If You Only Knew(37)

Leo Killian needs to be loved.

And there we go. As stupid a sentiment as exists in the universe. Leo has told me he’s not interested in me. I’d be stupid not to believe him.

But he likes you, says the little whiny voice in my head.

Owen liked me, too, and we all know where that got me. Adam loves Rachel, and he’s rubbing her heart on a cheese grater.

And my father loved Mom. Her image of him is suspended in amber, where he can’t be touched by reality.

I wonder if it’s time to tell my sister that, like her husband, our father was a cheater, too.

Rachel

It’s not every day that I get checked for herpes. Nope. This is a first. No wonder I’m wearing new underwear.

I seem to have become a stand-up comedian in my own head, ever since finding out that Adam is/was cheating on me. It beats hysteria and/or murder. Ba-dum-ching!

I hustle the girls into the minivan and drive to nursery school, saying goodbye with fast hugs. This, of course, is the day that everyone wants to talk to me. Four or five mothers stand in a well-dressed knot outside the doors, and I have to weave between them.

“Rachel, come to Blessed Bean with us,” Elle says. She’s wearing a top so tight it’s a wonder she can draw breath to speak.

“Yeah, Rachel. You never come,” Claudia says, twisting her most recent diamond ring.

“I’m sorry. I have an errand to run,” I say.

“Meeting someone?” Mean Debbie suggests slyly. She gives me an arch look. “So dressed up, Rachel.”

Yes, I have dressed up. To make a good impression on my syphilis or chlamydia or whatever I may have. Hi! Take it easy on me, because as you can see from this adorable dress, I’m supernice!

“I gotta run, too,” Kathleen says, though technically they haven’t invited her to go out for coffee. She’s older than the rest of us, and the one time she did come along, she ordered a full breakfast, while Claudia, Debbie and Elle watched with the same horrified fascination as if she’d been shooting heroin. Ba-dum-ching! “Come on, Rach, we can walk to our cars together.” When we’re a safe distance away, she whispers, “Everything okay?”

“Mmm-hmm. Thanks for asking, though.” I can’t look at her, because I can feel tears rising behind my eyes, and if I see any kindness in her expression, I’m likely to fall apart, which would make Mean Debbie and Claudia and Elle incredibly excited.

“Give me a call later if you want,” Kathleen says. “I’m gonna just come out and say this. I hate those bitches back there. You’re the only genuine person I’ve met since we moved here, and I’d love to be friends if you’re as nice as you seem.”

My mouth falls open. “Oh, Kathleen! Thank you. I feel the same way. I mean...they’re not really that bad. But you seem really nice, too.” My cheeks prickle with a blush, but it’s wonderfully awkward.

In a flash, I see her coming over to my house, sitting in the kitchen, eating those lemon cookies I baked last night. “Do you want to— Oh, wait. I really do have an errand. Maybe...”

“Another time, then?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.” I hesitate, then force out the words. “I have some personal things going on. It might be a while, but I’d really like to get to know you better.” It’s mortifying. I hate being shy. I hate it.

“Great. I mean, shit on the personal things, but let me know if I can help.” She smiles then gets into her minivan, which is cluttered and filthy and smells like boy.

“Thank you,” I say. “Thanks.” I swallow hard and get into my car.

A few minutes later, I’m standing at the receptionist’s window at my doctor’s office. “Rachel Carver to see Dr. Ramanian,” I say.

“Insurance card, please,” drones the extremely young woman. She looks as if death by boredom is imminent. I hand over my card. She glances at it and types. And types. And types. “What is the reason for your visit?”

Horror flashes like weak lightning. Do I have to actually say this out loud? “Um...a checkup?”

“You just had a checkup four months ago,” she says, staring at her computer screen.

I bite my lip. “I...I know. I need another one. I have an appointment.”

“Well, your insurance isn’t gonna cover this. Are you sick?” Her voice is all too loud. My face feels as if it’s bubbling, I’m blushing so hard.

“Um...”

My husband is cheating on me. I need to make sure he didn’t give me anything.

“Hello? I need to fill in this form.” She looks so bored. And beautiful. And so damn young, chewing on her gum, all those silver bracelets, a Chinese character tattoo on her hand...

“It’s none of your business,” I say in a hard voice. “I’ll tell the doctor. I have an appointment, so just get me in there.”

Wow. This new Rachel...she kind of kicks ass.

The girl is not impressed. “Fine. Have a seat.”

Like all doctors’ offices, this one features uncomfortable chairs with itchy upholstery, travel magazines and outdated editions of Entertainment Weekly. I pick up an issue of something and pretend to read, but my heart is thudding.

Napoleon Bonaparte died of syphilis, didn’t he? Or was that Al Capone? Or both?

Good God. What if I have something? It’s utterly surreal. Adam, too, is being tested, but somehow, I doubt he’s suffering the way I am. In fact, I picture him going into his doctor’s office saying, “Here for another screen, dude! Been f*cking around on my wife, and, boy, is this other woman hot!” and the doctor says, “Yeah, you go, Adam, you da man!” and they high-five and—