Chapter 14

I hardly seeAbe for the next few days. He's clearly avoiding me.

I'm too agitated to study. How can I? Every time I try to concentrate on anatomy, I start imagining what Abe could possibly be hiding from me. Why were his clothes covered in blood? Why was it caked into his nails?

When I get home from class today, I discover a huge basket of flowers that takes up half my bed. A lavender card is embedded between two lilies, and I open it up to see Abe's handwriting: Please forgive me.

Rachel is lying in my bed with headphones over her ears. She pulls them off and makes a face.

"I think your boyfriend is single-handedly supporting the flower industry."

I bring my nose close to the bouquet to inhale the scent. I love lilies, and Abe knows it. And the fact that he doesn"t have much money to drop on flowers makes the gesture even sweeter. I almost feel guilty.

Almost.

"Seriously," Rachel says, "will you just forgive him already? Before I asphyxiate from all the pollen?"

I stare at my roommate in surprise. "You approve of my relationship with Abe? I can't believe it."

Rachel shrugs. "Well, he appears to make you happy and… I guess he's not as horrible as most guys." She shakes her head. "So what despicable thing did he do to piss you off anyway?"

I just shake my head. I wish I could tell Rachel everything. But even though we've been living together for months, I don't trust Rachel. Especially since I'm fairly sure she's hooking up with someone in the class, and she won't tell me who. She frequently disappears late into the night and returns with her hair disheveled and a secret smile on her face. I asked her about it once, and she told me she didn't have time for silly things like sex.

Anyway, this is Abe's secret, and I don't want to share it with just anybody, even if I don't know what it is.

Instead, I leave the flowers on the bed and drive back to the hospital. I've got to talk to someone about this. But Abe is my best friend at this school—really, my only close friend. So there's one other person who comes to mind that I can confide in.

Dr. Patrice Winters's office is directly above the anatomy labs. I saw her one time, as required, when school first started, but the session barely lasted half an hour because I didn't feel like I had much to say back then. Today, I've got a lot more to talk about.

It's a long shot that she'll be around—I fully expect to have to make an appointment—but I figure it can't hurt to drop by. Patrice is a therapist, so anything I tell her will be confidential, and that's exactly what I'm looking for right now.

I'm surprised to see the door to her office is ajar. I walk over tentatively but stop when I hear a familiar voice from inside. I recognize it instantly as belonging to Dr. Conlon.

"Thank you so much, Patrice," he's saying. "You're the best. Really."

"Anything for you, Matt," she replies.

I freeze. I may just be a med student, but I'm also a girl, and I recognize flirtation. Patrice's words are just dripping with it. Is there something going on between the two of them? I wouldn't be surprised. But if there were, wouldn't they close the door all the way?

Before I can contemplate further, the door is yanked open in front of me, and I nearly fall into the office. Dr. Conlon's blue eyes widen when he sees me. "Heather?"

I straighten up, trying to smile. Patrice looks decidedly annoyed, but her face changes when she hears Dr. Conlon say my name. Her features soften, and she holds out her hand to me.

"Heather McKinley," she says. "Please come in."

It's like she's been waiting for me. Creepy.

Dr. Conlon limps off and closes the door behind him. Patrice gestures at the sofa in front of her desk, which is light blue, and I sink into it so deeply that I'm worried I might not be able to get up. Patrice has mood lighting going on in here, although part of me wonders if that was for Dr. Conlon's benefit.

"So, Heather," Patrice says, sliding a pair of half-moon glasses up her narrow nose. "What brings you to see me?"

"It's…" I want to tell her everything, but I can't. This woman makes me uncomfortable. "It's silly."

"Nothing is silly, Heather," she assures me.

I squeeze my fists together. Okay, I need to just say it. If I don't talk to somebody about this, I'm going to burst. Even if that somebody is Patrice.

"It's about my boyfriend," I say. "He's a student here. Abe Kaufman."

Patrice nods.

"He's acting weird," I continue. "I mean, really weird."

Patrice nods again.

"Not like he's on drugs or anything," I add quickly. "I don't think so. I mean, definitely not. But…"

"Yes?"

I chew on my lower lip, not sure how much I can say. I don't want to get Abe in trouble, but if this session is truly confidential, I should be able to tell her everything. "I found blood all over his scrubs. Like, soaking them."

Patrice nods yet again. I wish she'd say something. I'm beginning to regret having come to her. This lady is the opposite of what I'd call "understanding." But I'm already telling her, so I may as well go through with it. And anyway, there's nothing to tell. Not yet.

"It was weird, that's all," I say. "And it was… scary."

"So he was injured?"

"No, that's the thing." I think back to that night when I burst into the bathroom while he was showering. "I'm pretty sure he wasn't injured. I saw him in just a towel, and he wasn't bleeding from anywhere. So where did all that blood come from?"

"What did he tell you?"

"He works part-time at a clinic." I crinkle my nose. "He said he was doing some procedure, and it got messy."

"That sounds like a reasonable explanation."

"Except why was the blood on his hands too?"

"On his hands?"

"In his fingernails. I saw it."

Patrice is quiet for a moment, as if turning over this revelation in her head. "So you believe he's lying to you."

"Yes."

"And what is it that you think he's done?"

Even though it was an obvious question to ask, it throws me off-balance. Because there is only one conclusion that can be drawn after seeing that much blood on my boyfriend's clothing.

"I don't know," I finally reply. "Abe is a good guy. I don't believe he'd… you know…"

"Perhaps it was less blood than you thought?" Patrice suggests.

"Maybe…"

Maybe she"s right. Yes, it looked like a lot of blood. But I once had a simple nosebleed that completely soaked my shirt. Just because it was all over his clothes, that doesn't mean it was some person's lifeblood. Maybe it really was just a procedure he was assisting in, just like he told me.

But I can"t shake the feeling that he was lying to me.

I've stopped studyingat the library because I don't want to run into Abe.

Instead, I have found a little empty classroom that is fairly quiet, and I can spread out my books and attempt to get some work done. It's harder to study without Abe, but I can't be around him right now.

I've managed to get through an hour of anatomy, although I'm not sure if any of it is sticking. I've got a little time left before the final exam, and I've got two passing grades under my belt. I can make it through this exam. I don"t need Abe.

Although that's not the reason I want to see him so badly right now.

I take a break from anatomy and head to the bathroom. After I relieve my bladder, I look at my reflection in the mirror while I'm washing my hands. I look exhausted. My hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and not the stylish kind. My face looks very pale, and I've got a blemish popping up on my chin. I splash some water on my face, and that brings a tiny bit of color into my cheeks, but it doesn't really help much.

Like I always do when I'm in here, I look down at the crack in the sink. There's no memorial for Darcie Peterson—the girl who died here last year—and this is as close as it gets. It used to freak me out, but as the term has gone on, it has reminded me to be strong. Yes, med school is hard. But there are worse things.

I could be dead.

The door to the bathroom swings open, and one of my classmates, a stringy guy named Victor, enters the small space. Except this is a ladies' room—not a coed bathroom. When he sees me standing there, he doesn't leave.

"Hey, Heather," he says.

"Uh." I glance pointedly at the row of stalls. "This is the girls' bathroom, you know."

"Oh!" His eyes widen like he didn't realize it, although I don't know how that's possible. "Sorry!"

And yet he still doesn't leave.

"Hey," he says. "Are you studying with Abe right now?"

The question is almost as strange as the fact that Victor doesn't seem to be making any motion to exit the ladies' room. Why is he asking me about Abe? I don"t think I've seen Victor exchange two words with him. "No…"

"Do you know where he is?"

I shake my head. "I"m not sure. Back at the dorms, maybe."

"Sorry." He rubs his hands together. "I thought you two were an item."

"We are." Sort of. "But he's… He's not here."

"Okay…" Victor considers this new development. "Well, when you see him, can you tell him I'm looking for him? And it's, like, important."

I frown at Victor. He's wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I can't help but notice how painfully skinny he is. He's shifting between his sneakers, squeezing his shaky hands together. He looks more anxious than he should, considering we don't have any exams this week.

"Is everything okay?" I ask him.

"Just struggling a bit. You know." He lets out an odd-sounding laugh. "Anyway, make sure you tell Abe I'm looking for him. Please?"

I am troubled by the note of desperation in Victor's voice. "Okay," I agree.

What is going on here? He sounds the same way that Gerald/Harold guy sounded in the parking lot when he wanted to talk to Abe. Abe seemed so baffled when that happened. But now, I wonder if that was all an act.

What is my boyfriend hiding from me?