Bad Mommy(58)

Why there? I’d texted him when I saw the address. Dentists on every corner and you make me drive all the way there! I was agitated. He knew I hated driving.

He’s a buddy of mine. Just go, he’ll take good care of you. You go to the dentist like twice a year. Stop whining. So, I stopped whining. If Darius had told me to stop whining I would have given him something to whine about. For Ryan, I stopped whining. Fuck my life. What was even happening?

Henry Wu was a young Asian guy, straight out of tooth school, or wherever they went. He came to collect me from the reception area himself and led me to a room whistling the theme song to Dexter. Real comforting, guy. After he sat me down, he told me that this was his first practice, and that his uncle loaned him the money to get started. I felt better about the twenty-minute drive after his whole spiel, and made a mental note to thank Ryan.

“How do you know Ryan?” he asked. His eyes briefly wandered to my wedding ring.

“College, but we didn’t know each other well there. We sort of became friends after we graduated. You?”

“We worked at the Logan’s Roadhouse together. Beer, peanuts, two dollar tips all night.”

I tried to picture Ryan as a server. I couldn’t.

“He never ran his own food, we all hated him,” Henry said, and we both laughed. That I could picture.

An hour and no cavities later, he sat me up in the chair and asked what I did for a living.

I hesitated. “I’m an author.” It still made me terribly uncomfortable to admit it. I hated talking about myself. There was a certain butt naked feeling when you told someone you were an artist. It was sort of like telling them you’d been to prison. First they looked at you funny, then they wanted to know what you did. After that they started acting weird, not sure if they should be afraid of you, or impressed. Dr. Wu pulled his mask down and raised his eyebrows. I couldn’t raise my eyebrows anymore, too much Botox.

I thought he was going to have the normal reaction, maybe ask the follow-up questions about what I write. But, instead he said, “You’re my second author! How about that?”

“In this area?” I asked, sitting up straighter. I could count the number of published authors living in Seattle on one hand.

“She’s in Seattle too,” he said. “I’m not sure how she found me, I didn’t ask.”

“What’s her name?” I was immediately intrigued. Perhaps someone I knew, or at least my pen name knew. Few authors knew my real name, and I preferred to keep it that way for privacy sake.

He shook his head. “Can’t tell you, HIPAA laws.”

I was disappointed. “Is she well-known?” I probed.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But, she mentioned going on book tours, so I assume so. Writes under a pen name.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, incredulous. I listed off Seattle-based authors in my head: Sarah Jio, Isaac Marion, and even some based in far out Washington like S.C. Stephens, and S.L. Jennings. How had a new Seattle author slipped past my radar?

“She’s older then,” I said. An older female author without a social media presence. It made sense. Those of us on social media tended to find each other, pen name and all.

“No, no—she’s your age. Looks kind of like you, too.” He pulled off his gloves and pressed the pedal to the trash can with his foot.

“Looks like me how?” I asked. Was it cold in here, or was I getting the chills?

“Dark hair, same style clothes.” He glanced at my boots. “She was wearing Dr. Martens when she came in. Must be a writer thing, those things are extinct.”

“Hey, they’re on a comeback.” I smiled. I tried one last thing.

“Is she a Washington native?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Said she moved here from the Midwest.”

I got cold. From the tips of my toes all the way to my heart, which suddenly beat at a gallop. I moved through the rest of the visit as quickly as I could, signing, smiling, and making a follow-up appointment. The minute I got to my car I tossed my purse in the passenger seat and dialed Amanda.

“Fig,” she said, after I finished my story.

I breathed a sigh of relief. That’s exactly what I had been thinking, but I felt crazy even saying it.

“This is nuts,” she said. “I’m going to call and pretend to be her to find out if she goes there.” She hung up before I could protest. I sat in my car, feeling sick to my stomach. Why? Did she want my life so badly that she was even pretending to have it to the dentist? By the time Amanda’s number flashed on my phone I was a mess.

“Hello?”

“She’s a patient there. I scheduled a cleaning for her filthy mouth.”

I had to pull over.

“You’re telling me that Fig Coxbury goes to that dentist—that Wu guy?” My finger jabbed uselessly in the air.

“Yup.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, parking my car. I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel. “But, it may all be a coincidence, right? I mean there could be an author who goes there too, Seattle is a large city.”

“Nope, it’s not actually that large. No. You’re going to have to stop being so goddamn stupid—do you hear me? She wants your life. She’s even pretending to have it to your local dental health specialist. Wake up, Jo.”