“No problem.”
They hung up, and on the spur of the moment, he called his mother back before calling the caterer. “Mom, Sam and I are going to meet with the caterer. Want to come? It’ll be fun to taste all the food together.”
“Oh honey, you don’t need me there. You boys decide. It’s your day.”
Stung by her brush-off, Zach remembered Sam’s words and decided to let it ride. After all, he was a thirty-two-year-old man and didn’t need his mother with him.
“Sure. No problem. I’ll tell you what we choose. Have fun today.”
“I will. I’m getting my hair done later.”
“Enjoy.”
His mother getting out of the house, dating, and making a life for herself was exactly what Zach had always wanted. For years he’d hoped She’d take this step.
Why then, now that it was happening, did he have such a problem with it?
Chapter Two
‡
Sam walked intothe old art-deco building on Joralemon Street and pressed the button to the tenth floor. It bothered him to keep things from Zach, but with the wedding coming up and Zach’s concern over his mother’s dating, Sam didn’t want to add to his pressure. And it wasn’t like he lied to Zach; hewasstarting a new job today. Leaving out his doctor’s appointment was an omission, not an outright lie, which to Sam wasn’t nearly as bad.
That he hadn’t mentioned why he was going to the doctor was another omission, but Sam knew it wasn’t anything serious. Everyone experienced a little heartburn now and then, but as it was becoming more frequent, he figured he should get it checked out.
Sam entered the doctor’s office and checked in with the front desk. Normally, he saw only the internist, but when he called last week and told them his symptoms, they fit him in right away for a stress test along with a bunch of other tests with a lot of letters he couldn’t remember.
“Good morning, Jasmine,” he greeted the receptionist. “How was your weekend?”
The dark-haired young woman flashed him a smile. “It was great, Sam. How about you? How’re the wedding plans coming?”
“Good, thanks. We’re meeting with the caterer today and finalizing everything.” He leaned on the waist-high counter to chat. “I’m hoping Dr. Diaz has good news for me today so I can forget all the lectures on sugar and fat. I mean, I exercise, and I’m not overweight.”
Jasmine raised a dark brow, and Sam shrugged. “Well, yeah I could lose a few pounds; who couldn’t?” But his usual joking failed to bring a smile to her face.
“It’s more than simple exercise; you know that. No matter how much you don’t want to hear it, diet is very important, as is family history.”
Nothing Sam didn’t hear from Zach on an almost weekly basis when he lectured Sam on his eating habits. He couldn’t help it; he’d picked up the bad habit of eating fast food and snacking on the run when he was a cop. He’d never had a weight problem, and though Zach might mention he should lay off the cannoli every once in a while, and like this morning, not put sugar in his coffee, Sam had every confidence he’d get a clean bill of health.
“Right.” He took a seat in the small, U-shaped waiting room, with the generic pictures of New York City you’d see in any office building. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait long, and picked up a magazine.
After only a fifteen-minute wait, he heard his name. “Sam? Come with me.” One of the young women who normally took his vitals waited for him at the entrance to the suite of examining rooms in the back of the office. He put down the month-old magazine he’d been flipping through and followed the woman with the white coat, but instead of leading him to an examination room, she knocked on a door marked “OFFICE.”
“Come in,” said a disembodied voice.
“Go ahead in.” She opened the door for him, and he passed in front of her. She closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with an unsmiling Dr. Diaz.
A diminutive man, the cardiologist still managed to elicit fear within Sam with his stern expression and hooded dark eyes. Sam hadn’t been this nervous since his rookie days, and decided to try and lighten the atmosphere.
“Hey, Dr. Diaz. Why so serious? You’d think I only had three days to live.”
“Sam,” said Dr. Diaz without returning the smile. “Have a seat.”
“Uh, is something wrong?” Sam sank into the chair in front of the doctor’s desk.
The doctor put down the papers he was holding and gave Sam a frank, direct stare. “I have the results of your EKG and blood tests. I’m sorry to tell you those episodes of chest pain you’ve been experiencing aren’t heartburn as you thought but are symptoms of angina.”
His head whirled. He had no idea what that meant. “What’s that—angina? Am I having a heart attack? Am I dying?” Fuck.
