Page 11 of The Girl from Widow Hills
“I’m not sleeping,” I said. It was something I thought he would understand.
His volume only grew. “Melatonin. A glass of wine. A hot bath. Take your pick. Just get the fuck out of here.”
I shook my head. “It’s more than that. They’re just samples, right?” A play on naïveté, but he wasn’t having it.
He stepped to the side, arms crossed. Waiting for me to leave. “So talk to Cal,” he said as I pushed through the door.
“Who the fuck is Cal?” I asked, but he’d already pulled the door shut between us, leaving me in a shaky haze, wondering what I had just done.
I’D BEEN STUCK INmeetings all morning, but I kept peeking into the nurses’ lounge every time I passed by. I hadn’t seen Bennett since he’d found me in the medicine room. Each time I replayed the scene in my head, it grew worse.
The dread in my gut was stewing—what would he think; what would he say; what would he do? He was the nurses’ shift supervisor, and I was the wing administrator, comparable roles in different chains of authority. We ended up collaborating frequently, but we reported up separate ladders. Bennett had started working here just a few months after the hospital opened, four years back. He’d seen it develop from the ground up and had a strong investment in its success.
He could report me. That was his job.
I busied myself at my desk by looking up this “Cal” on the personnel database, trying to see where Bennett was directing me. I eventually landed on a name that made sense: Dr. Calvin Royce, specializing in sleep disorders. His bio and credentials were listed beside a directory photo.
“Jesus,” I said out loud. I was glad I’d seen his face before running into him somewhere, so I could desensitize myself first. He was almost unnaturally good-looking.
There was a faint knock on my door. “Come on in,” I called.
The first thing I saw was a cup of coffee, then an arm extended through the doorway. “I come in peace,” he said before pushing the door fully ajar.
My shoulders relaxed for the first time all morning. Bennett set the coffee on my desk and fell onto the sofa against the wall. He’d helped me move it in here in exchange for his unlimited usage. He said he preferred the quiet of my office to the lounge. I rarely locked my office—there was enough security at either end of the wing as it was—so I’d often find him sleeping here, his long legs hanging over the armrest, one arm folded over his eyes, until his watch faintly beeped and he sat straight up like a vampire rising from the dead.
I swiveled the monitor in his direction, my own act of contrition.
He raised one eyebrow. “You’re really not sleeping.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
He rubbed his palm down his narrow face. Sharp cheekbones, sloped chin, light brown hair, and hazel eyes. When he was clean-shaven, he always got carded when we were out. Patients sometimes complained and requested an adult, though I knew he was almost thirty.
Looking at Bennett, it wasn’t hard to picture the child he once was. It was right there, close to the surface, and he embraced it. Didn’t try to dress it up in suits and facial hair. He was the youngest of five siblings and was accustomed to being viewed that way. I knew, even though I’d declined the Thanksgiving visit. He talked about his family constantly, whereas I tried at each opportunity to distance myself from the child I’d once been.
The most distinct feature, in the photos, on the news, had been that head of wavy brown hair, disproportionate on my small frame. So I’d highlighted the color to almost-blond ever since college, had blown it straight each morning. Every year older was another layer of removal between me and that girl. Until this morning, I’d thought she was unrecognizable. I’d thought I had made it, that my real life was now beginning.
“Me, too,” he said. “I overreacted. But things have been going missing from there, and . . .” A gesture of his hand. “Sorry I jumped to conclusions.” An accusation directed at someone else now.
“I get it, it looked bad.”
“Obviously, if you were trying to take something worth anything, you’d be in the locked drawers. Not the free shit.”
“I’ll make a note,” I said, then pointed at the screen. “But this? Is this a joke?”
He smirked. “Dr. Cal. That’s what he likes to be called, FYI. Or at least that’s what everyone calls him in the lounge. Just don’t make direct eye contact, and you’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t sure exactly where Bennett’s sexual attraction lay, only that it wasn’t with me. He was remarkably close-lipped about his personal life, which was part of the allure of a place like this. We could bring our history with us in the diplomas on the walls, or choose to keep our pasts to ourselves. We existed in the present. We looked to the future.
“What sort of deal with the devil does it take to be a doctorandlook like this? And why have I never heard of him before?” I asked.
“Because you’re not in the lounge,” he said. “Trust me. He was all anyone could talk about for weeks. Just started last month.”
Which was probably why I hadn’t heard of him yet; he hadn’t shown up in any reports. A new hire also meant a decent chance of me getting in with a quick appointment.
“So, I’ll see you out tonight, right?” he asked, standing to leave.
I looked at him head-on. Bennett worked Saturdays, and he typically passed on the Friday-evening activities. Or refused to commit, occasionally dropped by for a quick drink before claiming he had to head home. Though from the way he checked his phone throughout the night, I sometimes assumed he was heading somewhere better. If I teased him about it—Hot date? Better offer?—he’d only smile. He basked in the mystery—and in my fury—like it was a game.
