The Match by Ann Dominguez

Author:Ann Dominguez
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: suspense, sisters, medical thriller
Publisher: Ann Dominguez

Sixteen

Not quite three hours later, I woke up and stayed as still as I could, willing time to stop. Three hours was barely time for the sheets to warm up, let alone for yesterday’s troubles to wear off. As if I hadn’t fallen asleep at all, Frank Oberholzer’s funeral cast a dark shadow over the day. If there were enough snow, the city would have to call a snow day. Even as I crafted elaborate domestic fantasies of baking my grandmother’s cookies with the girls and the four of us making snow people in the park, I knew it would never happen. Dan finally rolled over with a faint snort and sat on the edge of the sagging bed to rub his lower back. We showered, made French toast, and dressed. I contemplated skipping my dose of HIV meds to see if my nausea would go away, but then I saw a new freckle on my arm and wondered if it were an HIV-rash. I took the pills.

Dan seemed to be in a hurry. I felt like there was something this week we had to do, but I couldn’t quite remember it. I was in no hurry. The only thing on my agenda for the morning was Frank’s funeral. I’d rather have a root canal. Maybe if I was lucky, we’d get a flat tire on the way. Dan came out of the bedroom wearing his only suit, stiff with pressing. And a tie.

“Your lip’s not too bad.” He kissed my forehead. “Genie didn’t do as much damage as you thought.”

I rubbed my lip and ran my tongue along the tender ridge inside my mouth, remembering Jack’s touch.

“I’ll drop Genie on my way,” Dan said.

“Where are you going?” What was he talking about? I pulled the orange drycleaner’s tag through the top buttonhole of his white shirt and crushed it in my hand.

“Today’s the big meeting.” His eyebrows worked into a frown as he looked at my blank face. “For my project.” His look said he repented the kiss, though I still felt it warm on my face. “How could you forget this?”

It glared at me from the calendar square, highlighted with green crayon and even legible: Project Conference, Airport Hilton, 9 am. Dan rarely had to go in. Usually his work fit in the cracks and edges of our days. But this conference had been on last year’s calendar before we had a February to put it in onto.

“I hope it goes well.” I tried to sound like I remembered it. I tried to make my face say, Of course this is your big meeting. But I was thinking, I don’t have a car.

No smile from him. Great. Now I knew two mind readers.

Molly and I watched them from the kitchen windows, across our drooping fire escape, as they headed to the car. Our landlord hadn’t been by with a shovel yet, so the back walk was an unbroken drift of white snow. My tracks from last night were long buried.

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