I told myself it didn't matter. He would never come into the library, would never be found walking down my street. We were no longer attending the same high school, though he'd been three years ahead of me, and we wouldn't pass in the halls. Daisy went back to New York, and I didn't have an excuse to go out to dinner again in the near future.
It would be best if I relaxed and forgot he existed. I needed to get on with my life and stop thinking about the way he filled out that suit. The strength of his hands, the length of his fingers, the sharpness of his jaw—none of those things mattered. As I stocked a few nonfiction books, my mind wandered to the color of his eyes. They'd been a deep, enticing blue all those years before. He used to be happy and not so serious, the type to be a class clown. He acted out all the time with his best friend and cousin, but they never got in trouble. His parents were important, influential, and I'd been jealous. I never did anything to step out of line for fear of disappointing my parents. The very idea of it made me uncomfortable.
Pushing another book into its proper space, I realized the only thing I had to look forward to was planning the week's dinner menu. When I saw the head librarian, Olivia Johansen, hurrying toward me with a stricken look on her face, I straightened warily.
"Kinsley, you need to call Julia right now."
Automatically, I took hold of the hands Olivia extended to me. If my mother had called, something was definitely wrong. "Why?"
"Please, dear, go and call her. I'll cover your shift."
Mild alarm ramped up to full panic, causing my throat to seize and tears to prick at my eyes. "Is it my father?"
"Call Julia," Olivia said firmly, letting go of my hands and giving me a little push toward the back of the library.
Numbly, I walked to the employee lounge and dug my phone out of my purse. Three missed calls. It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head as I tapped the screen to return the call.
"Kinsley?"
I sank onto a chair at the frantic sound of my mother’s voice. "Mom, what’s wrong?"
"Your father's been shot, Kinsley."
"Oh, God." I almost missed her next words for the buzzing sound filling my ears.
"He's in critical condition, but he's stable. Can you come to the hospital?"
"Um." I swallowed. "Mrs. Johansen said I could leave. I'll come right now."
"Be careful driving, Kinsley."
For a few seconds after my mother disconnected on the other end, I couldn't focus enough to think. I needed to get up, get my purse and coat, and leave the library. Instead, I sat there praying my father would live.
"Kinsley, dear, do you need me to drive you?"
"What?" Looking up into Olivia's softly wrinkled face, I shook my head. "No, then there wouldn't be anyone here. I can manage."
"Well, it's not far. Be safe." She handed me my things, kissing my cheek in a grandmotherly fashion. "Just tell me if you need time off."
With an absent nod, I headed outside. The wind picked up, reminding me I hadn't stopped to put on my coat. Slipping inside my ancient car and cranking the engine, I found a modicum of comfort in the deafening sound of the old piece of crap. After turning the heat up, I methodically fastened my seatbelt and put the gear shift in reverse. Knowing the last thing any of them needed at that point was me getting into an accident, I took great care navigating the streets to the hospital.
The only available parking space was much farther from the entrance than I would have liked, but I pulled my coat on as I walked through the brisk, early spring air. By the time I stepped inside through the automatic doors, I was shivering, but the heat of the lobby welcomed me. About to pull my phone from my purse to call Mom and find out what room they were in, I paused when I heard a deep chuckle.
His was a voice easily recognized, at least by me. The strap of my bag slipped down to my elbow as I stared at the visitor's sign-in desk. Burke Gallagher leaned idly against it, smiling at the woman seated in the chair. She twirled her frizzy bleached hair around her forefinger and popped a bubble of baby pink gum.
I wanted to vomit.
I had to pass the desk to reach the rest of the hospital; did I stand there and make a call they could overhear, or interrupt their flirtatious exchange?
"Do you need something?" The nasally voice wasn’t familiar, but when I turned my head it took mere seconds to recognize Emma Swanson, née Meyers.
There could be no color to my cheeks, not after the events of the past half hour. My mouse-brown hair was windblown, twisted around my shoulders and sticking to my damp cheeks. And here was Burke, flirting with the one girl I’d hated the most, who had been a cheerleader and voted most likely to go down on a jock in high school.
Now that Emma had drawn attention to me, he looked directly at me for the first time in my life, and Emma was the girl to whom he'd compare me.
As I approached the desk, he straightened to his full height—Jesus, what a magnificent stature—and I realized I'd been right in my recollection of his eye color. Only now, I wished he'd stop staring at me as though I were an abomination.
"My dad, Emma. Thomas Hawthorne?" I whispered, feeling like a fool.
