Working Out the Kinks (Chain) (2 page)

Good family. Good grades. Always kind to others. Where did that man come into play? He looked older, but quite attractive. I could definitely see his appeal. A thought suddenly brought me to a halt.

There had been a parking tag hanging off the rearview mirror inside the man’s car.

It was the same one I’d seen in some of the other faculty and staff cars on campus. So whoever this man was, he either worked for the school or the hospital. And UCLA had many professors who also were doctors on campus. Teaching was more of a side job for them, but a necessary one. He had to be a doctor or a professor.

I got back to my apartment and threw my belongings on the ground, then walked into my bathroom. The much-needed shower calmed my nerves, allowing me a few quiet minutes to myself while the hot water cascaded over my body. While I stood there, all I could think of was the parking tag and Whitney’s face. I began to form a plan. After drying off, I twisted my hair up into a towel and turned on my laptop to set to work. I started with the main UCLA hospital website and checked out the hospital inside the school. Most of the students used it as their main source of medical attention, but I had never gone inside the building. I clicked on the directory and cringed at all of the options I was given. There were departments for everything. Geriatrics, urology, pediatrics…I took a breath and began going down the list of options alphabetically, hoping that my efforts would at least produce something good.

After the department of neurology, I started to give up hope. The doctors’ photos were starting to blur together as I scrolled faster down the list. There were long paragraphs of education and affiliation listing every piece of information I could ever need on each physician, except for a photo I could link to the man in the Mercedes. When I got to the department of Obstetrics and Gynecology I chuckled softly to myself, and clicked the link that sent me to the page for the doctors’ information.

I scrolled past the entire list of doctors, luckily all had had their photo taken and placed on the website. I was about to decide that my research was going to go nowhere when the last doctor’s photo stopped my finger from closing the web page.

It was the same man that had been in the Mercedes.

He was staring back at me with a calm and collected grin on his face. It was hard for me to look away from him, because he was once again challenging me in some manner, even though it was just a photo and not the man himself.

His name was Eric Pierce, and he had been a resident doctor at UCLA for five years. Dr. Pierce, the website read, specialized in Prolapse, Vaginal and Pelvic Support and Vaginal Reconstruction. I felt a deep blush come to my already heated face. Seeing the word
vaginal
next to his photo was making me more than embarrassed. I quickly slammed my laptop closed and bit at my thumbnail. Unfortunately, I had automatically memorized the number for the gynecology department, and my mind was doing everything it could to make me realize I was indeed due for a checkup.

I shook my head and got up from my seat. I needed to find out more about Whitney first and not contemplate going in for an exam by some mysterious doctor. I walked over to the couch and flipped on the news, doing my best to keep myself occupied by anything besides my school and personal concerns.

On Thursday, I decided I wouldn’t let Whitney get away this time. I didn’t want to give up on her. Class was dismissed, and I was ready with my things, knowing already that Whitney was quick in leaving the room. Once outside, she was nowhere to be found. I scanned the area surrounding me, but too many students were bustling through and I couldn’t find her in the crowd. Going with my gut instinct, I started to walk toward the parking where I had encountered Dr. Pierce. There was no sign of her or him and his Mercedes. I drew in a breath and sighed. The air was perfect–crisp but comfortably warm. I instantly regretted taking my car that day, but I only did so because I assumed I would be seeing Whitney. My walk to the car would at least give me time to think things through once more. I needed to figure out another plan of action. Lost in my thoughts, I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings until I heard a screech of tires. My head shot up and a car came to an abrupt halt inches in front of me.

With a gasp, I jumped back a few steps before the grill of the car could clip my knees. It took me a moment to register that this car was familiar.

Dr. Pierce opened the driver’s side door and placed one foot on the ground. He leaned his arm against the raised side of the car door and narrowed his eyes at me.

“You should be more careful next time,” he warned me with a smirk.

My lips parted, and I knew I looked like I was a deer caught in headlights. “Uh, sorry,” I apologized.

I saw Whitney in the passenger’s seat, and her eyes widened in shock.

“Lexi!” she yelled and then covered her mouth in what looked like fear.

I didn’t reply, since all words escaped me as Dr. Pierce and I stared each other down. I saw his jaw tick, frustration building in his features. He turned toward Whitney and then his attention came back to me.

“Are you going to continue walking? Or just stand there?” I heard him ask.

Mentally I shook myself out of my trance and straightened up before getting out of the road. From behind I listened to the sounds of the car pulling away smoothly.

My curiosity had hit its peak, and I found myself fascinated by Dr. Pierce.

The next week, I knew I would barely concentrate on the lecture in history class. I got there earlier than most, and I watched and waited as my fellow students started to file in, letting my thoughts drift. From the way Dr. Pierce looked at Whitney in the car, I assumed I had gotten her into trouble, even though I hadn’t said a word to her.

Several more ideas flashed through my head before the classroom door opened and Whitney walked in, again with her head down the entire time. Her choker made a gentle clinking noise as she rushed to her seat in the back of the class. I followed her with my gaze to the back of the classroom where I watched her slowly take her seat. Pain washed over her features when she touched down on the chair. After a few adjustments, Whitney turned to her side, picked up her notebook and pen and continued on with the rest of the class.

She kept her gaze on her paper but was furiously scribbling down everything our professor was lecturing on. I finally turned back to my desk and began devising up a plan on how to approach her. Minutes ticked by, and before I knew it, class was being dismissed. To my advantage, Whitney was still finishing up a sentence in her notes when I approached her. She was so preoccupied with writing down the last of what had been on the blackboard that she didn’t see me.

“Hey, Whitney,” I said in my most polite and cheerful tone. Whitney winced, like she had done the week before when I called her name, and slowly looked up at me.

“Hi,” she said, her voice was dull and flat. I stood there in awkward silence, waiting for something to pop into my head or just for something in general to happen to one of us. But nothing came out of my mouth, and Whitney stared at me like I had just miraculously grown three heads.

“Is there something you need?” she asked me matter-of-factly. I was at a loss for words.

“I…” I stammered out while I toyed with a few loose strings on my book bag. “Well, I saw you last week and tried saying ‘hello’ but you didn’t recognize me outside, I guess. So I just wanted to see how you’re doing now.”

Whitney’s gaze held something I couldn’t figure out. She looked frightened and excited, but there was another force holding her back.

“No, I recognized you,” she curtly replied.

Sensing our conversation wouldn’t get much further, I took the hint.

“Well, okay then. I guess I’ll see you later.”

I turned on my heel and began heading out the door. Behind me, I heard her mutter an obscenity and then, “Wait, Lexi. Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

The plea, I felt, was sincere, and I turned back around to her, finding her features had softened.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been…” She looked down at her feet, a trait I was now associating with her standoffish ways. “Well, it’s just been a little difficult for me to…speak to anyone lately.”

I felt her pain vibrating off me. She was just being another college student, like I was. Making friends again after having such tight-knit groups was hard enough. But perhaps with another turn of events, we could reconnect as strongly as we once did.

Whitney glanced at her watch and bit her lower lip.

“I have about an hour before I’m supposed to meet someone,” she explained. “Want to grab something to eat in the food court near the hospital?”

I knew whom she was going to meet up with, and why she would want to be so close to the medical part of campus.

“Sure, that’s fine,” I agreed. We left class and walked through campus, chatting happily about the odds and ends of our lives. She explained that she only returned to L.A. because her parents practically kicked her out of the house after high school, wanting Whitney, as she mimicked their voices, to “spread her wings.” Luckily, Whitney hadn’t felt bad about the situation, since coming back to Los Angeles was something she wanted. She was majoring in history, with a minor in psychology.

“Why psychology?” I asked when we were standing in line at the food court.

Whitney shrugged her shoulders, “It’s amazing to me the things that can go on in a person’s head, I guess.”

While she talked, my gaze traveled from her eyes and down to the choker that caught the light and shined back at me. It lightly jingled as she moved down the line, but it never seemed to bother her, and she continued on as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

She stepped up to the cashier. “I’ll have a hamburger, please. Plain, with everything on the side.”

“That’s pretty specific,” I joked.

“Punishment,” she stopped and looked over at me, then down at her feet once again. “Just trying to watch my weight.”

I studied Whitney’s figure. She was the polar opposite of overweight. There was nothing on her body to indicate she had ever had a problem with food. In fact, I knew girls who would’ve killed to have the kind of metabolism I figured she had.

“I’ll have a Caesar salad, please,” I said to the same cashier and handed her my credit card to take care of both my order and Whitney’s.

When we got our food I followed Whitney over to a table she’d chosen, next to a large window that had a clear view of the people walking by outside. From the corner of my eye I watched as she carefully took her seat in the same cautious manner as she had done in class. It seemed like a challenge to her to find a comfortable spot in the chair. I turned for a moment to look out the window, trying to act as if I hadn’t noticed her situating herself. She started preparing her meal in the strangest way. First, Whitney took the meat out of the hamburger buns and placed it on the platter. Next she arranged the other parts of the hamburger all in a row: lettuce, tomato, onion, and finally the two pieces of bread. Using a fork and knife, she cut through the meat and took a bite.

I chose to ignore her eating habits and focused my attention back on her choker.

“That’s such an unusual necklace,” I ventured in pointing out after finishing my first bite of salad.

“Thank you,” she replied, looking around at the crowd of people, distracted.

“Is it supposed to mean something?”

Whitney turned her attention back to me, hesitating in speaking.

“It means I’m…taken,” she said with a small voice. Something wasn’t right with her answer. It seemed like she had to force herself to explain the choker to me in a simpler way.

I played coy. “Was that your boyfriend waiting for you in the car last week?”