Lovesick (29 page)

Paige studies me carefully. The words are too familiar.

“You talked to Lara. She told you about the gown,” Paige concludes.

“You’re the one who wanted us to spend more time together,” I say.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Explain something to me: why would you buy a $2,500 wedding dress the day after a romantic dinner with your old boyfriend? Is that guilt or what?”

“I’m going to kill her.”

“You’re going to kill Lara because she told me the truth?” I say flatly.

Paige tries to take my hand, but I won’t let her.

A beep comes over my two-way radio.

“Andy-Manny, are you there?” he says.

“Go ahead. Answer it,” Paige says softly.

I grab the walkie-talkie from the tray and lower the volume a notch.

“I’m mad at Lara because she’s meddling. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about dinner with Tyler. He kept calling. It’s complicated.”

“What’s so complicated? You just tell him to beat it.”

“He’s my friend, Andy. Why are you angry about me having dinner with my sister and an old high school friend?”

Manny tries to get my attention over the two-way radio again.

“Why did Lara need to be there? To be your witness? Or your alibi?”

“We’re all friends. And Tyler needed to talk.”

Just hearing his name makes me sick.
Stop saying it.

“So what was so important that he had to tell you in person?”

She pauses. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter.”

I want an answer. Now. I stare at her.

“He wanted another chance,” she admits, shaking her head. “He said I
owed
it to myself to know for sure, before getting married.”

“What do you possibly see in this guy?”

“He’s fun … a free spirit.”

“I’m fun!” I point to myself. “I’m free!”

“You’re very fun,” Paige agrees. “I love you. I don’t know why I went to dinner with him … maybe it felt like an escape … from everything.”

“You want to escape
me
? This is Looney Tunes. I inherited all these problems, Paige,” I say, throwing my hands up in frustration. “Tell the truth: you went to dinner with Tyler Rich because you’re not sure about us.”

I can’t believe she has to think about it.

I lean my head against the driver’s-side window.

“Andy, please. With all that’s happened, are
you
absolutely sure you want to marry me?”

“What’s there not to be sure of?”

Paige stares blankly out the window. “You spend a lot of time in Sid’s garage tooling around with all those cockamamie ideas,” she confesses.

“I do that
for us!”
I yell. “I can’t win for losing here,” I say, looking around for a referee. “A minute ago I was criticized for not being carefree enough. Now you’re saying I’m too irresponsible?”

“I love your inventions, sweetheart, I really do, but inventing stuff is not
a plan.
It’s not a future. It just makes me nervous sometimes, that’s all,” Paige trails off. “And you’re just all over the place these days. You get mysterious phone calls at all hours. You randomly disappear for no reason.”

Your father was a crook. He was committing insurance fraud on a massive scale. I am carrying on the family tradition.

“Then I see you flirting with some stunning blonde,” she adds.

“Are we actually comparing your old boyfriend to an insurance collector?” I scream, banging my fists on the steering wheel. “I am
forced
to deal with her.”

“You weren’t exactly in agony ten minutes ago,” Paige adds.

“I don’t like her.”

“I never said you did,” Paige pretends all surprised.

“So who broke up with whom?” I ask.

“Who? Who? What?”

“You and Tyler. Who dumped whom ten years ago?”

Paige is highly offended by the question.

“I knew it. He broke up with you.”

“If you must know, I’m the one who called it quits.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, not believing her.

The tone of the conversation is turning—you can feel it. Paige and I are done calling one another “hon” or “sweetheart.” If I still want to patch things up, I’m running out of time.

“Come on,” I say, “Gregory never liked Tyler Rich. You’re honestly
telling me that the two of you wouldn’t be married right now if it weren’t for your father?”

“What’s wrong with you? I didn’t even like Tyler that much. And Daddy didn’t dictate who I could and couldn’t marry” she assures me.

Finally, something we agree on.

“I don’t think either of your parents ever approved of me,” I tell her rubbing my forehead slowly.

“What are you talking about? My mother would have loved you, and my father adored you.”

“When I was twelve, Anthony Bianco made me steal two packs of Hubba Bubba watermelon-flavored bubble gum from your pharmacy,” I spew out. “Your mother tried to stop me, but I bolted out of the store. Bunky is currently serving five to ten in Sing Sing … for something else. But I was destined to become his cellmate as far your mother was concerned.”

Paige cracks up laughing. “You’re being a nutball. Andy, do you actually believe you were the only kid who stole candy from our pharmacy? Why do you think Daddy moved all the sweets to the front register five years ago? Everyone stole candy. I stole it. Lara did. Trust me, you’ve made up for it plenty in karma,” Paige says, cooling down.

Maybe she’s right. My stomach gurgles. I’m absolutely famished.

“And why would you have any doubts about my father? He loved and respected you. The man gave you his blessing to marry me, for God’s sake! What more do you want?”

“Yeah, about that,” I announce. “He didn’t.”

This stops Paige cold.

“But he didn’t
not
give me his blessing, either,” I explain quickly. “I asked your dad if I could marry you. I told him how much I loved you and how much I respected him, but he told me to wait. He said ‘wait’ and he promised he’d explain later, but …” I throw my hands up, “there was no later.”

I want to cry.

“Did he say ‘wait’? Or did he say no? Tell me the
truth.”

“He said ‘wait.’”

“Why would he have asked you to wait?” she asks herself.

I can see her replaying the last seventy-two hours of Gregory’s life in her mind: the way he must have responded when she told him the news; the way he acted the night she returned home from wine country.

Then it hits her: “So Daddy told you to wait, but you asked anyway.”

“Your father didn’t dictate who you could and couldn’t marry
, remember? So yes, I asked anyway, and trust me, I regret it. Profoundly.”

“You regret asking me?” she says, putting her hand on the passenger door release.

“Believe me, after the week I’ve had, I’m starting to!” I yell, gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, and rocking back and forth violently.

“I have to go,” she says abruptly.

Paige grabs her purse and opens the passenger door.

“Go where? Marylyn is waiting … with food.
Gourmet food.”

Paige slams the door shut and starts marching down the sidewalk. I should chase her down, but I can’t manage the strength. I clench my teeth. My temperature’s rising. I’m mad at everyone.

“Crap, crap, crap, crap,” I chant, pounding lightly on the steering wheel of my car.
What am I doing? What am I doing?

Paige is nearly out of sight. She hasn’t turned back
once.

“Crap!” I scream once more, smashing the center of the steering column with both fists.

The white airbag ejects like a flash of lightning and everything goes black.

“HE was unconscious when he arrived,” the nurse tells the doctor. “Blood pressure was abnormally low.”

“Preliminary tests show elevated troponin levels,” says the doctor.

“Vitals are stable. Antiplatelets did not relieve ischemia. The results of the cardiac cath should be ready momentarily,” a second nurse reports.

“Let’s order an echocardiography just to be safe. But his HDL and LDL levels look relatively normal.” The doctor’s puzzled. He turns his attention to the two of us standing in the corner. “Which one of you brought him in?”

“Me,” Manny says, thumbing himself.

“Are you family?” the young doctor asks.

“Sid’s my uncle,” I pipe up. “I’m his nephew.”

Manny’s shocked.
You are?

“You don’t happen to know what sort of medication he’s taking?” the doctor asks.

“Flonase for allergies, Xalatan for glaucoma, Lanicor for cholesterol, Proscar for an enlarged prostate, and Prazex for heartburn,” I rattle off. “There may be one more; I’d have to check.”

“Looks like I’m talking to the right nephew,” he says, scribbling down notes. He introduces himself as Dr. Reid Yeardling. “Are you his doctor?”

“His pharmacist,” I say, so flattered to be mistaken for a doctor that it’s only then that I realize I may have just copped to attempted homicide—if medication is responsible for Sid’s current condition, I’m surely to blame.

Sid looks so tiny lying there in his blue hospital gown. The skin underneath his eyes is black and blue.

“Please help him,” I beg the young doctor.

I wish I’d gone to med school. I wish I’d I finished pharmacy school.

“Oh, write this down, doc,” Manny yells suddenly. “Right before Sid passed out in the car, he said his jaw hurt.”

“Discomfort radiating from the jaw, throat, or arm is the first sign of a heart attack,” Yeardling explains. Then he turns to me. “What would be of immense help is if you could get me a list of exactly what Mr. Brewster is currently taking, the dosages, and who prescribed them. I don’t need to tell you that these medications can interact in peculiar ways,” he says, flipping closed the metal clipboard and hooking it on the bedpost.

Yeardling is halfway out the door before he does a double take.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, studying my forehead. “What’d you do?”

“Something stupid,” I admit, touching the bump over my right eye.

“It’s what pays our rent around here,” Yeardling says.

After Paige stormed out and the airbag deployed in my face, best I can tell, I briefly passed out. The next sound I recall hearing was the low hum of my walkie-talkie. It was Manny trying to reach me again. He’d taken Sid to Kaiser Permanente in Vallejo. I drove the whole way to the hospital with the airbag hanging out of the steering column, thinking:
I’ve gone and killed my best friend. First Gregory. Now Sid.

“That’s going to need a couple of stitches,” Yeardling tells me, gently poking around. “Take a seat.”

Manny sits right next to me, a little too close. He is in my personal space. I hop my chair a few inches away.

A nurse arrives with an ice pack and I gently apply it to my cut.

“Glass pane door?” Manny asks, studying me. “Because I’ve been there.”

I dab the cut gently. It hurts.

“You okay?” Manny wonders.

“The cut? Yeah, thanks,” I say. “Everything else … we’ll see.”

I close my eyes, curl my lips, and slowly exhale.

“You’re always gettin’ hurt,” he laughs. “You’re a total accident magnet. Remember that time back in high school, in the
middle of the football game, when the ball smacked you right in the forehead? Man, that was
hilarious.”

“It was your fault. Thanks to you, Paige and I almost never happened,” I tell him.

“Oh, please. You have me to thank for it
ever
happening. Like you two would have ever possibly survived high school. The ten-year separation did you good.” Manny’s probably right.

“In fact, I think you owe me a debt of gratitude,” he says. I adjust the ice pack. “Thank you for tipping a football in my face.”

“My pleasure. Anytime.” We sit some more, staring at Sid.

“You should have brought him to the Veterans Hospital,” I say softly. “Medicare will
never
cover this place. They charge $10 for an aspirin.”

“I tried, but Sid told me no,” Manny whispers.

“Why?”

Manny shrugs.

“What’s this?” he asks, reaching for my latest invention.