Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH HE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SEE
Celeste Whitmore looked like the kind of woman magazines described as effortless even though everything about her probably required effort.
Her coat was cream cashmere.
Her earrings were diamonds.
Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves despite the rain outside.
Standing beside Adrian’s hospital bed, she looked exactly like the fiancée of a billionaire.
Adrian looked like a hostage.
I should have left.
Instead I said, “I need to finish checking his medication.”
Celeste looked at my badge.
“Nurse Carter, is it?”
“Maya is fine.”
“I’m sure Adrian appreciates everything you’ve done.”
There was nothing openly rude in her voice.
That somehow made it worse.
She sat beside him and reached for his hand.
Adrian pulled it away before she could touch him.
Her face tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t remember you.”
“I know.”
“How long have we been engaged?”
“Six months.”
“How long together?”
“Almost two years.”
“Where did we meet?”
“At your father’s foundation gala.”
“What’s your middle name?”
She blinked.
“Rose.”
“What’s mine?”
“James.”
Adrian looked toward me.
“She knows more about me than I do.”
Celeste smiled weakly.
“I can help you remember.”
She opened her phone.
Photograph after photograph appeared.
Adrian and Celeste at charity events.
Adrian and Celeste in Paris.
Adrian and Celeste beside a yacht.
Adrian and Celeste at a formal dinner.
They looked beautiful together.
They also looked strangely distant.
In almost every photograph, Adrian’s attention was elsewhere.
One image showed Celeste kissing his cheek while he looked toward someone outside the frame.
Another showed them standing three inches apart at what appeared to be their engagement celebration.
“You look thrilled,” I said before I could stop myself.
Adrian snorted.
Celeste stared at me.
“His father had just died.”
I instantly regretted the comment.
“I’m sorry.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
“My father died recently?”
“Eight months ago,” Celeste answered.
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
He looked down.
“Was I close to him?”
Celeste hesitated.
“That’s complicated.”
The word seemed to follow Adrian everywhere.
His accident was complicated.
His identity was complicated.
His family was complicated.
Even his engagement was apparently complicated.
A doctor entered and rescued me from the room.
I spent the next two hours trying not to think about Adrian.
At six-thirty, I changed out of my scrubs.
Before leaving, I passed Trauma Bay Nine one last time.
Celeste was gone.
Adrian was standing by the window.
“You’re supposed to ask before getting up.”
“I did.”
“Who gave permission?”
“I asked myself.”
“Sit down.”
“You’re bossy.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He obeyed.
On the bedside table sat a leather folder.
“Daniel left documents.”
“You remember anything?”
“No.”
Then he pulled something from beneath the folder.
A photograph.
Not one Celeste had shown him.
This picture looked older.
Adrian stood beside his father.
Between them was another young man.
Julian.
Behind all three was a woman in a red coat.
Adrian tapped the image.
“This was inside the folder.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask Daniel.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He said she used to work for the company.”
Something about Adrian’s expression told me there was more.
“What aren’t you saying?”
He turned the photograph over.
On the back, someone had written:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, FIND ELEANOR.
My stomach tightened.
“Whose handwriting?”
“Daniel says it’s mine.”
I looked toward the door.
“Does Celeste know?”
“No.”
“Does Julian?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then maybe keep it that way until you know what it means.”
Adrian studied me.
“You’re suspicious.”
“I grew up with a mother who hides overdue bills under sugar bowls. I recognize when people are avoiding the important part.”
He smiled slightly.
Then his expression became serious.
“Daniel told me my car’s brake lines were damaged.”
My breath caught.
“So it wasn’t an accident?”
“They can’t prove when the damage occurred.”
“Someone tried to kill you.”
“Possibly.”
“And you’re standing beside a window.”
He looked at the window.
Then moved away.
“Good point.”
The following afternoon, Toby came to the hospital.
He needed my signature on a scholarship form.
I met him near the cafeteria.
Adrian happened to be walking with physical therapy.
“Toby?”
My brother looked surprised.
“How do you know my name?”
Adrian pointed at me.
“She talks about you when she thinks unconscious people can’t hear.”
I stared at him.
Toby grinned.
“So you’re the mystery patient.”
“Former mystery patient.”
“Apparently he’s a billionaire,” I muttered.
Toby laughed.
Then stopped when he realized I wasn’t joking.
Adrian noticed the envelope in his hand.
“Hawthorne Academy?”
Toby nodded.
“I’m a senior.”
“Good school.”
“You know it?”
“Apparently my brain remembers tuition statistics better than my own childhood.”
Toby smiled.
I saw Adrian’s eyes move to the red lettering visible through the envelope window.
BALANCE DUE.
I quickly took the paper.
“We have to go.”
Later that night Adrian asked, “How much?”
I pretended ignorance.
“What?”
“Your brother’s tuition.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“How much?”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“Adrian.”
He waited.
I sighed.
“Two thousand eight hundred forty dollars.”
His expression changed as if I had said twenty dollars.
“I can pay that.”
“No.”
“I have billions.”
“You also have amnesia.”
“I don’t see the connection.”
“I’m your nurse.”
“So?”
“So I am not taking money from a patient.”
“It would mean nothing to me.”
“That’s exactly why I won’t accept it.”
He looked genuinely confused.
“You work thirteen-hour shifts. Your shoes are falling apart. You eat crackers for dinner.”
“And?”
“And $2,840 could change something for your family.”
“Yes.”
“So let me change it.”
“No.”
He leaned back.
“You’re incredibly stubborn.”
“My mother says the same thing.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
The conversation ended.
Or so I thought.
The next morning, Toby called me crying.
Not frightened.
Not sad.
Confused.
“Maya.”
“What happened?”
“My school called.”
My heart dropped.
“What did they say?”
“The balance is gone.”
I went still.
“What?”
“Someone paid the whole thing.”
I turned toward Trauma Bay Nine.
Adrian was asleep.
At least he appeared to be.
“Did they say who?”
“No. Anonymous donor.”
I hung up.
Then marched into Adrian’s room.
“Wake up.”
One gray eye opened.
“Good morning.”
“You paid Toby’s tuition.”
“No.”
“You are a terrible liar.”
“I genuinely didn’t.”
“Adrian.”
He sat upright.
“Maya, I did not pay it.”
Something in his voice made me believe him.
“Then who did?”
Before he could answer, Daniel Reese appeared in the doorway.
His expression was grim.
“That,” he said, “is exactly what I came to discuss.”
He placed an envelope on the table.
Inside was a photocopy of Toby’s tuition receipt.
May you like
Across the bottom, somebody had written three words in black ink.
NOW WE’RE EVEN.
