Saving Meghan(48)

I’d made it to the door and was deciding if I should run left or right when a mountain-size man appeared in the doorway. He grabbed me in a bear hug, hoisted me off my feet. I squirmed to try to slip from his grasp, but he tightened his grip around my waist until I started to have difficulty breathing.

I twisted my body to free myself, and that’s when I saw Nurse Amy coming at me with a needle the size of a bayonet attached to a large syringe. I whirled back around and tried to sink my teeth into the chest of the guy holding me. Before I could latch on, he used one hand to push my head away. He was strong enough to keep hold of me with one arm, but then again, he outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds.

“No!” I screamed. “I want my mom! I want my mom! I just want my mom!”

I kicked and thrashed wildly in the giant man’s arms, but couldn’t break free of his hold. I couldn’t look at the needle coming my way either.

“Mom!” I screamed.

I felt a sharp pain in my arm and saw the needle being pulled out of my flesh like the fang of a snake having deposited its venom. Almost immediately my blood felt hot as my skin started to tingle all over. I felt this incredible warmth swimming through me.

The tension in my muscles let go. My legs went still. My head was buzzing, but I wasn’t scared anymore. A peaceful feeling washed over me like I’d been set free. I was a fish now, swimming up a river. Water rushed through my gills. I was a bird taking flight for the first time, soaring high into the sky, turning before making a dive. I was a cloud floating. A tunnel appeared before me, darkly ominous. I was being dragged toward it. I pushed against the feeling, but it was no use. I wasn’t strong enough to resist. A thought came to me as I slipped inside that dark space, one single, final thought that was as clear as if I’d spoken the words aloud.

I’m getting out of here. I’m getting out of here, and you can’t stop me.





CHAPTER 23





BECKY


She rose from her seat at the booth in the back of the diner to greet Dr. Levine. They shook hands tentatively before settling across from each other.

“Thank you so much for making time for me,” Becky said.

“I don’t have long,” Dr. Levine answered.

“I have to be at the lawyer’s office soon,” Becky offered as a way of assuring him she’d keep it brief. “But I would have dropped everything to make this meeting happen.” She peered over her grease-splattered menu and caught Dr. Levine looking at her, his eyes lingering a beat too long to avoid notice. Becky had her strategy worked out in advance, thinking she could pit Nash against Levine—use the younger doctor’s ego to her advantage. But now she wondered if there was something else that might give her an edge.

Did she remind him of someone, an unrequited love from high school, perhaps? The cheerleader he could only admire from afar? Aside from LinkedIn, which offered scant clues about the man, Levine kept his social media accounts private. But the way he’d looked at her made Becky wonder if there was a girl who had rejected him years ago.

As a precaution, Becky had come dressed for that possibility. She looked more like she was going out on the town than having breakfast at the Moonlight Diner—a hole-in-the-wall kind of place that Dr. Levine had suggested for its proximity to White Memorial, but not so close as to risk being spotted by Nash or worse. She’d let her hair down for the occasion, and her bronzy blond mane that draped past her shoulders was full of body, thanks to the extra conditioning treatment she’d applied. To enhance her tawny complexion, Becky had used her Giorgio Armani foundation, and her perfume scented the air with a touch of seduction. She wore a formfitting black turtleneck sweater, and the shape of her body in jeans as she strode to the back of the diner drew glances from the male and female patrons alike.

It had taken her almost as much effort to get ready as it had to get Levine to agree to this hastily arranged rendezvous. On the phone, Levine had held all the cards, but that one look he sent her, an innocuous little tell, provided Becky a clue as to how to play him. He was so young and simple, many years and burdens away from having complex channels burrowed into his psyche. The same could not be said for her husband, the man she should feel closest to, her rock, her true north, who had let their current struggles cloud him with doubt and angst.

“Why don’t you come right out and say it,” Becky had snapped at Carl earlier that morning as he was tying his blue tie in the hexagonal mirror that hung above a custom double vanity in their bathroom.

“Say what?” Carl had mumbled to his reflection.

“That you think I’m abusing Meghan. That you believe I’m intentionally harming her.”

“I don’t think that,” Carl said in a detached manner that lacked all conviction. “Like I said, I think you’re confused. I think you’ve become confused.”

“What’s the difference?” Becky asked as she painted on a truffle-colored shade of lipstick. Why isn’t he asking why I’m getting made up? Becky had wondered. What does he think I’m doing today before our meeting with the lawyer? Why doesn’t he care?

The bathroom where Becky and Carl had readied themselves for the day was nicer than their first apartment. Hell, it was nicer than their first home. Cool and chic, designed in a luxurious gray, the master bath featured mixed marble with natural stone elements. Becky could not remember the last time she and Carl had made love in the freestanding tub, but there was a time not too long ago when he’d make her a bubble bath, scent it with rose water, and kneel at her side as he washed her back. When Meghan got sick, Becky began taking baths alone.