Time (Laws of Physics #3)(31)
“Absolutely.”
“Good. I’ll text you the details once I work things out with my friend. I’ll also—hold on, Abram is trying to get my attention. Just a sec.”
The phone went quiet for a minute, maybe two, during which I calculated the precise moment I would have to leave LA to make it back to Geneva on time. To my delight, we’d actually end up with more time together than if we’d met in New York. This realization was tempered by the reminder that Abram was extremely sick. I’d prefer less time and him well, not because I felt like I was missing out on quality time with him, but because I just wanted him to be better.
“Okay, Mona. Are you still there?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“Abram has a few stipulations for your visit, which I’m going to communicate. Item one: you can only come if you’ve had your flu shot. Have you?”
“Yes! I had it. I had it in November. Ha!” I did a little triumphant fist pump and accidentally hit my knuckles against the overhead reading light. I stifled an ow, also earning an irritated side-eye from the woman next to me in the center seat. Doing my best to ignore her glare, I cleared my throat and asked, “What else?”
“Item two: you will sleep while you are here whenever you are tired, and you will not spend all your time taking care of him.”
“That sounds like two things, but sure. I’m fine with item two.” I would definitely shower when we arrived.
“Item three: you will allow him to pay for a car to pick you up, your hotel room, and anything else you need while you’re here.”
“That seems gratuitous.” I crossed my arms. We hadn’t talked much about the money thing, but I felt like it was a conversation looming on the horizon. He had a lot more than me, and that was fine. But I wasn’t penniless, I had pride, and I liked paying my own way. I liked knowing I’d earned what was mine, and that included experiences.
“He said you would have a problem with this one, so he said it was nonnegotiable.”
“Define nonnegotiable? If he covers this visit, can I cover the car, hotel, and meals of our next rendezvous?”
“Hold on, let me ask. She wants to know—” Marie must’ve covered the phone because I didn’t hear the remainder of her question. Less than a minute later, she was back. “He agrees. Also, nice use of the word rendezvous. I approve.”
“Thank you.” Her praise flustered me a little and I had to give myself a slight shake to refocus.
“Next item: you are not to sleep at the hospital. When you sleep, you have to sleep in the hotel. Basically, he wants you to get good sleep.”
I made a sound of displeasure, but eventually said, “Fine. Anything else? Any other terms?”
“Nope. That’s it. I’ll be in touch with the details for the flight. Let me call my friend and get that ball rolling. See you soon.”
“See you soon. Bye.”
The call clicked off. I lowered my phone, releasing an expansive sigh. It did nothing to ease the knots in my chest and throat. I wanted to help. I wanted to help but was stuck on the other side of the USA, waiting to deplane. I was helpless.
I thought back over my last few conversations with Abram, searching for some clue, something I could do to help from afar. Perhaps picking up something from the gift shop? Personally, I liked snow globes. I wondered how he felt about the Statue of Liberty.
“Is your hand okay?”
Glancing at the woman next to me, the one who’d just given me the side-eye, I asked, “Pardon?”
“Your hand. You hit it on the reading light.”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s fine. I just, uh, got excited about something.”
She gave me a small smile. “I once broke two fingers in my right hand closing them in a car door. It was awful, being one handed for weeks. But you know what? It made me realize how many selfies I took, because I just can’t take them with my left hand.” She laughed, shaking her head at herself.
Grinning, I found myself curious. “How many selfies did you take?”
“Oh, like, a few every day. But my boyfriend at the time—husband now—was always asking for them, so I think it just became a habit.”
Ah!
AH HA!
Of course!
“Thank you,” I said, already unlocking my phone and switching the camera around to face me. “You just gave me an exceedingly excellent and exploitable idea.”
Abram was asleep when his parents and I arrived at the hospital.
Wait. Let me back up for a second, because I’m sure you’re wondering. Seeing Mr. and Mrs. Harris for the first time in over two years was significantly less awkward than I’d feared it would be.
Pamela stepped onto the jet, saw me, walked over, and gave me a hug. “I’m so glad you’re coming, but I worry for you, Mona. Abram says you’re not sleeping enough.”
Perplexed by her (shouldn’t she be mad at me for lying to her about who I was years ago?), her words (like we knew each other extremely well and often discussed such things), and my body’s reaction to both (which was to immediately return her embrace without nary a flinch), the profuse apology I’d planned stuck in my throat.
What is happening? What has just happened?
Stepping back, she held my shoulders and regarded me. “I also want to tell you how proud we were when we saw you on TV over the summer, giving those corrupt Washington jerks—excuse my French—a piece of your mind. But, honey, you look tired, and I don’t mean that to be insulting, I mean that because I’m concerned. Here—” she let me go and reached into her bag “I brought muffins. This one is lemon poppyseed. Or, if you like, you can have blueberry.”