Olivia turned the plastic container slowly. “Almost. Very, very close.”
“Anyone I know?”
Olivia shook her head. “He was nice and smart and gorgeous. A painter from Paris.”
“So what happened?”
“That happened.” Olivia glared at the plastic. “Everything was gorgeous—a quiet country inn. Linen sheets and moonlight spilling through the windows. He didn’t push me, Caro. I wanted to sleep with him. I told him to wait a few minutes and then—then I couldn’t get that devil’s tool inserted. I finally gave up. We had a fight and ended up driving home in total silence. Not a word the whole trip. It was beyond horrible.”
Caro frowned. She could see Olivia was still hurting from the encounter. “I’m sorry to hear it, Livie. They can be tricky.”
“I felt like such a fool.” Olivia glared down at her teacup. “I refuse to feel so humiliated ever again.”
Caro had a sudden memory of Olivia at fifteen, putting on panty hose and trying not to be flustered for her first date. Her father, Summer Island’s mayor and most powerful public figure, had been very strict, criticizing every move his daughter made. Over the years Olivia had never been smart enough or thin enough or popular enough for her father. He never hid the fact that he had wanted a son to groom for his real estate investment business.
In his eyes women were meant to stay at home and keep the house clean, anticipating their husband’s whims. Women were not meant to be CEOs or senators or physicists.
Caro almost never cursed, but she thought a bad word loud and clear. She had said quite a few of them when Olivia’s parents had separated and her father blazed off to become a high-profile mover and shaker in Seattle with a different nubile model on his arm every night.
Good riddance, Caro thought. He wouldn’t be around to dig away at his daughter’s confidence anymore. Olivia could finally find her feet. The time in Italy and France appeared to have done her a world of good. She looked calm and collected.
Caro wondered if the appearance was only skin-deep.
“Pour us more tea and I’ll give you some instructions. When I’m done, you’ll be an expert, Livie. But after that, I want to hear all about Europe. Especially your social life,” Caro said dryly. “With a husband who has been gone for months, I need to remember what sex is all about,” she muttered.
Arizona
Two days later
MORE LAB TESTS CAME back.
Negative for cardiac blockage.
Negative for elevated heart enzymes.
“That’s good, right?” Jilly dragged a hand through her hair as she studied the print. “This means my heart is okay?”
Jilly’s specialist picked his words carefully. “It means the major triggers for a future attack are missing. But we need to dig deeper to find out what did happen. And there’s still the question of your valve malformation and your arrhythmia.” He studied Jilly’s patient records, which were getting thicker by the hour. “Your weight is good. A job that keeps you active, I see.” He flipped through more pages and frowned. “A high-stress work environment. We need to remedy that.” He stopped as someone knocked at the door.
Grace peered in. “Sorry. I’ll come back later.”
“No, it’s okay.” Jilly felt sick at what was about to come next.
No more stress.
No more cooking.
Find a new line of work.
She closed her eyes. “Please come in, Grace.”
“You’re family?” The doctor closed his file and studied Grace.
“A friend. A very good friend,” Grace said fiercely. “I’ll help any way I can.”
“Good. Your friend has some big decisions in front of her. Having a support network will be crucial. What about family?”
“No,” Jilly said coldly. “None.”
“I see.” The doctor tapped the thick chart. “It could be worse. You’re young and otherwise healthy, Ms. O’Hara. No tobacco use. No obesity or diabetes. But your last ECG shows an elevated heart rate. I’m not thrilled about your LDL levels, either.”
“What does all that mean?”
“Your heart is working too hard. At this point, surgery is not recommended. Diet, medication and lifestyle changes are the first step.”
Jilly ignored the first two items as irrelevant. “Lifestyle? I’m not giving up my work, Doctor. I can’t,” she said hoarsely. “I could … cut back a little. Maybe go in late sometimes.”
The doctor looked at her and frowned. “I’m not sure you understand what I’m saying. We only get one heart, by nature’s choice. Blowing through it isn’t a sane plan.” He shook his head slowly. “By all rights you’re far too young for us to be having this conversation. But you’ve had a warning shot over the bow and now you need to pay attention. I’d hate to see you back here in three months. Or in three weeks,” he added gravely.
“So you’re saying I can’t work? I have to lie in bed and vegetate?” Jilly’s voice rose with an edge of hysteria. “I’ll go insane.”
“Then stay busy. Take up a hobby. Find something that relaxes you. For the moment your old life needs to be put on hold while we assess our options and how well you respond to those options.” He glanced at the needles sticking out of Grace’s bag. “Why not take up knitting? Some convincing tests show that knitting confers a measurable relaxation response.”
“Not the way I knit,” Jilly rasped. “I’m terrible at it. Can’t I just—well, cut back my work hours?”
The doctor crossed his arms. “All I can tell you is what makes the best sense for the long term.”
Jilly squeezed her eyes shut. “You don’t understand. Cooking is all I have.”
“What I understand is your health. For you that means at least six months stress-free. It means medication, exercise and careful medical follow-up. The rest will be up to you and your body.” He closed the chart and slid it under his arm. “Get some rest. I’ll be back this evening with a detailed health plan. It won’t be the end of the world.”
He nodded at Grace and then walked outside as his beeper began to vibrate.
Jilly closed her eyes and gripped Grace’s hand. In three months her salsa line would be gone, her vendors lost. In four months her investors would bail out. Her business would be destroyed.
“Hey.” Grace gave her a mock shoulder punch, though her eyes shimmered with tears. “It’s not a disaster. You’ve got us. Remember that. We’ll work this out together.”
Jilly tried to smile.
But Grace didn’t understand. It was different for her and the others. They had families and people they could rely on in an emergency. Jilly was alone—and she always would be.
GRACE SPOKE QUIETLY, keeping an eye on the door of Jilly’s hospital room. “She’s going to have to make huge changes, Caro. That means no stress and no cooking for at least six months.”
“She’ll hate it,” Caro said fiercely. “It will feel like a death sentence for Jilly. Hold on. The baby’s crying.”
Grace heard rustling and then the sound of sniffling.
“Okay, one hungry baby emergency under control.” Caro took a deep breath. “So it was definitely her heart?”
“That’s