Page 133 of When the Smoke Clears

Jamie and I exchange confused looks.

“Yes. I believe she was the only one with him. By the time my mom and I got there, she was gone. Honestly, I have no idea why she was there. Why she didn’t tell me she was going to see him.”

“Shit,” Liz whispers.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I was concerned about her being there with your father so close to dying. I expressed my concerns, but she dismissed them. But I knew it could trigger her.”

“Trigger what?”

“Her emotional issues with the death of her father. Which is a little odd because she never met her father.”

“Wait.” I shake my head. “What are you talking about? He’s a doctor in Delhi. She spent years living three months with him in India and three months with you in New York.”

“Uh . . . when did she tell you that?” Liz asks.

“When we met in California, and she’s mentioned her father on many occasions since then. He’s the one who wanted her to be a doctor. She learned to play the violin for him and took dance for you. He sent her kites. We flew one of them, and I crashed it. She said you met him when he was in New York City for a conference. A group of doctors went to a gallery exhibition, and that’s where he met you.” I feel breathless after spewing those words—the story Liz should know.

After a few seconds, she whispers, “I like that story.”

“What do you mean you like that story? It’s not true?” I drag a hand through my hair. What is happening?

“No,” she says. “Since she was a young girl, Everleigh has made up stories about her father. She wanted her friends to think she had a father too. I guess it wasn’t popular to tell people her mom had sex with a guy who was down on his luck the night we met at a bar. Who wants to tell people their father was mentally ill and committed suicide before their mother even knew she was pregnant?”

Jamie covers her mouth as tears fill her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Will. I thought she had accepted it. After all, she’s a psychiatrist. I had no idea she was still telling white lies.”

White lies? Is she implying Everleigh’s mental issues are trivial?

“Is she getting help?” Jamie blurts out.

Liz laughs. “I’d say no if it’s true that she’s working at a café in Key West. I’ll be damned.”

Jamie’s nose scrunches, and I return a shrug. Nothing makes sense.

“It was a lot of pressure being that gifted,” Liz says. “When she was seven, I took her to Key West. And she said that when she grew up, she wanted to work in Key West. She’s done all the things there are to do. She’s brilliant. Wealthy. Accomplished. Now she’s taking a moment to follow her childhood dream. She’s taking a step back. I have to believe it’s all for a reason.”

“Liz, she turned down a job at Johns Hopkins,” I say.

“She said it was an extension.”

I shake my head and close my eyes. “You can’t believe that.”

Liz doesn’t reply.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” she murmurs. “I heard you. And I don’t like that she’s struggling, but I trust her. She must really need this time. I’m doing a job for a client next week. After that, I’ll go down there to check on her.”

After next week? I open my mouth, but Jamie shakes her head.

“Can you call her to see if the woman living in her Airstream is supposed to be there?” I ask.

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll text you when I hear back.”

“Thanks.” I end the call and toss my phone aside before dropping my face into my hands. “Fuck . . . what is going on?” I mumble. When I look up, it’s written all over Jamie’s somber face. “She needs help,” I whisper.