Keeping Secrets

by Lisa Eugene

  A few minutes. That man and his damn, stupid-ass car.

  I nodded because I couldn’t trust my voice. The tremor in my hands was working its way into my body.

  “Do you want to sit for a minute?”

  I tried to blow out a breath.

  “His parents are in with him. They’d asked if you were here. You can go in and see him if you like.”

  I shook my head frantically, knowing I couldn’t bear to witness the Madisons’ despair. They needed strength and words of comfort—an anchor. I was being swept away in an ocean of sorrow. I should have the right words, yet I had no words, no voice. Everything inside me shouted a silent scream that never made it to my throat. I couldn’t bear to see Jake. Not now. Jake was life. Jake was hope.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded mutely.

  Tina sighed and released my wrist. “Take tonight off. I can cover your short shift. You could use the break. Tomorrow is a big day. Grand rounds are early in the morning.”

  I wished I could stop the stream of tears from running down my face. I couldn’t think about grand rounds. She hugged me and I turned to leave, my chest achy and tight.

  “It’s been chaos around here,” Tina said with a sigh. “Grand rounds are scheduled for seven a.m., but I’ll call if there’re any changes. Get some rest.”

  I nodded silently, grateful for her understanding.

  “You sure you don’t want to see him? It might help…you know, closure.”

  Shaking my head, I sighed, the pain overwhelming now, the air stale and reluctant. My body felt deprived. I put one foot in front of the other and somehow made it out of the hospital to my car. Once inside, I dropped my forehead on the steering wheel and sobbed pitifully. I should have said goodbye to Jake, but I was a coward. I wasn’t strong. I’d failed that little boy.

  And I would fail others.

  Chapter Two

  The opposite of success is failure, Alexa.

  It means you didn’t try hard enough.

  It means you gave up too soon.

  Did I raise you to be a failure, Alexa?

  No, Daddy.

  Alexa

  The drive to McDonald’s took less than five minutes. I loved Big Macs. I would hide from my dad and eat them all the time as a kid. I ordered two to go, with a large Diet Coke. There was a restaurant downtown that made the most amazing fries. They started with a potato and ended with thick slices of heaven—crispy on the outside and soft, warm deliciousness on the inside. Who would have imagined the spud had such potential? I requested three large orders and the lemon meringue pie that should win an Academy Award for the performance it would render on my tongue.

  By the time I got to KFC, I’d polished off the Big Macs and was shoving fries into my mouth four at a time, groaning as my taste buds exploded with pleasure. Inside the store, the guy behind the counter had the audacity to raise a brow when I ordered the ten-piece bucket.

  I smiled at him, joking about how I’d left my kids and husband in the car in the parking lot. He tossed back some cheeky reply as his gaze flitted over my scrubs. I wrapped my arms around my torso, feeling exposed, worried that he could see my bloated body beneath my clothes. Anxiety beat a flutter under my skin and took control of my limbs. My hands started to shake as I paid the bill. Grabbing the food, I ran to the car.

  I sat in the driver’s seat in the dark parking lot and polished everything off except for a few pieces of the chicken, closing my mind to everything except the amazing flavors on my tongue and the wonderful sense of fullness. Halfway through the bucket of chicken, I started to slow down. Lethargy kicked in. My enthusiastic chews grew lazy and dispassionate. Emotion started to edge its way into my euphoric bubble, and I slammed the door in its face. I wasn’t ready to feel. I was full, but still not satisfied. I needed more.

  I didn’t fully recall driving to the small, corner ice cream parlor. When I walked in, I realized it was a hangout for preteens and moms with small children, all looking for their sugar fix right before bedtime. I watched a rambunctious toddler bounce around the store and my stomach dropped.

  “You want the sprinkles in the shake?” the man behind the counter asked again, pulling my attention away from the energetic kid. For that, I was grateful. Seeing the child caused reality to pound hard at my door.

  “Yes,” I answered politely. “And only rainbow, please.”

  “Vanilla shake, right?”

  I nodded.

  “You a doctor?” he asked, while scooping my ice cream from the freezer.

  He’d obviously noticed my hospital attire. Thank God for the oversized scrubs that concealed my distended belly. By now I must look about five months pregnant.

  “I’ve got this back problem that’s been killing me,” the ice-cream man was saying. “It’s my lower back. Right here.”

  I nodded slowly as he hoisted his shirt and displayed his wall-to-wall carpeted back. Peeking through the rug was a landscape of scattered moles and floppy skin tags.

  Do people not realize that doctors hate this?

  “It really hurts. Do you think it’s a disc? A pulled muscle? What should I do?”

  He placed the vanilla shake in front of me and the room spun. Emotions crashed through my barrier. Distracted, I paid my bill as the ice cream man gave me a full account of his medical history.

  “What should I do?” he asked again, fully expecting me to diagnose and treat him right there, on the spot.

  I wrapped my fingers around the large cup and bit my lip to refrain from telling him to get a razor. “I’m just a medical student, but yeah, you should see a doctor for that.”

  I wasn’t only talking about his back problems.

  In the lot, I sucked in a deep breath, trying to stifle the torrent of feelings drowning me. Looking down at the cold, frothy shake made a noise rise up in my throat. All I could see was Jake’s face, his eyes staring up at me, trusting and hopeful, sparkling with life.

  Desperate to get home, I tossed the shake in a nearby garbage and took quick steps to my car. A familiar panic started to set in. My skin grew tight, each breath squeezed from my lungs. A relentless throb beat in my chest, faster and faster. The world closed in, smothering me. I’d die if I didn’t get to a bathroom soon. My footsteps stalled at the sight of the damage to my father’s car and my belly twisted painfully.

  My stomach was about to burst. Now that wonderful sense of fullness was nothing but a guilty burden. I couldn’t believe I’d eaten so much. I’d consumed much more than usual. Anxiety took over. My body was expanding, growing as each second passed, going through a metamorphosis my mind was convinced was real. My chest rose and fell quickly, the compulsion to purge so all-consuming I vibrated with it. My bloated stomach was now painful and profoundly uncomfortable. I had to get to a toilet.

  Dex

  I was going to come. The familiar tingle at the base of my spine started to grow stronger with each deep suction of her mouth. I watched as Carrie’s—shit, or was it Carra’s? Well, I watched those cherry-red lips engulf the head of my cock then sink slowly to the root of my shaft. She’d swallowed the entire thing, which was not a small task. I was a big guy. If I weren’t about to burst, I would’ve applauded.

  Despite her superior talents, this blow job was taking a while. I was still distracted by what that lunatic had done to my car. I’d just gotten the Ferrari 458 Spider after snoozing on a waiting list for two years.

  I sighed, a particularly deep suck deepening the sound to a groan. New York City was full of nuts and people trying to pull one over. I think this evening I’d encountered someone who fit both those categories. Although as soon as I’d let her drive off, I’d felt like the biggest nut of them all.

  What the hell had I been thinking, allowing her to leave the scene of an accident? I hadn’t even asked to see her damn license. She’d speared me with those big, pleading blue eyes, and…I don’t know…something. I’d seen something in their depths, an elusive emotion. There’d been the str
ain of panicked urgency, but also…pain? Vulnerability? I shook my head. What the hell was I talking about? She was most likely a con artist, that pretty face and wounded look her tools for manipulation. She probably wasn’t even a real doctor.

  With my crazy schedule, I rarely got to drive my new car. And I usually didn’t drive it in this hectic city of pin-balling taxicabs, but feeling restless, I’d needed to get out. Fall had never been my favorite time of year. The power of the sleek, lightweight vehicle and the soothing purr of the finely crafted engine served well to work out my kinks. Now, some bitchy girl had hit it and just driven off; no apology, no contrition. She’d crashed into my car and then showered me with attitude, like it had been my fault.

  I’d been one big sucker.

  Speaking of suckers, I looked down. Obviously, by the slackness of her jaw and her loosening grip, those red lips were starting to tire. I had to stay focused. She couldn’t give up now. Not when I was so close to coming. I had faith in this beautiful mouth. Those were the little red lips that could. Hell yes, you can. Hell yes, you can. I splayed an encouraging hand on the back of her blond head and pumped my hips, moaning when my cock hit the back of her throat. It seemed that was all the gas her engine needed to tug me up the hill. She redoubled her efforts, sucking deep and hard.

  “Fuck, baby! That’s good.”

  I threw my head back and exploded, moaning deeply as she pumped my shaft with her fist.

  The couch dipped when Carrie-slash-Carra moved up to settle beside me. She curled her long, thin body against mine with a cat-that-swallowed-the-cream grin while I buttoned and zipped my pants. I’d already taken care of her, fingering her to orgasm when we’d first hit the couch, but now she was rubbing her palm up and down my bare chest, purring and nipping at my ear.

  She wanted more.

  I wanted to leave.

  This had been our first date and would most definitely be our last. All she’d talked about during dinner was her nonexistent career as a fashion model. After listening to a full season’s recap of America’s Top Model, I’d been ready to poke my eyes out with a salad fork. Depositing her at her front door, I’d intended to leave, but she’d grabbed my shirt and pulled me inside—and, well, how could any warm-blooded man resist those cherry-red lips?

  “Let’s move into the bedroom,” she cooed.

  I cleared my throat and put some distance between us.

  “Listen, ah…Car, I have to be up early tomorrow.” That was the truth. I was meeting with a potential client who wanted to sink ten million into Blakewell Industries, the hedge fund I managed. It would be prudent to get a good night’s sleep.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she whined.

  That was my cue to stand and search for the door.

  She draped her body seductively over the couch, the black mini riding up to offer peeks of her bare crotch. “I don’t mind if you spend the night. I really feel a connection to you, like you’re my soul mate.”

  Christ! After one date?

  “My psychic said you’d be the one.”

  Awww, fuck…Impatiently, I worked on the buttons of my shirt. I was going to kill Henry, my personal assistant, for setting me up with this psycho.

  “Maybe you misheard her. I think she might’ve said I’d be gone.” Because that was exactly what I intended to be.

  “No. Please, stay.”

  I had no intention of seeing her again. It was better that I cleared things up now.

  “Listen, Car. I don’t think this is going to work out. I didn’t really feel the same connection.”

  “What?” Those red lips pushed into a pout. Somehow that mouth didn’t seem as pretty now. “You can’t be serious. This is just the start of our journey.”

  I faced her squarely, hoping she’d get a grip.

  “I’m sorry, Car. I’m sure you’re a nice girl, but it’s not going to work out.”

  She stood with her arms folded across her fake breasts. They, too, had somehow lost their appeal.

  “You didn’t seem to mind me sucking your cock.” Her face pinched angrily.

  That connection I’d felt. I sighed with regret, deciding the blow job hadn’t been worth this. We’d shared some pleasure; now it was over. The end. I hated clingy women, and clingy crazy women were even worse.

  “We’re meant to be together. You can’t just walk away.”

  This was getting tedious. I needed to leave. “I can, and I will.”

  “You’re blowing me off?” she asked incredulously.

  “Well, you blew me off. It’s only fair,” I responded, annoyed now.

  “I can’t believe you’re such an asshole.”

  Ignoring her, I turned and headed toward the door, praying she wouldn’t follow.

  “Henry said you were a nice guy.”

  “Henry was wrong,” I said, closing the door behind me.

  Outside, I inhaled a deep breath, looking back to make sure the psycho wasn’t following. What an absolutely miserable day I was having.

  What is with these crazy women?

  Stopping at the curb, I stretched out an arm to hail a cab, my mind instantly replaying the car accident. I reached into my pocket where I still had the sheet of paper with the scribbled name and number that witch had shoved at me. Pulling out my phone, I punched in the digits, ignoring the lecture my brain had been giving me since I’d allowed that damn woman to drive off.

  My body stilled when I got a recording: The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and dial again.

  Thinking I’d dialed wrong, I punched in the numbers again.

  Same recording.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Alexa

  It took a while for the twitching to subside. I sat on the floor, back braced against the cool, ceramic tile of my bathroom wall. A small spasm jerked through my limbs, and I squeezed my fists tight, drawing my knees to my chin. The emotions churning inside had found a temporary release, but the sorrow I felt was still fresh and raw.

  I told myself over and over again that Jake was with God. His suffering was over, but those words did little to dull the ache in my heart or to make sense of an untenable situation. A few minutes passed before I could bring myself to stand. The rapid emptying of my stomach always weakened me. Beating back dizziness, I took shaky steps to the sink, where the water was still running. I always ran the water out of habit, to camouflage any noise.

  The sink supported me as I struggled to hold myself together. It was useless. Tears sneaked out and turned into deep, broken sobs that came up from my empty belly. Nausea rushed through me, an angry tide squeezing my shoulders as I heaved over the sink. It was no use. There was nothing left. My stomach was wretchedly empty, like the deepest part of me. The girl in the mirror stared back at me, and I despised what I saw.

  A slight bruise slashed across my shoulder where the seatbelt had dug into my flesh. My eyes were red and swollen, the blue irises lifeless and dulled with disgust. I pushed back the light brown hair hanging in tangles around my face. At some point, my ponytail had come loose; a mess of waves fell to my naked shoulders. I swiped the back of my hand under my nose. It glowed red like a bulb, and ran like a leaky faucet. My swollen lips were raw, scratched from the relentless abuse of my teeth.

  “Fucking cow!” I sneered angrily at my ugly image. “How can you expect to help others when you can’t even help yourself?”

  I’d lost control tonight and had spiraled into a chaotic free-fall. Today’s stresses weighed heavily on me. My body still hummed with resonating tumult, echoes of the anarchy inside and out. How could I’ve expected to stay in control today?

  Jake was gone.

  I’d crashed my dad’s car.

  A slew of school assignments needed my attention, and I had board exams on the horizon.

  My life was a mess. When I wasn’t in school or at the hospital, I spent most days in bed with a sheet over my head, melting softly into the darkness.

  I filled a large gl
ass with water and gulped it down. The next few tasks were carried out numbly, robotically. I sprayed and cleaned the toilet, washed my face and hands, popped a few antacids to protect the lining of my stomach, brushed my teeth, and flossed. I’d been performing this ritual since I was fifteen. It came as easily as breathing.

  Dragging my feet, I made my way to the other room. Minutes later, I was cocooned under my comforter, naked with a sheet tucked between my legs. I could never sleep with my thighs touching. I hated the feel of it, the depressing reality of it. Nagging anxiety would keep me awake all night. Pajamas were no good, either. I hated the way clothes rubbed against my body, couldn’t stand anything tight or fitted. They were a constant reminder of my over-extended boundaries. My clothes had to flow loosely, just hanging off me.

  Exhaustion claimed me. My mind swirled with the events of this horrific day, still refusing to believe that Jake was gone. Biting my knuckles, I choked down a cry, burying it in the great big hole in my chest.

  I checked my alarm clock for the third time, plugged in my phone to charge, and placed it on my night table.

  Pediatric grand rounds would be crowded in the morning. This was where a medical student’s knowledge was tested. Even first-years came for the spectacle. I had to be sharp, focused. I needed to pull myself together. I’d been preparing for this since the beginning of the semester.

  A good night’s sleep would help me weather the grueling questions I’d face about my patients. The attending doctors could sometimes be vicious and on the attack. I’d seen students gutted and reduced to blathering idiots, unable to recall even their own names. There was a lot riding on this semester. I couldn’t fail.

  My life was devoted to medicine, to hard work and a single-minded goal—getting an internship spot at the Mayo Clinic, which meant I had to graduate with the highest honors from medical school.

  Pulling the covers over my head, I sank deeper into the darkness, clinging to the memory of a smile filled with sunshine.

  I stopped and grabbed coffee, needing the caffeine to set fire to my system. I was starving, but too anxious to eat. After last night, I’d sworn off food for the time being. The deep sorrow over Jake’s death still lingered, but I commanded my mind to stay focused. I needed to keep my wits for grand rounds. I wore a dark, loose pantsuit covered by a crisp white lab coat. My hair had been wrestled into a tight bun and I had on flat, comfortable shoes. My overall appearance was that of a conservative, confident physician. I was ready.