Kitabı oku: «Last Night at Chateau Marmont», sayfa 2

The woman didn’t look up as she mixed a batch of mojitos. ‘I’ve seen him in here before, usually when we have a blues or classic rock band playing, but he never talks to anyone. Always alone, if that’s what you’re asking …’

‘No, no, I, uh … no, it’s not that at all. Just curious,’ she stammered, feeling like an idiot.

Brooke had turned back toward the table when the bartender called out, ‘Told me he plays a regular gig at a bar on the Upper East Side, a place called Trick’s or Rick’s, something like that. Tuesdays. Hope that helps.’

Brooke could count on one hand the number of times she’d gone to see live acts. She had never tracked down and followed a strange guy; and, with the exception of ten or fifteen minutes waiting for friends or dates to arrive, she didn’t spend a lot of time solo in bars. Yet none of this stopped her from making a half dozen phone calls to find the right place and, after another three weeks working up her nerve, actually getting on the subway one scorching hot Tuesday night in July and walking in the front door of Nick’s Bar and Lounge.

Once she sat down, finding one of the last seats in the very back corner, she knew it had been worthwhile. The bar was one of a hundred just like it lining Second Avenue, but the crowd was surprisingly mixed. Instead of the usual Upper East Side mob of recent college grads who liked downing beer after loosening their brand-new Brooks Brothers ties, the group tonight seemed an almost odd mix of NYU students who’d made the trek uptown, couples in their thirties who sipped martinis and held hands, and hordes of Converse-wearing hipsters rarely seen in such concentrations outside the East Village or Brooklyn. Soon Nick’s was packed beyond capacity, every seat filled and probably another fifty or sixty people standing behind the tables, all there for one and only one reason. It shocked Brooke to realize that the way she’d felt when she heard Julian play a month earlier at Rue B’s wasn’t unique. Dozens of people already knew about him and were willing to travel from all over the city to see him perform.

By the time Julian claimed his seat at the piano and began his checks to make sure the sound was okay, the crowd was buzzing with anticipation. When he began, the room seemed to settle into the rhythm, some people swaying ever so slightly, some with their eyes closed, all with their bodies leaning in toward the stage. Brooke, who had never before understood what it meant to get lost in the music, felt her entire body relax. Whether it was the red wine or the sexy crooning or the completely foreign feeling of being in a crowd of complete strangers, Brooke was addicted.

She went to Nick’s every Tuesday for the rest of the summer. She never invited anyone to join her; when her roommates pressed her on where she went each week, she invented a very believable story about a book club with school friends. Just being there, watching him and hearing the music, she began to feel like she knew him. Up until then, music had been a side note, nothing more than a distraction on the treadmill, a fun dance song at a party, a way to kill time on long drives. But this? This was incredible. Without so much as a hello, Julian’s music could affect her mood and change her mind and make her feel things that were completely outside the realm of her daily routine.

Until those solo nights at Nick’s, her weeks had all looked the same: first work, then the all-too-rare happy hour with the same group of college friends and the same nosy roommates. She was happy enough, but at times it felt suffocating. Now Julian was all hers, and the fact that they never exchanged so much as a glance didn’t bother her in the least. She was perfectly content just to watch him. He made the rounds – a bit reluctantly, it appeared to her – after each performance, shaking hands and modestly accepting the praise everyone lavished on him, but Brooke never once considered approaching him.

It was two weeks after September 11, 2001, when Nola convinced her to go on a blind date with a guy she’d met at a work function. All their friends had either fled NYC to see family or rekindled relationships with exes, and the city was still pinned by acrid smoke and an overwhelming grief. Nola had hunkered down with some new guy, spending nearly every night at his apartment, and Brooke was feeling unsettled and lonely.

‘A blind date? Really?’ Brooke asked, barely looking up from her computer.

‘He’s a sweetheart,’ Nola said one night while they sat side by side on the couch watching SNL. ‘He’s not going to be your future husband, but he’s super nice, and he’s cute enough, and he’ll take you somewhere good. If you stop being such a frigid bitch, he might even hook up with you.’

‘Nola!’

‘I’m just saying. You could use it, you know. And while we’re on the topic, a shower and a manicure wouldn’t kill you either.’

Brooke held out her hands and noticed, for the first time, bitten-down nails and raggedy cuticles. They really did look gross. ‘What is he, one of your discards?’ she asked.

Nola sniffed.

‘He is! You totally hooked up with him and now you’re passing him along to me. That’s vile, no! And I have to say, surprising. Even you’re not usually that bad.’

‘Save it,’ Nola said with a massive roll of her eyes. ‘I met him a couple weeks ago at some work fund-raiser; he was there with one of my colleagues.’

‘So you did hook up with him.’

‘No! I may have hooked up with my colleague—’

Brooke groaned and covered her eyes.

‘—but that’s not important. I remember his friend was cute and single. A med student, I think, but honestly, you’re not really at a point to be discriminatory about such things. So long as he’s breathing …’

‘Thanks, friend.’

‘So you’ll go?’

Brooke grabbed for the clicker back again. ‘If it will make you shut up right now, I’ll consider it,’ she said.

Four days later Brooke found herself sitting at an outdoor Italian café on MacDougal Street. Trent was, as Nola promised, a perfectly sweet guy. Reasonably cute, extremely polite, nicely dressed, and boring as hell. Their conversation was more bland than the linguini with tomato and basil he ordered for them both, and his earnestness left her with the overwhelming desire to plunge a fork into her eyes. Yet for a reason she didn’t understand, when he suggested they move on to a nearby bar, she agreed.

‘Really?’ he asked, sounding every bit as surprised as she felt.

‘Yeah, why not?’ And really, she thought, why not? It’s not like she had any other prospects or even the expectation of watching a movie with Nola later that night. The next day she would have to start outlining a fifteen-page paper that was due in two weeks; besides that, her most exciting plans were the laundry, the gym, and a four-hour shift at the coffee shop. What exactly was she rushing home to?

‘Great, I have just the place in mind.’ Trent sweetly insisted on paying the check and, finally, they were off.

They’d only walked two blocks when Trent crossed in front of her and pulled open the door to a notoriously raucous NYU bar. It was possibly the last place in downtown Manhattan anyone would take a date he wasn’t planning to roofie, but Brooke was pleased they’d be going somewhere loud enough to prevent any real conversation. She’d have a beer, maybe two, listen to some good eighties on the jukebox, and be under her covers by midnight – alone.

It took a couple seconds for her eyes to adjust, though she immediately recognized Julian’s voice. When she finally focused on the front stage, she stared in disbelief: he sat in his familiar pose at the piano, fingers flying and mouth pressed against the microphone, singing her favorite of his originals: The woman sits alone in a room / Alone in a house like a silent tomb / The man counts every jewel in his crown / What can’t be saved is measured in pounds. She wasn’t sure how long she stood rooted in the doorway, instantly and completely absorbed in his performance, but it was long enough for Trent to comment.

‘Pretty great, isn’t he? Come on, I see a couple seats over there.’

He took her arm and Brooke allowed herself to be pulled through the crowd. She arranged herself in the chair Trent pointed to and had barely placed her purse on the table when the song ended and Julian announced he’d be taking a break. She was vaguely aware that Trent was speaking to her, but between the noise of the bar and the vigil she was keeping on Julian’s whereabouts, she didn’t hear what he was saying.

It happened so fast she could barely process it. One second Julian was unhooking his harmonica from its piano-top stand and the next he was standing over their table, smiling. As usual, he was wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans with a knit cap, this one an eggplant color. There was a light sheen of sweat on his face and forearms.

‘Hey, buddy, glad you could make it,’ Julian said, clapping Trent on the shoulder.

‘Yeah, me too. Looks like we missed the first set.’ Someone had just abandoned a chair at the next table, and Trent pulled it over for Julian. ‘Take a load off.’

Julian hesitated, glanced at Brooke with a small smile, and sat. ‘Julian Alter,’ he said, offering his hand.

Brooke was about to respond when Trent spoke over her. ‘Christ, I’m such an idiot! Who taught me my manners, you know? Julian, this is my, uh, this is Brooke. Brooke …’

‘Greene,’ she said, pleased with Trent for demonstrating in front of Julian how little they knew each other.

She and Julian shook hands, which seemed like an awkward gesture in a crowded college bar, but Brooke felt only excitement. She examined him more closely as he and Trent exchanged jokes about some guy they both knew. Julian was probably only a couple years older than her, but something made him look more knowing, experienced, although Brooke couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. His nose was too prominent and his chin a touch weak, and his pale skin even more noticeable now, at the very end of summer, when everyone else had a season’s worth of vitamin D. His eyes, while green, were unremarkable, even murky, with fine lines that crinkled around them when he smiled. Had she not heard him sing so many times, seen him throw his head back and call out lyrics in a voice so rich and filled with meaning – had she just ran into him like this, wearing that knit cap and clutching a beer in a loud, anonymous bar – she never would have looked twice, nor thought him the least bit attractive. But tonight, she could barely breathe.

The two guys chatted for a few minutes while Brooke sat back and watched. It was Julian, not Trent, who noticed she didn’t have a drink.

‘Can I get you guys a beer?’ he asked, looking around for a waitress.

Trent immediately stood up. ‘I’ll get them. We just got here and no one’s come by yet. Brooke, what would you like?’

She murmured the name of the first beer that came to mind, and Julian held up what looked like an empty water cup. ‘Can you get me a Sprite?’

Brooke felt a stab of panic when Trent left. What on earth were they going to talk about? Anything, she reminded herself, anything but the fact that she’d followed him all over the city.

Julian turned to her and smiled. ‘Trent’s a good guy, huh?’

Brooke shrugged. ‘Yeah, he seems nice. We just met tonight. I barely even know him.’

‘Ah, the always-fun blind date. Do you think you’ll go out with him again?’

‘No,’ Brooke said without any emotion whatsoever. She was convinced she was in shock; she barely knew what she was saying.

Julian laughed and Brooke laughed with him. ‘Why not?’ he asked.

Brooke shrugged. ‘No reason in particular. He seems perfectly pleasant. Just a little boring.’ She hadn’t meant to say that, but she couldn’t think straight.

Julian’s face broke in a massive smile, one so bright and beaming that Brooke forgot to feel embarrassed. ‘That’s my cousin you’re calling boring’ He laughed.

‘Omigod, I didn’t mean it like that. He’s seems really, uh, great. It just—’ The more she stammered, the more amused he appeared.

‘Oh, please.’ He interrupted her, placing his wide, warm hand on her forearm. ‘You’re absolutely, exactly correct. He’s a really great guy – honestly, as sweet as they come – but no one’s ever described him as the life of the party.’

There was a moment of silence as Brooke wracked her brain for something appropriate to say next. It didn’t much matter what it was, so long as she managed to keep her fan status under wraps.

‘I’ve seen you play before,’ she announced, before clapping her hand over her mouth in reflexive shock.

He peered at her. ‘Oh yeah? Where?’

‘Every Tuesday night at Nick’s.’ Any chance of not appearing downright stalkerish had just come to a crashing end.

‘Really?’ He seemed puzzled but pleased.

She nodded.

‘Why?’

Brooke briefly considered lying and telling him that her best friend lived nearby or that she went every week with a group for happy hour, but for a reason she herself didn’t entirely understand, she was completely truthful. ‘I was there that night at Rue B’s when the jazz quartet canceled and you did that impromptu performance. I thought you, uh, I thought it was awesome, so I asked the bartender for your name and found out you had a regular gig. Now I try to go whenever I can.’ She forced herself to look up, convinced he’d be staring at her with horror, and possibly fear, but Julian’s expression revealed nothing, and his silence only made her more determined to fill it.

‘Which is why it was so weird when Trent brought me here tonight … such a weird coincidence …’ She let her words trail off awkwardly and was filled with instant regret at all that she had just revealed.

When she worked up the nerve to meet his eyes once again, Julian was shaking his head.

‘You must be creeped out,’ she said with a nervous laugh. ‘I promise I’ll never show up at your apartment or your day job. I mean, not that I know where your apartment is, or if you even have a day job. Of course, I’m sure music is your day job, your real job, as it should—’

The hand was back on her forearm and Julian met her eye. ‘I see you there every week,’ he said.

‘Huh?’

He nodded and smiled again, this time shaking his head a little as if to say, I can’t believe I’m admitting this. ‘Yeah. You always sit in the far back corner, near the pool table, and you’re always alone. Last week you were wearing a blue dress, and it had white flowers or something sewn on the bottom, and you were reading a magazine but you put it away right as I came on.’

Brooke remembered the sundress, a gift from her mom to wear at her graduation brunch. Only four months earlier it had felt so stylish; wearing it around the city now made her feel girlishly unsophisticated. The blue did make her red hair look even more fiery, so that was good, but it really did nothing for her hips or legs. So engrossed was she in trying to remember how she’d looked that night, she hadn’t noticed Trent return to the table until he pushed a bottle of Bud Light her way.

‘What’d I miss?’ he asked, sliding into his seat. ‘Sure is crowded tonight. Julian, dude, you know how to pack’em in.’

Julian clinked his cup with Trent’s bottle and took a long drink. ‘Thanks, buddy. I’ll get you back after the show.’ He nodded to Brooke with what she swore – and prayed – was a knowing look and walked back toward the stage.

She didn’t know then that he would ask Trent for his permission to call her, or that their first phone conversation would make her feel like she was flying, or that their first date would be a defining night in her life. She never would have predicted that they would fall into bed together less than three weeks later after a handful of marathon dates she had never wanted to end, or that they would save up for nearly two years to drive cross-country together or get engaged while listening to live music at a divey little place in the West Village with a plain gold band he’d paid for entirely on his own, or get married at his parents’ gorgeous seaside Hamptons home because really, what were they proving by refusing a place like that? All she knew for sure that night was that she desperately wanted to see him again, that she would be at Nick’s in two nights come hell or high water, and that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop smiling.

2
suffer one, suffer all

Brooke stepped into the hallway of the maternal medicine ward at NYU Langone Medical Center and pulled the curtain closed. Eight down, three to go. She rifled through the remaining files: a pregnant teenager, a pregnant mother with gestational diabetes, and a first-time mother struggling to nurse newborn twins. She checked her watch and did a few calculations: if all went as smoothly as she anticipated, she might actually get to leave at a decent hour.

‘Mrs Alter?’ Her patient’s voice called out from behind the curtain.

Brooke stepped back inside.

‘Yes, Alisha?’ Brooke pulled her white scrub coat tightly around her chest and wondered how this woman wasn’t shivering in her paper-thin hospital gown.

Alisha wrung her hands and, staring at her sheet-draped lap, said, ‘You know how you said the prenatal vitamins were really important? Like, even if I haven’t been taking them since the beginning?’

Brooke nodded. ‘I know it’s hard to look on the bright side of severe flu,’ she said, walking over to the girl’s bedside, ‘but at least it got you in here and will give us a chance to get you started on the vitamins and discuss a plan for the rest of your pregnancy.’

‘Yeah, so about that … is there, um, like some sort of samples you could give me?’ Alisha refused to meet her eyes.

‘Oh, I don’t think that should be a problem,’ Brooke said, smiling for her patient’s sake but irritated with herself for neglecting to inquire whether or not Alisha could afford the prenatals. ‘Let’s see, you’ve got another sixteen weeks … I’ll leave the full supply with the nurses’ station, okay?’

Alisha looked relieved. ‘Thanks,’ she said quietly.

Brooke squeezed the girl’s forearm and stepped back outside the curtain. After getting Alisha’s vitamins, she half-sprinted to the dietitians’ dreary fifth-floor break room, a windowless cubicle with a four-seater Formica table, a mini fridge, and a small wall of lockers. If she hurried, she could cram down a quick snack and a cup of coffee and still make it to her next appointment on time. Relieved to find the room empty and the coffeepot full, Brooke pulled a Tupperware container of precut apple wedges from her locker and began to smear them with travel-sized packets of all-natural peanut butter. At the exact moment her mouth was full, her cell phone rang.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asked without saying hello. Her words were muffled from the food.

Her mother paused. ‘Of course, honey. Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘Because, Mom, it’s pretty busy here, and you know I hate talking at work.’ The overhead intercom drowned out the second half of her sentence.

‘What was that? I couldn’t hear you.’

Brooke sighed. ‘Nothing, never mind. What’s up?’ She pictured her mother in her signature khaki pants and Naturalizer flats, the same ones she’d worn her entire life, pacing the galley kitchen of her Philadelphia apartment. Despite filling her days with a never-ending stream of book clubs, theater clubs, and volunteer work, it still seemed like her mother had way too much time on her hands, most of which was filled with calling her children and asking them why they weren’t calling back. While it was lovely her mother got to enjoy her retirement, she’d been a lot more hands-off with Brooke when she was teaching from seven to three each day.

‘Wait just a minute …’ Her mother’s voice trailed off and it was momentarily replaced by Oprah’s before that, too, abruptly ended. ‘There we go.’

‘Wow, you turned off Oprah. It must be important.’

‘She’s interviewing Jennifer Aniston again. I can’t stand to listen to it anymore. She’s over Brad. She’s thrilled to be forty-whatever. She’s never felt better. We get it. Why do we have to keep talking about it?’

Brooke laughed. ‘Listen, Mom, can I call you later tonight? I only have fifteen minutes left of break.’

‘Oh sure, honey. Remind me then to tell you about your brother.’

‘What’s wrong with Randy?’

‘Nothing’s wrong with Randy – something’s finally right. But I know you’re busy right now, so let’s just talk later.’

‘Mom …’

‘It was thoughtless of me to call in the middle of your shift. I wasn’t even—’

Brooke sighed loudly and smiled to herself. ‘Do you want me to beg?’

‘Sweetheart, if it’s a bad time, it’s a bad time. Let’s talk when you have a little more time.’

‘Okay, Mom, I’m begging you to tell me about Randy. Literally pleading. Please tell me what’s up with him. Please?’

‘Well, if you’re going to be so insistent … fine, I’ll tell you. Randy and Michelle are pregnant. There, you forced it out of me.’

‘They’re what?’

‘Pregnant, sweetheart. Having a baby. She’s still very early – only seven weeks, I think – but their doctor says all looks well. Isn’t that just wonderful?’

Brooke heard the television go on again in the background, quieter this time, but she could still make out Oprah’s recognizable laugh.

‘Wonderful?’ Brooke asked, setting down her plastic knife. ‘I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use. They’ve only been dating for six months. They’re not married. They’re not even living together.’

‘Since when are you such a prude, my dear?’ Mrs Greene asked, clucking her tongue. ‘If you’d ever told me that my educated, urbane, thirty-year-old daughter would be such a traditionalist, I never would’ve believed it.’

‘Mother, I’m not sure it’s exactly “traditionalist” to expect that people try to limit baby-making to committed relationships.’

‘Oh, Brooke, relax a little. Not everyone can – or should – get married at twenty-five. Randy’s thirty-eight and Michelle is almost forty. Do you really think anyone cares at this point about some silly little legal document? We should all know well enough by now that it hardly means a thing.’

Brooke’s mind circled through a number of thoughts: her parents’ divorce nearly ten years earlier, when her father left her mother for the school nurse at the high school where they both taught; the way her mother sat Brooke down after her engagement to Julian and told her that women could be perfectly happy these days without getting married; her mother’s fervent wish that Brooke wait to start a family until her career was fully established. It was interesting to see that Randy, apparently, operated under a completely different set of guidelines.

‘Do you know what I really find amusing?’ her mother asked without missing a beat. ‘The thought that maybe, just maybe, your father and Cynthia will have a baby, too. You know, considering how young she is. Then you’d have a brother and a father who are expecting. Really, Brooke, how many girls can say that?’

‘Mom …’

‘Seriously, sweetheart, don’t you think it’s pretty ironic – well, I’m not sure “ironic” is the right word, but it’s pretty coincidental – that your father’s wife is a year younger than Michelle?’

‘Mom! Please stop. You know Dad and Cynthia aren’t going to have any children – he’s going to be sixty-five years old, for god’s sake, and she doesn’t even want—’ Brooke stopped, smiled to herself, shook her head. ‘You know, maybe you’re right, and Dad and Cynthia will jump on the bandwagon. Then Randy and Dad will be able to bond over feeding schedules and naptime. How sweet.’

She waited for it and wasn’t disappointed.

Her mother snorted. ‘Please. The closest that man came to a diaper when you two were babies was watching a Pampers commercial. Men don’t change, Brooke. Your father won’t have anything to do with that child until it is old enough to express a political opinion. But I do think there’s hope for your brother.’

‘Yeah, well, let’s hope so. I’ll call him tonight to congratulate him, but I have to—’

‘No!’ Mrs Greene screeched. ‘We never had this conversation. I promised I wouldn’t tell you, so act surprised when he calls you.’

Brooke sighed and smiled. ‘Great loyalty, Mom. Does that mean you tell Randy everything even when I swear you to secrecy?’

‘Of course not. I only tell him when it’s interesting.’

‘Thanks, Mom.’

‘Love you, sweetheart. And remember, keep this to yourself.’

‘I promise. You have my word.’

Brooke hung up and checked her watch: five minutes to five. Four minutes to get to her next consultation. She knew she shouldn’t call right then, but she just couldn’t wait.

She remembered as soon as she dialed that Randy could be staying after school to coach the boys’ soccer team, but he picked up his cell on the first ring. ‘Hey, Brookie. What’s going on?’

‘What’s going on with me? Not a goddamn thing. What’s going on with you is a much more relevant question.’

‘Jesus Christ. I told her no less than eight minutes ago, and she swore she’d let me tell you myself.’

‘Yeah, well, I swore I wouldn’t tell you she told me, so whatever. Congratulations, big brother!’

‘Thanks. We’re both pretty excited. A little freaked out – it happened a lot faster than either of us expected – but excited.’

Brooke felt her breath catch. ‘What do you mean “faster”? You planned this?’

Randy laughed. She heard him say, ‘Give me a minute,’ to someone in the background, a student probably, and then he said, ‘Yeah, she went off the pill last month. The doctor said it would take at least a couple months for her cycle to regulate before we’d even be able to tell if pregnancy was a possibility due to her age. We just never figured it would happen immediately …’

It was surreal to hear her big brother – an avowed bachelor who decorated his house with old football trophies and dedicated more square footage to his pool table than he did to his kitchen – talk about regulated cycles and birth control pills and doctor’s opinions. Especially when all bets would’ve been on Brooke and Julian as the likeliest candidates to make a big announcement …

‘Wow. What else can I say? Wow.’ It really was all she could say; she was worried Randy would hear her voice catch and interpret it the wrong way.

She was so excited for Randy, she felt a lump in her throat. Sure, he managed to take care of himself just fine, and he always seemed happy enough, but Brooke worried about him being so alone. He lived in the suburbs, surrounded by families, and all of his old college buddies had long since had children. She and Randy weren’t really close enough to talk about it, but she’d always wondered if he wanted all that or if he was happy with his life as a bachelor. Now hearing his excitement confirmed how badly he must have longed for this, and she thought she might cry.

‘Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Can you imagine me teaching the little guy how to throw a pass? I’m going to get him a kid-sized pigskin right from the outset – none of that Nerf crap for my boy – and by the time he’s grown into his hands, he’ll be ready for the real deal.’

Brooke laughed. ‘So you obviously haven’t considered the distinct possibility that you could have a girl, huh?’

‘There are three other pregnant teachers at school, and all three of them are having boys,’ he said.

‘Interesting. But you are aware that, although you all share a work environment, your future child and their future children are not required by law or physics to be the same gender, right?’

‘I’m not sure about that …’

She laughed again. ‘So are you guys going to find out? Or is it too early to ask that question? I don’t really know how these things work.’

‘Well, being that I know we’re having a boy, I don’t really think it’s relevant, but Michelle wants to be surprised. So we’re going to wait.’

‘Aw, that’s fun. When’s the little one due?’

‘October twenty-fifth. A Halloween baby. I think that’s good luck.’

‘I do too,’ Brooke said. ‘I’m marking it in the calendar right now. October twenty-fifth: I’ll be an aunt.’

‘Hey, Brookie, what about you guys? It’d be pretty nice to have first cousins be close in age. Any chance?’

She knew it was hard for Randy to ask her such a personal question so she was careful not to jump down his throat, but he’d hit a nerve. When she and Julian had married at twenty-five and twenty-seven, respectively, she’d always figured they’d have a baby around her thirtieth birthday. But here they were, already past that and nowhere near even starting to try. She’d broached the subject with Julian a few times, casually so as not to put too much pressure on either of them, but he’d been just as casual with his response. Namely, that a baby would be great ‘someday,’ but for now they were doing the right thing focusing on their careers. So although she did want a baby – actually wanted nothing more, especially now, hearing Randy’s news – she adopted Julian’s party line.

‘Oh, someday of course,’ she said, trying to sound casual, the exact opposite of the way she felt. ‘But now’s just not the right time for us. Focusing on work, you know?’

‘Sure,’ Randy said, and Brooke wondered if he knew the truth. ‘You’ve got to do what’s right for you guys.’

‘Yeah, so … listen, I’m sorry to run but my break’s over and I’m late for a consult.’

‘No worries, Brookie. Thanks for the call. And the excitement.’

‘Are you kidding me? Thank you for the incredible news. You made my whole day – my month. Congrats again, Randy. I’m so excited for you guys! I’ll call later tonight to congratulate Michelle, okay?’

They hung up and Brooke began the trek back to the fifth floor. Incredulous, she couldn’t stop shaking her head as she walked. She probably looked like a crazy person, but that would hardly draw attention at the hospital. Randy. A father!