McCormickinformsmethatLucashas

requestedtherestoftheweekoff.TheangerI’dhopedwoulddissipateovernighthasonlygrown

stronger,andIdon’tblamehim.Whatseemedlikepetulantbehavioryesterdaynowseemswholly

justified.IhadallnighttothinkovermyactionsandIdon’tblameLucasforhisanger.Idon’tblamehim

forwalkingout.Nowonderhelookeddefeated.Nowonderhedidn’tputafight.Howtiredmusthebe

after28yearsofthesameroutine?Himputtinghimselfontheline,mecompletelybulldozingoverhis

feelings.Oblivious.Naïve.Selfish.TothinkthatImighthavetakenthatjobisthetruelessoninallthis.I

mighthaveprovokedLucasintoactionovertheyears,buthewasneverreallythebadguy.

Iwas.

IhavenocluewhereLucasisorhowlongheintendstoignoreme,butI’mnotgoingtogiveup.

IfIwanttoreachhim,I’mgoingtohavetotryalittleharder.AndIwill.Becausefor28years,Lucas

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- F I V E

From:daisybell@duke.edu

To:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

Subject:Hey

Worksuckswithoutyou.Ihadanitchundermycastandnowoneofyourchopsticksisstuckinthere.

Pleasecallmeback,Ineedadoctor.

___

From:daisybell@duke.edu

To:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

Subject:Emails

I’msorry,thatwasabadattemptathumor,whichismetryingtoavoidbeinghonest.Doyoustillhavethe

other351emails?I’dliketoreadthem.Evenifyouwantnothingtodowithme,theleastyoucandois

sendmethoseemails.Orareyougoingtomakemewrite350moreofthesebeforeyourespond?Itmight

takeawhile—I’mhavingtohitthekeyboardwiththeendofthatchopsticktotype.

___

From:daisybell@duke.edu

To:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

Subject:Re:Emails

I’MSORRYI’MSORRYI’MSORRYI’MSORRYI’MSORRYI’MSORRYI’MSORRYI’MSORRY.

PSAreyoureadingthese?

___

From:defnotdaisybell@gmail.com

To:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

Subject:Hi

Hi,thisisuhm,Macy.I’masexysingleinyourarea,andIwaswondering

Okay,itactuallyisme.Canwetalk?PLEASE?Imadethisemailaddressincaseyoublockedmyother

one.Youaresostubborn.Whodoesn’treplytoemailsandphonecallsforDAYS?!Areyoutryingto

punishme?Igetit,Ideserveit,butIwanttomovepastthis,andwecan’tdothatifwecan’ttalk.

Also,thatchopstickwoundisprobablyinfectednow,soifwedon’ttalksoon,we’llhavetoschedulemy

apologytouraroundmyamputationandrecovery.

Daisy

___

From:daisybell@duke.edu

To:lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

Subject:Re:Emails

I’mnotgivingup.

Daisy

___

IknowitwilltakedrasticmeasurestowinLucasover.Emailsandphonecallsaren’tenough;I’llhaveto

getcreative.IdialMadeleine.

“IneedyourhelpgettingLucassomewhereonSaturdaynight.”

“Really?It’sbeentoolongsinceyou’vetormentedhim.Areyougoingtopullaprankbecause—”

“NoMadeleine,notthistime.Justgethimthere.”

Intheoldhomevideo,Lucaswasplanningonaskingmetotheeighth-gradeformal.It’dbewaymore

poetictopullmylittlestuntatthesamedance,butunfortunately,it’sstillmonthsaway.Idon’thave

monthstowait,butluckisonmysidewhenIcheckandseethatthere’sasixth-gradeSadieHawkins

danceatthemiddleschoolonSaturdaynight.Ivolunteerasachaperoneandtheorganizersreluctantly

accept,despitefindingitextremelyoddconsideringIdon’thaveachildattendingtheschool.Irattleoffa

spielabouttheschoolnurseneedingbackuptotreatanydancinginjuriesnowthatthekidsarebumpin’

andgrindin’thesedays.

FindingthedressIworetothedanceallthoseyearsagoisnotaproblem.Mymomkeptitunder

plasticovertheyearsbecauseshe’samemoryhoarder.Sadly,Ihadagrowthspurtinhighschoolandthe

dressbarelycoversmybellybutton.Itryzippinguptheback,andIswearthezippercackleswhenithits

aroadblockafewinchesfromwhereitstarted.Iimprovisebylayeringitoverapairofjeansandalong-

sleevedt-shirt.Ilooklikeanoverstuffedsausagesleeve,butLucaswillappreciatetheeffort.Ihope.

Ifindapolaroidfromthedanceandpreciselyrecreatemyhairandmakeup,rightdowntothecrunchy

curlsandsmearedredlipstick.IbuyLucasaboutonniereandIwearamatchingcorsage—whichfits

nicelyovermylimegreencast,thankyouverymuch.Ipurchaseadisposablecameraandstuffitintomy

child-sizedpurse.Thisisahistoricalreenactment,people,andIdon’tskimponthedetails.

ItallseemslikeagreatideauntilIarriveatthedanceandparentsstareatmeinconfusion.Atfirst,

theyprobablythinkI’mthemammothmiddleschoolerthatdevelopedtooearly,thankstoallthehormones

indairythesedays.BythetimetheyrealizeI’mactuallyanadult,theylookworriedthatI’vetakena

quickbreakfromsanity.Ismileandmovealong,neverstayinginoneplacetoolong,lesttheygrow

curiousandwanttocometalktomeorhavemecommitted.Madeleineassuresmesheisonherwaywith

Lucas,andwhenmyphonebuzzesinmyhand,Idon’tevenhavetoglancedowntoknowit’sgo-time.

They’rehere.

Thetimingisimpeccable.AsImakemywaytothesmallstageatthefrontofthedancefloor,Ispot

theunattendedmicrophoneandheadstraightforit.Acrossthestage,myeyeslockwiththosebelongingto

apint-sizedmiddleschoolerwhoisbeeliningforthesamedestination.She’sclosertothemicand

scurriestobeatmetoit.Shehasflashcardsinherhandandadeterminedexpressiononherface.She’s

basicallyme,14yearsago.

IturnovermyshoulderandseeMadeleineallbutdraggingadisheveledLucasthroughthedoors.It’s

clearhedoesn’twanttobehereandhasnocluewhat’sgoingon,butIneedhimtostay.

“Goodevening,ladiesandgentlemen!”announcesthesmallgirlthroughthemic.

C’mon,MissHonorRoll,makeitquick.

“ThankyouallforcomingtotheninthannualSadieHawkinsdance,”sheintones,makingsuretoover-

enunciateeachandeverysyllable.“ItistimetoannouncethewinnersofMr.andMrs.SadieHawkins

Dance2017!”

Sheholdsforapplausethatnevercomes.

Mostofthe“cool”middleschoolersignoreher,andthehalfthatarelisteningwearexpressionsthat

clearlysignalshe’ssecondsfromlosingthem.AndI’msecondsfromlosingLucas.He’sshakinghishead

andtugginghisarmoutofMadeleine’sgrip.He’stryingtoheadbackoutthedoor,backtowhereverhe’s

beenhidingoutoverthelastfewdays,toostubborntoreturnanyofmyphonecalls.

“Butfirst,abitofhistory,”thetinymiddleschoolercontinues.“Asyouprobablyknow,theSadie

HawkinsdanceisanAmericanfolkevent.Itwasfirstfeaturedonacomicstripintheearly1930sand—”

“LUCAS!”Ishoutthroughthemicrophoneafterwrenchingitoutofthegirl’shandandholdingitjust

aboveherreach.Themixedreactionsfromthecrowdaresilencedbythesharpwhineoffeedbackthat

issuesfromtheamps.

“Hey!Youcan’tdothat!”reprimandstheminiatureMC.“I’mthestudentbodypresidentand

chairpersonofthedancecommittee!”

Shecomesupmyelbows,soI’mabletopretendIcan’thearher.Whenshefinishespuberty,she’ll

understandwhyIhavetodowhatI’mabouttodo.

“Lucas!”Ishoutagain.Heturnsandfindsmeonstage.“Don’tleave!”

Forasecond,hestopsfightingandstandsthere,shocked.Madeleinereleaseshergriponhimand

quicklyreachesforhercellphone.IhopeherphonefreezesbeforeshecanloadSnapchat.

LucasisinastateI’veneverseenbefore.Wornjeansandat-shirt.Dayoldstubbleanddisheveled

hairsortofshootingineverydirection.He’sclearlyspentthelastfewdaysinhell,probablytryingto

convincehimselftofinallygetoverme.IprayI’mnottoolate.

“Youhavetolistentome,”Icontinue.“Thatthingwiththejobwasamisunderstanding.”

Mywordsareweakandheknowsit.Sure,heprobablywasn’tthrilledtolearnhemightbeoutofa

job,butIknowdeepdownitwasneveraboutwork.Itwasaboutme.He’samessbecausehethinkshe’s

wastedhalfhislifelovingsomeonethatwouldcasuallystabhimintheback.Heshakeshisheadand

startstobackupandIknowwhatIhavetodo.Ishoutintothemicrophoneanditringssharplyin

everyone’sears.

“ILOVEYOU,LUCASTHATCHER!”

Allisquiet.Theentireschoolcafeteriahasbeenmomentarilysilencedbymydesperateoutburst.A

wolf-whistlebreaksthespellandafewkidsgiggle,butLucashaspausedonceagain.He’slookingback

atme,waitingformetocontinue.

“Iloveyou,whichseemscrazybecauseupuntilaboutfourdaysago,IreallythoughtIhatedyou.But

whenyouthinkaboutit,loveandhatearen’tsoverydifferent,right?Tolovesomeoneistostrivetobea

betterpersonforthem,andisn’tthatwhatourhatefullittlecompetitionhasbeenaboutthewholetime?”

“Booooo!!!”afewmiddleschoolboysshout.“Getaroom,grandma!”

Iforgeahead.

“Ifeelsostupidbecauseittookmesolongtoseeit,butIseeitnow.You’velovedmefromthevery

beginningandIthinkeveryoneknewitbutme.Icouldn’tseeitbecauseIwassoselfish,caughtupinmy

ownsillyneedtowineverybattlewithyou,butthiswholetime,you’vebeenpatient.You’veplayedthe

gameswithmebecausethat’swhatIneeded,butyourheartwasneverinit.Youwerenevertryingtotake

medown.Youwereinlovewithme.”

“Getoffstage,weirdo!”anotherboyshouts.

“AndIknowittookmeareallylongtimetoseethat,likeanembarrassingamountoftime,butnowI

understandandI’mnotgoingtoletyouwalkawayfromus.That’swhyI’mdressedlikethis!Ihavea

boutonniere!Acorsage!Iwanttogobackintimeandmakethingsright!”

Achaperonehascomeupontothestagebehindmeandistryingtowrestthemicrophoneoutofmy

hand.I’msecondsawayfrombeingcartedoutofthedanceinhandcuffs.

“Hey!Stop.Ijusthaveonemore—”

“Ma’am,youhavetogetoffstage.”

“Lucas!”Ishoutrightbeforethemicisrippedoutofmyhand.“Ifit’snotalreadyclear,you’remyMr.

SadieHawkins2017!”

“Thosearenottheofficialresults!”squealsthesmallstudentbodypresident,stilltuggingonthe

microphonecord.

Themiddleschool’sresourceofficermovesveryquicklyforsuchanelderlyman.Withinseconds,

he’spulledmeoffstageandwiththehelpofthechaperone,they’vegotmyhandspulledbehindmyback,

heldtogetherbyaziptie.

“Sorryaboutthis,Daisy.”

IturnovermyshoulderandrecognizeTiffanyGaw,anoldfriendfromtheneighborhood.Iforgotshe

taughtatthemiddleschool.She’stheonewhohelpeddetainme.

“Oh,heythereTiffany.Howyabeen?”

“Notbad.Imean,comparedtoyou,IguessI’vebeenprettygood,”shejokesbeforequickly

apologizing.Itellhernottoworryaboutit—shehasapoint.

“Um,excuseme!”Tinymiddleschoolerisback,huffingharderthanever.“I’mheretopresscharges.”

Theofficershakeshishead.“I’mafraidthishereisacatchandreleasesituation,missy.Nothin’really

illegalaboutembarrassingyourselfinfrontofchildren.”

“Daisy!”Madeleineshoutsmelodramatically,runningthroughthecrowdtogettome.“Ohmygod

officer,don’ttakehertothebighouse,she’dneverlast!WillIbeyouronephonecallfromjail,Daisy?!

Ohhey,Tiffany.”

“HeyMadeleine.”

“Soisshegoingdowntown?Totheslammer?”Madeleineasks.

Theofficerlooksupatme.“IfIcutthistie,you’renotgoingtorunbackonstageandcontinuetoruin

thedanceareyou?”

IlookupandseeLucashoveringintheperipheryofthegroup,watchingthesceneandwearinga

smile.It’ssmall,butit’sthere,andwhenhiseyeslockwithmine,there’snoevidenceofhatredanymore,

justamusement.It’stheanswerIneeded.

“No.IswearI’mdone.”

“Right,well,justtoshowthosekidsandtheirparentsthatI’mnotlettingyouoffeasy,I’mmacartyou

outofherelikethisandthenI’llcutyoulooseoutside.”

“Seemsfair.”

“Thisisaninjustice,”mumblesthemiddleschoolerbeforeretrievingthemicrophoneandattempting

toregainthecrowd’sattention.

I’mledoutofthedancetoachorusofcheersandboos.Theverysameboyswhotauntedmeonstage

nowthinkIamcoolerthancoolinmyhandcuffedstate.Mystreetcredhasdoubled.

Inall,takingoverthestageatamiddleschooldanceprobablywon’tgodownasmymostbrilliant

idea.I’msurewordwillspreadthatI’vegoneoffmyrockerandamnotsuitabletopracticemedicine.Dr.

McCormickwilllikelywanttohaveawordwithmeatworkonMonday,butI’llexplainmyreasonings

andIhavenodoubthiseyeswillbemoistbytheendofit—notonlybecausehe’sabigsoftie,but

becauselikemosteveryoneinourlife,IsuspecthehassecretlybeenrootingforLucasandmeallalong.

Oh,right.Lucas.

Apparentlytheloveofmylife.

Ilaughbecausetome,itisstillfunny.

IlookbackjustasLucascatchesupwithmeandthesecurityguard.He’sstillwearingthatsecret

smileandIwanttothrowmyarmsaroundhimandhughim,butI’mhandcuffed.Acriminal.

“Allright,miss,”theguardsays,“IfIcatchyouwithintwentyfeetofthatdance,I’llhandcuffyoufor

good.Youhearme?”

“Yessir.I’velearnedmylesson.”

Lucasarchesabrow,watchingtheexchangeandprobablyenjoyingitallalittletoomuch.Oncemy

handshavebeencutfree,IrollthemoutandrubmywristslikeI’vebeentiedupforyears,notminutes.

“Ithoughthewasgoingtotakemedowntotheclink,”Isay,chancingaglanceatLucas.Idon’twant

himtoboltnowthatI’mnotindangerofbeingarrestedanymore.

“You’rewacko,”hesays,steppingcloser.

Butthere’sadorationinhiswordsandIthinktherealwayshasbeen,butnowIcanhearit.I’mfinally

listening.

“I’vemissedyou.”

Hetiltshishead.“Yeah?”

“Ofcourse.Iateallthefoodinyourapartment.Ineedyoutocomebackandbuymore.”

Helaughsandreachesout.Withonehandaroundmyneck,hetugsmecloseandpullsmetohischest.I

closemyeyesandinhale.“Charming.”

“I’mreallysorry,”Isayagainsthisshirt.“ThatthingwiththeCVsgotoutofhand.Ineverreally

wantedyoutoleave.”

“Iknow.”

“Wherehaveyoubeenthelastfewdays?”Iask.

“HidingoutatMadeleine’s.Lookingforjobs.”

IpullbacksoIcanlookupathim.“What?!Lucasc’mon,don’tbesilly.Obviouslyyouhavetostayat

Dr.McCormick’s.”

“Doesn’tlooklikethat’sanoption.Yousaidityourself.”

“Iturneddownthejob.IwantusbothtostayatDr.McCormick’s.”

“Iappreciatethegesture,but…doesitevenmatter?”

“IalsohaveareallybrilliantplanforhowwecantakedownMediQuik.”

“Yeah?”

“Steponeissimple:weworktogether.”

“Hashellfrozenover?”

“No,hearmeout.Wewereabletoaccomplishquiteabitcompetingagainstoneanotherallthese

years.Justthinkwhatwouldhappenifwewereonthesameteam.”

“Whatdoyouhaveinmind?”

“Ohaton!I’vebeenthinkingitoverthelastfewdays.Waystosmashthem.Waystoburythem.Ways

to—”

“Isanyofitlegal?”

“Oh,right.Well,Iguesswe’llhavetogobackthedrawingboard.”

Henodsandstepsback,givinghimselfalittlebitofspace.It’slikehe’sstillinshockatwhat’s

transpiredandhe’snotquitereadytojumpbackinwithbothfeet.Aftersomanyyears,I’veconditioned

himtobereserved,andIcan’tforcehimtotrustmerightaway—thoughthat’sexactlywhatIwant.

WewavegoodbyetoMadeleine—shewantstostaybehindandchatwithTiffany—andthenstartto

walktowardtheparkinglot.There’sspacebetweenus,agulfreally,andthoughIwanttoreachforhis

hand,Idon’t.

He’squiet.Contemplative.I’mscaredhe’stalkinghimselfoutofforgivingme,orworse,buildingup

somekindofgoodbyespeech.So,beforehecanunwindthethoughtsswirlingaroundhisstubbornhead,I

speakfirst.

“IrealizedIlovedyoubeforeyouleft.”

Hisgazestaysstraightahead,butIwatchhismouthtightenintoaflatline.He’sheardme.

“Idon’tknowifthatmatterstoyou,butIthoughtyoushouldknow.Itdidn’ttakeyouleavingorus

havingamassiveblowupformetorealizewhatIfeltforyou.Iwassittinginmyoffice,staringatthat

signedoffersheetandwonderingwhyIcouldn’tsenditbacktoDamian.Owningmyownpracticehas

alwaysbeenmydreamandyet,Iwasfrozeninplace,stuckrightontheprecipiceofrealizingthetruth.”

Henods,understanding.“AndthenMariahknockedonyourdoor…”

“AndthenMariahknockedonmydoor,”Iecho.“Iwon’tgointothedetailsofthatofferorwhyI

didn’tturnitdownthefirstseconditwaspresentedtome.Idon’tthinkitmattersanymore.Ijustwanted

youtoknowthatIlovedyoubeforeyouwalkedaway.”

Helooksovertomeandstudiesme.

“OfcourseI’dhaverealizeditmuchsooner,butI’mreallyflawed.Chockfullofthemreally.I’m

stubbornandcanapparentlybequiteself-centered.I’mgoingtoworkonthat.”

Thetipofhismouthturnsup.It’shardlyasmileatall,butthenheshakeshisheadandreachesoutfor

me.Heclosesthegapbetweenusandtucksmeunderhisarmsowecanwalkintandemtohistruck.

He’sstillsoquiet.Ireallyneedhimtospeak.

NamelyIwanttohearthosethreelittlesissywordsfromLucas.

Threewordsthathaveneverfeltsoimportant.

“Youknow,youcansayit.I’mkindofwaitingforyoutosayit.”

“What?”

HeopensthepassengersidedoorsoIcanhopin,butIdon’t.

“Thedeclarationthing,aboutyourfeelings…”

“Oh?YouthinkIstillloveyou?”

Myheartsinks.

“Lucas!Ijustgotmyselfarrestedatamiddleschool!Theleastyoucandoissayit.”

Hesmirksandmovescloser,pinningmeupagainstthesideofthetruck.“Thiswasallpartofmyplan,

Daisy.Remember?”

HetakesanothersteptowardmeandIholdmybreathashishipsbrushagainstmine.Hebendslow,

cagingmeinwithonehandovermyheadandtheotheronmyneck,brushingasideafewstrandsofhair.

Hiswarmbreathhitsmyexposedskinandashiverrunsdownmyspine.Itiltmyhead,givinghim

consent,buthelingers.Teasingme.Iwrapmyhandaroundhisbicep,contemplatingtakingmattersinto

myownhandsjustbeforehepressesakisstomyneck,justbelowmyear.“IcamebacktoHamiltonto

wooyou,makeyoufallinlove…”

IsqueezemyeyesclosedandthinkofLaurynHillbecausehe’skillingme.Softly.Withhiswords.

“Ican’tbelieveyoufellforit.”

Isqueezehisbiceps.It’sawarning.

Helaughsunderhisbreathandpullsaway.“OfcourseIloveyou,Daisy.”Hetugshishandthroughhis

hair,looksaway,thenback.“Imean,comeon,I’velovedyousinceIknewwhatlovemeant.”

“Sowhataboutallthosetimesyoutormentedme?”

Hewipesawayhissmile.“Mostofthetimepeoplegettoleavetheirhometownandreinvent

themselvesduringcollege,butyouknoweverythingaboutme,thegood,thebag,andtheugly.Soyeah,at

times,Ididn’treallyknowhowtoshowit,butrestassured,it’salwaysbeenyou.”

Ithinkanentirehoardofbutterflieshasbeensetlooseinmystomach.

Thecarridetomymom’shouseisawildone.I’mrattlingoffeventaftereventfromourchildhood,

tryingtoseeitthroughhiseyes.

“Howaboutduringswimpractice?!WhenIheardyoutellGregOliverIsmelledlikeagoat?”

Heshrugs.“HelikedyouandIdidn’twanthimto.Iwasseven.”

“Debatepracticewhenyourefusedtobeonmyteam?”

“Youwouldn’thavebeenonmine.Webothknowitwasn’tfununlesswewerecompetingagainsteach

other.”

Muchofourlivesfollowthispattern,andI’mnotsurprisedtofindthathetoothoughtcollegeand

medicalschoolwouldhealhim.Allthoseyearsago,Iassumedmovingawaywouldallowmetoescape

him,andhe’dassumedthesame.Fortunately,wewerebothwrong.

“Whatdoyouneedatyourmom’shouse?”heasksaswepullontoourstreet.

“Therestofmystuff.Theyfinishedfumigatingyesterday.”

Henods,understanding.“Goingtomoveintomyguestbedroompermanently?”

Ismirk.“IthoughtI’dtryoutyourbedforachange.”

Idon’thavetolooktoknowhe’sgrinningashepullsupinfrontofmychildhoodhome.Therearetwo

carsparkedinmymom’sdriveway:hersmallsedanandanoldblacksuburban.

Webothrecognizeitrightaway.

“IsthatDr.McCormick’scar?”

IshakemyheadasIhopout.“Itcan’tbe.”

IwalkupthepathandseetheTVonthroughthelivingroomwindow.Ihaveahousekey,butIleftit

backatLucas’apartment.I’mabouttoknockorringthedoorbellwhenIseeDr.McCormickwalkoutof

thekitchenwithtwoglassesofwineinhand.Heheadsrightovertomycouchandplopsdownbesidemy

mom.Shetakesthewineandkisseshimasifit’sthemostnaturalthingintheworld.

What.The.Hell.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Lucasasksbehindme.“Justknock.”

Butthenthey’rekissingmoreand—

“Ohmygod.”Ijumpandspinaround,fleeingbackdownthepath.“RUN.RUN!”

“What’swrong!What’sgoingon?”

“Dr.McCormickisinthere!Kissingmymom!”

“Noshit?Wow,youwerecommittedtotakingoverthepractice.Ididn’teventhinkofgettingmymom

toseduceDr.McCormick.”

“Ididn’teither!Ohmygod.Ineedtogetthatimageoutofmyhead.”

Ileapbackintohistruckandslamthedoorclosedbehindme.Ican’tlookbackforfearthatthey’ve

caughtussnooping.

Lucasislaughinginthedriver’sseat.“Youknowit’stotallynormal,right?Yourmomhasbeensingle

forever,andDr.McCormickisagoodguy.”

He’sright.Ofcourseheis.Mymomdeservestobehappy,andinsometwisteduniverse,sheandDr.

McCormickdomakeaverycutecouple,butIdon’twanttothinkaboutthatatthemoment.

“IjustsawthemFrenchkissing,Lucas—givemeasecondtowrapmyheadaroundit.”

“Doyouthinkyou’llhavetostartcallinghimDadatwork?”

“Ohmygod.STOP!”

Hestartsthetruck.

“SoIguesswearen’tgettingyourstufftonight?”

“Absolutelynot.”

“You’restillmovinginthough,right?”

“Ofcourse!Idon’tthinkIcaneversitonthatcouchagain!”

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- S I X

LucasandIspendtherestoftheweekendlockedinhisroom,barelycomingupforairorfood.By

Mondaymorning,there’sadistinctmuskclingingtohisbeddingandahalfdozenemptyboxesofToaster

StrudelsandEggoWafflesstrewnaroundthekitchenfloor.Weareanimals.

“Youcleanuptheboxes,”Lucassays.“I’llthrowthesheetsinthewash.”

“Okay,anddon’tforget,weneedtogetDr.McCormickacoffeeonthewaytotheoffice!”Ishoutfrom

theshower.“Incasewordgotoutaboutmystintinthecriminaljusticesystem.”

“Whatifhefiresyou?”

“WellIalreadydeclaredwaronMediQuik,soI’llprobablyjuststayhereinbed,schemingand

waitingforyoutocomehomeeveryday.”

“You’dgetbored.”

Iturnofftheshowerandhopout.

“Hewon’tfireme.”

Lucasisatthesink,spittingouttoothpaste,andwhenheseesmesteppingoutoftheshower,dripping

wet,Iswearhestartstosalivate.HeturnsandassessesmejustbeforeIwrapthetowelaroundmy

midsection.

“Don’teventhinkaboutit.”Ilevelhimwithahardglare.“We’llbelate.”

“What’sthepointoflivingtogetherifwedon’thavesexbeforework?”

Heasksthislikeit’salegitimatequestion.

“Wealreadyhadsexthismorning,Lucas.Andaboutthreehundredtimesinthelasttwodays.”

“Wehavetomakeupforlosttime.”Hesmirksandmystomachclenches.Iknowitwouldn’tbehard

toconvincemyselfthatroundtwoisagoodidea,soIfleefromthebathroomandlockmyselfinhis

bedroomsoIcanstarttopullmyselftogether.

Heknocksonthedoor.“Hey,youhavetoletmein.Ineedtogetdressedtoo.”

“Idon’ttrustyou.”

“We’rematureadults,Daisy.I’mnotgoingtothrowyouontothebedandravishyou.”

Ispareaquickglanceatthebaremattress.It’stootempting,soIdon’tunlockthedooruntilI’m

dressed.

“Icouldstillhikeupthatskirt,”LucaswarnsasIpass.

Ibathishandawayandheadtothekitchentoriflethroughhiscabinets.Iwasn’tkiddingabouteating

allofhisfood.We’llhavetodoagrocerystorerunafterwork.Becausethat’swhatwedonow.Wegoto

thegrocerystoretogetherlikea…couple.Ourmotherswouldn’tbelieveitiftheysawit.

Onthewaytowork,Ipsychmyselfup,tryingtothinkupexplanationsforthequestionsDr.

McCormickwillhave.WhetherIagreewithitornot,doctorsareheldtohigherstandards,anditmakes

sense.Noonewantstobetreatedbyaphysicianwhoismentallyunstable—butI’mnot.Iwillplead

temporaryinsanityduetothestressofnearlylosingLucasforgood.Dr.McCormickwillunderstand.

Also,thefreshcoffeefromHamiltonBrewshouldhelpdullhisanger.

Ihaveitallplanned.

Dr.McCormickisinhisoffice,waitingformewhenwearrive.

“Goodmorning,Dr.McCormick.”

Helooksupfromhisdesk,whichisevenmessierthanusual.Isweartherearemorefilespiledthere

thanupfrontinreception.Heswearsheisabletokeepitorganizedinhismind,butIhavemydoubts.

“Comein,comein.IhavesomethingIwanttotalktoyoutwoabout.”

Thetalk.Ofcourse.Iknewitwascoming.It’swhyIputanextrapacketofsugarinhishazelnut

coffee.

“Right.Here—Ibroughtyouthis.”

Hetakesaquicksipandthenmotionsforustohaveaseat.Hefollowsandforafewsecondswe’re

blockedfromoneanotherbythemountainoffilesonhisdesk.

Heshufflesafewthingsaround,andatlast,wecanseehim,lookingalittleweary,probably

disappointed.

“Beforeyoustart,youshouldknowInevermeanttomisrepresentthepracticeSaturdaynight,”Ibegin.

“Ihadnochoice.Myactions,whileseeminglychildish,wereofutmostimportance.”

Heeyesme,confused,thenlaughsinrecognition.“Oh,you’retalkingaboutthemiddleschooldance

thing?”

Igulp.He’sabouttogivememywalkingpapers.Reportmetothemedicalboard.WhatwillLucas

think?HowlongwillwelastifI’mnotworking,orifIhavetomove?

“Yes.LikeIsaid,itwasatinylapseinjudgement—”

Heinterruptsme.“That’snotwhyIcalledyouinhere,thoughfrankly,I’msurprisedthat’sallittook

foryoutowinLucasover.Ifigureditwouldtakesomesortofmiracleafterwhatyou’veputeachother

throughovertheyears.”

Idon’targue.I’malittletoostunnedforwords.

Lucasreachesformyhandtoreassureme.

“Icalledthetwoofyouinherebecausetwoweeksfromnow,Iwillnolongerbeworkinghereat

McCormickFamilyPractice.”

“You’reshuttingdown?!”Igasp.

Ispiralintoapanic.HemusthaveheardaboutMediQuik.

Hefrowns.“No.I’mretiring.”

“Butwhyearly?Doyouthinkwecan’tcompeteagainstMediQuik?”

Lucassqueezesmyhand.“Daisy,let’sjusthearthemanout.”

“Asyouknow,myoriginalplanwastostayonalittlelonger,”Dr.McCormickcontinues,“tohelpyou

twogetsettled,butI’vefoundtheloveofmylifeandIdon’twanttospendanotherminuteinthisoffice.I

haveplans.Bigplans.”

“Tobeclear,you’retalkingaboutmymother,right?”

Hiseyeswiden.“Shetoldyou?”

“You’renottheonlyonethatcanspotlovefromafar,”Ireply,sidesteppingthemake-outsessionI

witnessedaltogether.“I’mhappyforyouguys.”

Now,hebeams.HeisfloatingonacloudandIgetit.Whywouldhewanttospendanotherminute

coopedupinhere?He’sbeenalonenearlyhalfhislifeandnowhe’shappy.Withmymom.Ha,who

wouldhavethought?

“WewanttobuyanRVandtravelallovertheU.S.YourmomisdyingtoseeAlaska!”

“Andthepractice?”Lucasasks.

“I’mleavingittoyouboth.”

Hesaysitjustlikethat.Nofanfare.

“Youcan’tjustgiveittous!”Iinsist.

Herubshismustacheasifonlynowconsideringthatfact.“Right.Yes.WhileIdon’treallyfindit

necessary,ifyoutwoinsistonabuyout,I’llinsistongivingy’allthefamilydiscount.”

Wediscussthenittygrittydetailsoftransitioningthecompany.Icantellhe’sbeenthinkingaboutthis

forawhile,becausehealreadyhasallthepapersinafilefromhislawyer.

Therewillbedisgruntledpatients,nonetoopleasedtoseetheirbeloveddoctorretire,butthey’ll

understandwhenweexplainthatDr.McCormickisjettingoffintothesunset,behindthewheelofanRV,

enjoyingamuch-deservedvacation…withmyhotmom.

Hehandsoffafewpacketsofpaperworkforustoreview,butwhenwewalkoutofhisofficeafew

minuteslater,onethingisabsolutelyclear:LucasandIhavebeenofferedourownpractice.Wewillbe

co-owners.ThethingI’mfocusedonthemostisthatprefix:co,meaningjointorjoined.Thatprefix

wouldhavesuckedthejoyoutofthemomentonlyafewshortweeksago,butnowitmakesmesmile.

ImovedbacktoHamilton,Texas,totakeoverMcCormickFamilyPractice,tobeatLucasashisown

game,andtobecomethebetterdoctor—thebetterperson,onceandforall.Iassumedthatbyachieving

thatgoal,Iwouldbecuredofmyobsessionwithhim.IthoughtIwouldfinallystopcaringaboutLucas.

Butlikesomuchelse,Iwaswrongaboutthat.

“Doesitscareyou?Totakeoverthepracticewithme?”Lucasasks.

He’sstandingrightbesidemeinthekitchen,waitingformetostepawayfromthecoffeepotsohecan

pourhisowncup.

“Itshould.”

Henods,understanding.

“Imean,thedesiretocompetewithyouislikeaphantomlimb.I’llprobablyalwaysfeelit,evenif

it’snolongerneeded.Itdoeskindoffeellikeananticlimacticendingtoourlittlewar.”

“Doyouwantittokeepgoing?”

Istepbackandmakeroomforhim,inthekitchenandinmylife.

Ismile.“No.Doyou?”

Heshakeshisheadadamantly.“Ofcoursenot.”

Inod.

“Doyouwanttoknowwhy?”heasks.

“I’msureyou’lltellmeevenifIdon’t.”

Helooksatmeoverhisshoulder.Hisdarkframesinplace.Hishairtoobrown,hissmiletoo

tempting.Heisawalkingdream,andheismine.

Heshrugs.“Yeah.You’reright.Itgoeswithoutsaying.”

HemakesitthreestepsoutintothehallwaybeforeIcatchuptohim,grabhiswrist,tuggently.

“Sure,butifyouweregoingtosayit…”

Hegrinsandtakeshistimeturningaroundtofaceme.Itrytobitemylip,toconcealmyreaction.It

doesn’twork.

“Because,Daisy,Iwon.IhaveeverythingI’vealwayswanted.”

E P I L O G U E

LucasandIareinachurch.He’swearingatuxedoandI’mwearingadressthatissopoufy,Icanhardly

stand.Wearefacingeachotheronoppositesidesofthealtar,listeningtoapreacherdroneonandon.I

shouldbepayingattention,butI’mwatchingLucas.Andhe’swatchingme.It’sourownprivate

conversationinthemiddleoftheceremony.

Thearchofmybrowaskshimifhewantstogetoutofhere.

Hissmirktellsmewehavetostayawhile.

We’rekindofimportant.

No,notthebrideandgroom.

We’rehereformymomandDr.McCormick.Thetwolovebirdsaregettinghitched.I’mthemaidof

honor,Lucasisthebestman.

Fornow,I’mhappytobestandingofftotheside,outofthespotlight.WhenLucasandIgetmarried,I

wantittobesmallandintimate,maybejustthetwoofus.

Ourentireliveshavebeenaspectacle.We’vemadeitso.Evennow,ayearafterwetookover

McCormickFamilyPracticeandranMediQuikoutoftown,wecan’tgoadaywithoutsomeone

referencingouroldwar.Itseemsthathalfthepeopleintown“knewitallalong”whiletheotherhalfstill

can’tbelieveweloveeachother.They’replacingbetsforwhenit’llallblowupinourfaces.Sure,there

arestilldaysIwanttokillLucas(themanhasawayofgettingundermyskin),butthatpassionIfeel

whenwefightisthesamepassionIfeelwhenLucasbrushesupbehindmewhileI’mcookingdinner,

whenhewrapshisarmsaroundmeandmakesmeforgetfoodevenexists.

HeisaprovocativeforceandIstillhaven’tcometotermswithmyloveforhim.Themagnitudeofmy

feelingsformyoldrivalscaresmeattimes.I’lllieinbed,pretendingtoreadandwatchhimsleep,

wonderinghowmanyyearswe’llgetlikethis.Iwasted28yearshatinghim;itonlyseemsfairthatwe

shouldgettwoorthreetimesaslongtomakeituptoourselves.

Heinclineshishead,probablywonderingwhatI’mthinking.

Itshouldn’tbehardtodecipher.

Withhiminthattuxedo,mythoughtshavebeennearthegutterallday.

HesmilesandthepreacherannouncesthatDr.McCormickmaynowkissthebride.Iturnmyattention

backtotheceremonyjustintimetoseehimplopabigol’smoochonmymom.Sheswoons,nosurprise

there—she’snuts,absolutelyinsaneinlovewithDonny.That’sDr.McCormick’srealname,butIrefuse

touseit.HewillalwaysbeDr.McCormicktome—orDr.Dad,asI’vejokinglystartedcallinghim.

Thecrowdcheers.Lucasclaps,andthenIholdoutmymom’sbouquetforhersotheycandescend

backdowntheaisleasamarriedcoupleforthefirsttime.

“Iloveyou,”shemouthstomejustbeforeDr.McCormickwhisksheraway.

Icouldn’tbehappierforher.They’reaperfectmatch,andIhavearefrigeratorcoveredinpostcards

fromalltheirtravelstoproveit.

Lucaswalkstothecenterofthealtarandholdsouthiselbowforme.Iacceptitandtogether,we

followthebrideandgroomdowntheaisle.

“Howmanywordsofthatdidyoucatch?”hewhispers.

“Three.Fourmax.”

“Yeahsame.”

“Whenwegetmarriedlet’sdoitonabeachorsomethingsoourguestshavesomethingprettytolook

atwhilethey’reignoringthevows.”

“Yeah,”heagrees.“Orwecouldjustdoitinamovietheater?”

“Smart.We’llservepopcornashorsd’oeuvresandplayaBournemovieinthebackground.”

“Ilikethewayyouthink,Bell.”

Wereachthebackofthechurchandhekissesmycheek.

“Justsowe’reclear,”Isay,“thatwasn’taproposal,right?”

Hesmirks.“No.That’scominglater.Duringthechampagnetoast.”

Myeyesgowide.“Youwouldn’tdare.Notinfrontofallthesepeople.”

Henods.“You’reright.BetterifIjustdoitrighthere.Rightnow.”

Heturnstofaceme.

I’mshaking.Hecan’tbeserious.Peopleareexitingthechurch.Watchinguswithcuriosity.Weare

practicallyunderamicroscope.

ButthenLucascracksasmile.

“What’sup?”heasks.

“Funny.”

Helaughsbecausehestilllikestotorturemefromtimetotime.Oldhabit.

Iturnonmyheelandheadstraightfortherefreshmenttableinthecorner.Hejoinsme.

“Ialreadyhavethering.”

Ismile.“Iknow.IfounditinyoursockdrawerwhenIfirstmovedinandwaslookingforspacefor

myclothes.”Ihandhimaglassofchampagnesowecanmakewayforotherguests.“Thatwasayear

ago.”

Heputshisfreehandinhispocket.Ican’thelpbutwonderifhehastheringonhimnow.

“Yeah,I’vehaditforawhile.”

“Howlongis‘awhile’?”

“IaskedmymomforitthesamedayIfoundoutyouweremovingbacktoHamilton.”

Hefollowsuphisconfessionwithalongsipofchampagne.

“Presumptuous,”Isay,thoughmymegawattsmileisnotsoeasytoconceal.

“Maybe.Iprefertothinkofitasconfident.”

We’vefoundourselvesinasmallalcoveawayfromthecrowds.Forthenextfewminutesit’sjusthe

andI.Then,we’llhavetocontinueontothereceptionanddeliverourtoasts.Abusethebar.Dancethe

nightaway.

“Youcanaskme.I’llsayyes.”

“I’vebeenwaitingfortherighttime.Iwantittobeperfect.”

“Howabouttonightwhenwegohome?We’lldrawabath,getoutofthesestuffyclothes,andyoucan

askme.”

“Isn’titsupposedtobeasurprise?Idon’tthinkyou’reallowedtodictatethetermsofyourproposal.”

Ismileandleanin.He’swearinghissignaturescentthatIlove.“Whilethatmightworkforsome

people,IthinkI’vesufferedthroughenoughsurprisesforalifetime,especiallyfromyou.”

“Ohreally?”

“Yes.How’sthisone?Itturnsoutmyarchnemesis—themanI’vedespisedandcompetedagainst

sincebirth—isinfacttheloveofmylife.”

“Thatisquiteasurprise.”

Ipressaquickkisstohischeek.

“Iwassupposedtocontinuecompetingagainsthim.Ihaditpenciledinforthenext,oh,40or50

years.”

“Nowwhatdoyouhave?”

“Hmm,I’mnotsure.”Iwink.“Marriage…children.Atleasttwo?”

“Three,”hesays,wrappinghisarmsaroundmywaist.

“FOUR,”Iraise,stillmakingitacontest.

“Easythere,let’sstartwithoneandseehowitgoes.”

Ismileandtakeasipofchampagne.“Okay,butwherewillourbevvyofchildrenlive?”

“Maybeahousewithalotmorelandandawraparoundporch.”

“I’dlikethat.”

“Andadog.”

“Yes.Definitelyadog.”

“Lucas?”

“Yes?”

“Ithinkyoushouldaskmetonight.”

“Daisy?”

“Yeah.”

“BequietsoIcanaskyounow.”

AndthenLucasThatcher,thesameboyIspentmyentirelifecompetingagainst,dropsdowntoone

kneeandpullsalittleblackvelvetboxoutofhisfrontpocket.ThesameblackvelvetboxI’vesneakeda

peekateverymorningforthelastyear.I’msurprisedit’sstillintactafterallmymanhandling.

NoonecanseeuswhenIstarttocry,noddingmyheadyesoverandoveragain.Heslipsthevintage

diamondonmyfinger—anheirloomfromhismom—andwestaythereinthatalcovemakingoutlike

randyteenagersuntiltheMCstartscallingournameoverthemic.Apparently,weareneeded.

Istepback,tryinginvaintoflattenmypoufydress.Dressingmeuplikeapoodlewasmymother’s

ideaofasickjoke.

“DoIlookokay?”Iask.

“Yes,justafewhairsoutofplace.Nothingtooconspicuous.”

Iknowhe’slying.Iwipeatmyfaceinvain.“Ohgod.Mymomwilldefinitelyknow.”

“True,butthenagain,she’sknownalotofthingsaheadoftime.”

Ilaugh,becauseofcourseit’strue.Justlikealways.ThelasttwopeoplewhoknewLucasandDaisy

weregoingtoenduptogetherforeverwereLucasandDaisy.

A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T S

ThankyoutoLanceforco-writingthisprojectwithme.Youbroughtthisbooktolifewithyourhumorand

wit,andthoughitcanbeachallengetoworkandwritewithyourspouse,Iliketothinkwedoapretty

goodjob.Iloveyou.

Thankyoutomyfriendsandfamilyfortheirunwaveringloveandsupport.Thankyoualsotomy

fellowauthorfriends.Thankyoutomyreaders,especiallytheLittleReds!

Thankyoutomyeditor,Caitlin,andmyproofreader,Jennifer.You’rebothsuchapleasuretowork

withandIknowhowfortunateIamtohaveyoubothonmyteam.

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Thankyoutoallofthebloggerswhohelpspreadthewordaboutmybooks!Vilma’sBookBlog,Book

Baristas,Angie’sDreamyReads,SouthernBelleBookBlog,TypicalDistractionsBookBlog,Natashais

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