Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
For once, they’re right.
It’s been a good month. I’m getting outside every day. Working out at the gym. I think I even see the beginning of toned muscles when I look in the mirror—who would have thought? Not me. But with my headphones in, the pulsing music pushing me, I’ve focused entirely on myself for once.
I pull at the mittens my brother gave me for Christmas—I stayed with him and his family, his two darling little girls. It’s true they reminded me of another little girl I’d never met. It wasn’t easy. His cheery family reminded me of all the dreams I used to have, of all the things Gabriel Wright lost. But I wrote about it and walked on the treadmill and somehow got it out of my head. And I was happy for my brother. Holidays haven’t always been easy for the two of us, with losing our parents to different illnesses when we were in our early twenties. All in all, I think I did pretty well. I’ve fought off the desire to return to an old path and wait until Gabriel strode along it. I’m in a better place now.
A few blocks later, I realize I’m close to my office, so I decide to walk by. It’s the first time I’ve even attempted it since I’d carried my boxes out the door months ago. In fact, I’ve avoided the block completely until now. But soon my suspension will be up, thirty-seven days and counting, and I’ll be returning to work, returning to my practice. One step closer to normalcy.
I turn right at the corner, see my building up ahead. My heart pounds as I step closer, but it’s a good feeling this time. Excitement, more than anxiety. A fresh start, not dreading the past. At least until I get to building number 988 and see my face plastered on the bus stop out front.
My heart thuds to a halt.
What the hell?
A close-up picture of my face is taped to the glass bus stop covering. Words are typed underneath, but my jittery eyes are so freaked-out it takes a solid minute for me to be able to focus enough to read them.
DRUG DEALERS AREN’T ALWAYS STREET THUGS
Dr. Meredith McCall prescribes drugs to known abusers.
Support Bill S0178 mandating permanent suspension for doctors who deal drugs.
Underneath is a logo of two fists with MAAD New York—Mothers Against Abusive Doctors.
My eyes dart around the street. It feels like everyone is staring—like they know what I’ve done. I expect to see people angry, people pointing. But I’m the only one paying the sign any attention. I reach forward and rip it from the glass, leaving only remnants of the white page taped at all four corners. Then I take off running.
I run and run, until my lungs burn and my legs feel so shaky that I start to worry I’ll fall. Collapsing onto the stairs of a random brownstone, I lean over, head between my knees, and suck air.
“Are you okay?” a woman stops and asks.
I nod.
She smiles. “I tell everyone I’m fine, too. Just remember, whatever it is will eventually pass.”
I doubt it. There are some things in life we don’t deserve to run away from.
* * *
The following week, Dr. Alexander crosses an ankle over his knee. “Happy new year.”
“Thanks. It’s my birthday, too.”
“Oh? Well, happy birthday.” He adjusts his tie. “Any plans?”
“I…” I pause. I was going to make something up to make him feel comfortable. A habit of mine now. I do it for my brother often. Tell him I’m meeting a friend for lunch or going to a museum or—or something. But I don’t need to soothe my therapist’s worries. Plus, I’ve been better since I started being honest with him. “No, not really. Actually, I’m feeling really lonely right now.”
“Tell me more.”
I settle into the couch and cross my legs, staring at an abstract painting on his wall. “Well, I mean, I have my brother, but he’s got a whole life. A wife and kids and a job. And he lives in Connecticut, so he’s close, but not too close. I don’t have a ton of friends. The ones I had in college, I lost touch with during the demanding years of medical school. After that, I was a busy resident, and, well… I wrapped a lot of my life around Connor. My friends were his teammates’ wives or people we spent time with as a couple. And with everything that happened, most of them faded away. Or maybe I couldn’t face them. I don’t know anymore. I was pretty close with Irina, the wife of Connor’s best friend on his team. But she has three kids under five and she couldn’t…” I struggle for the right words. I’m also not sure it’s all Irina’s fault we haven’t spoken. “We just drifted apart,” I finish. “I do talk to a couple of ladies at the gym in the yoga class I started last month, but it’s so hard as an adult—making that leap from casual hellos to ‘Want to grab a coffee?’ ”