Fearless (9 page)

I know! Good night.

I put my phone on the night table and fall asleep dreaming of Beckett.

Luckily, Monday is so busy that I don't have time to think about Beckett too much. In addition to trying to wrap up two articles which are due on Friday, school is out in two weeks which means I have camps to register Nikki for, schedules to line up, and travel plans to make. After I pick Nikki up from volleyball practice, we go get supplies for her science project and then back home to eat dinner. After dinner, I work a little while Nikki stays up finishing her science project.

After Nikki's in bed, I rummage around my small study looking for a tape recorder to use for my interview with Dr. Black tomorrow. Once I find it, I pack a small tote bag with the recorder, a notebook, and several pens, and make sure my laptop is charged. Once I'm satisfied that I'm as ready as I can be for my first day on the job as a memoir writer, I get ready for bed. I try not to care that Beckett hasn't texted or called all day. He's a doctor, I remind myself, and probably extremely busy.

When my phone vibrates while I'm brushing my teeth, I force myself to finish before going to check and see if it's him. It is.

How was your day?
I read.

Busy. Yours?
I type back.

Same. Back to back appointments from 8 until 7, followed by dinner with a colleague and the gym.

I smile at the easy domesticity of our text conversation. We sound like a normal couple in a normal relationship, not like two people who barely know each other but just shared a mind-blowing night and morning of crazy jungle sex.

I'll be at your dad's tomorrow.
I text.

I remember. Don't let him go off on too many tangents. He loves to talk. Got to go. Early morning tomorrow.

I text him goodnight and set my phone back on my dresser, feeling inexplicably disappointed. My phone vibrates again.

Four days until you're mine again.

The next morning, I drop Nikki off at school and then drive to River Oaks, self-consciously parking my Mazda CX9 behind a black Bentley in the driveway. Agnes answers the door again and warmly ushers me inside.

“Dr. Black likes to spend the mornings outside on the terrace before it gets too hot,” she explains as we walk through the house and out onto a stone patio that overlooks the most beautiful backyard I have ever seen. The grassy lawn is worthy of a golf course, lush and green with flower beds and towering pine trees framing it, and the infinity pool I glimpsed on my previous visit looks even more elegant up close.

The covered terrace itself is so inviting that I could happily spend the whole day here. There's a wicker porch swing at one end and several outdoor couches dotted with colorful cushions that make a small seating area, and lush potted plants of all shapes and sizes give the space the feel of being in a well-kept jungle. Dr. Black is comfortably seated on a chaise lounge with the newspaper and a coffee cup.

“Dr. Black, Miss Emma is here,” Agnes announces, and Dr. Black looks up with a smile, folding his newspaper precisely before attempting to get to his feet.

“Good morning,” I say. “Please don't get up.”

“You're right,” he says with a wink. “Because then I'll just have to get back down again.” He waves at the sofa opposite from him. “Have a seat! Do you need a table? A cup of coffee?”

“A cup of coffee would be great,” I say gratefully. “And this is perfect,” I add, sitting down on the sofa. “I brought my tape recorder along, so if it's okay with you, I'll record the whole time just to be sure I don't miss anything, but I'll also be taking notes while we talk.”

“Fine, fine,” Dr. Black says agreeably.

By the time Agnes returns with a cup of steaming hot coffee, I have turned my laptop on and set up my recorder and I'm ready to get started. I smile at Dr. Black. There is nothing I love more than doing an interview. I'm good at them, and people like to talk to me. Strangers routinely tell me their life story in line at the grocery store. Most people insist there's nothing interesting about them, but I've learned that if you dig deep enough, everyone has a story. You just have to find it.

“Let's start at the beginning,” I say with a smile. “Tell me about your life growing up.”

We spend the morning on the terrace, a warm breeze keeping us comfortable, as Dr. Black tells me about his childhood growing up in a small town in Georgia, one of four children in a well-to-do family.

“Patrick, give the poor girl a break,” Agnes scolds, coming out to tell us it's time for lunch.

“Already?” he says, surprised. “Can you bring it out here? We were just getting to the good part.”

“That's fine with me,” I assure Agnes, who looks like she's ready to scold her boss again. I can't quite figure out their relationship. She fusses over him like a mother hen. Agnes brings out cold plates of chicken salad, sliced fruit, avocado salad, and iced tea, and then leaves us to eat and continue working.

“Tell me the good part,” I prompt, taking a bite of chicken salad.

“Well, I shouldn't say the good part because there was actually nothing good about it,” Dr. Black amends. “It was, rather, the defining moment of my life. My mother became very ill.”

“I'm so sorry,” I say.

Dr. Black waves a hand at me. “Thank you, my dear. It's water under the bridge now, it is, but at the time I was devastated. I adored my mother. At that time, families of my parents' stature had nannies to raise the children and my family was no exception. But my mother was different. She insisted we have dinner with her and my father and she tucked us into bed each night. She was never too busy to talk, and on occasion she was even known to play ball with us and help us hunt for frogs. At the time, no one called it cancer, but as I watched my vibrant mother waste away I vowed that one day I would find a cure for whatever disease it was that took her from me. It was the defining event that would drive everything I did in my life from that point on.”

We spend the afternoon talking, moving inside when it gets too hot on the terrace. Dr. Black tells me about his mother's death when he was fourteen, how he survived the devastating grief, and how he found purpose again when he left home for Harvard. Before I know it, it's five o'clock and time for me to leave. I pack up my stuff and tell Dr. Black goodbye, promising him I'll see him on Thursday. Agnes magically appears as if summoned and walks me to the door.

“This has been good for him,” Agnes says with a kindly pat on my shoulder. “You have a gift. I haven't seen him talk like that in a long time.”

“Thank you,” I say, pleased that he seems to be happy with me. “I could listen to him all day. I find it interesting to talk to just about anyone and learn what makes them who they are, but he's pretty special. I'm looking forward to getting to know him better and writing his story.”

I say goodbye to Agnes and make the thirty minute drive back in time to pick Nikki up from volleyball practice. We heat up a pizza and spend the night in, both of us busy with our respective work. Before I go to bed, I decide to text Beckett first.

I had a great day with your dad. I love this job.
I text.

I'm glad
, he texts back.
You can thank me properly later.

I roll my eyes.
I'm sure we can think of something,
I type.

Believe me, I already have some ideas.

I'm sure you do.

Three days, Emma….three days.

I'm not sure how I'm going to make it.

“Emma!”

I hear Lainey's voice before I see her. I search the busy Tex-Mex bar, looking for her. It was Lainey's turn to choose where we were going to meet tonight and I have no idea why she chose this place. It's your basic meat market where young single professionals flock to see and be seen.

I finally find Lainey, who is partially obscured by two guys in business suits who are hovering around her. I sigh. Some things never change. After twenty-five years of friendship, I'm used to the attention Lainey attracts. With blond hair, blue eyes, a perpetual California tan, and the body of a Penthouse model, despite having given birth to three children, men are drawn to Lainey like moths to a flame. The fact that she's happily married hasn't changed anything over the years other than the fact that she doesn't go home with her admirers anymore.

As I arrive at the table, Lainey jumps up to give me a hug and the guys wander off.

“You look fabulous!” she says. “I knew I picked the right place.”

I sit down opposite my best friend at the small table, sling my purse over the back of my chair, and order a margarita on the rocks.

“Why did you pick this place?” I ask her, raising my eyebrow. “It's a meat market.”

“Exactly!” Lainey says. “You're never going to meet anyone, Em, if you never get yourself out there.”

I roll my eyes. “I don't think I'd want to go out with anyone I'd meet here. And anyway,” I add confidentially. “I actually kind of met someone last week.”

“What?!!” Lainey shrieks. “I go out of town for one weekend and I miss everything! Okay, tell me from the beginning.” She's so focused on me that she barely notices the waiter setting a bowl of chips and hot sauce on our table.

I smile at her enthusiasm. “Do you remember the job I was doing for that urology practice?”

“Oooh! The one with the hot but arrogant doctor?”

“Yeah. Anyway, we had a client meeting to go over the brochure. I was supposed to meet with the older doctor who handles the marketing, but he was busy so instead I met with Beckett, the hot one. Afterwards, I went down to the deli to grab a sandwich, and guess who shows up and sits down at my table?”

“No!”

“He was kind of flirting with me, I think, but it's hard to tell because he's all serious and stern all the time. Then he tells me his dad is looking for someone to help him ghost write his memoir. He's some famous scientist who's done a lot of ground breaking cancer research. Anyway, he says I would be perfect for the job and tells me to call him if I'm interested.”

“And?” Lainey prompts.

“Of course I called and told him I was interested. So he took me out to dinner the next night to tell me more about the job….” I pause dramatically.

“OMG. I can't stand it. Did he kiss you?” Lainey demands, clutching my arm.

“No, we just talked about the job mostly. He took me home and walked me to the door but that was it, so I'm thinking maybe he wasn't flirting after all. Then on Saturday he picked me up and took me to meet his dad, who is this super sweet old man who lives in the most amazing house in River Oaks. His dad invited us to stay for dinner but Beckett said he had plans for me for the evening.”

“Ooh, what kind of plans?” Lainey asks, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows.

“Patience!” I say with a laugh. “So we go out for sushi and he's definitely flirting. We hold hands, and he feeds me sushi and basically tells me he wants to take me to bed. His whole demeanor is always very authoritative, like he's just telling me as a consideration what's going to happen. It is so hot! So then we leave the restaurant and he asks if I want to go back to his place.”

Lainey barely glances at the waiter who comes to our table to take our order, waving him away. “Not now,” she says brusquely. To me she says, “Go on. Please tell me you fucked him! I don't think I can stand it if you did your Mother Teresa thing.”

“My Mother Teresa thing?” I ask, outraged.

“Yes! I know you, Em. You always look out for everyone else and what they need first. And….you're kind of saintly. You have to admit it. You always do the right thing.”

Hmmm. She has a point.

“You would be proud of me,” I reassure her. “There's something about him that makes me want to not be that person, you know? I just feel reckless and uninhibited when I'm with him, like I want to do things with him I'd never dream of doing otherwise. Actually,” I add wickedly, “I did do things I've never dreamed of with him.”