Unraveled

WINSLET PRESS

Unraveled

Copyright © 2014

Heidi McCahan

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, etc.—except for quotations in reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-10: 0985723580

ISBN-13: 978-0985723583

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

Cover Interior Design by Tekeme Studios

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition: May 2014

14 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

C’mon, girl. Don’t give up on me now,” Lauren Carter pleaded, both hands on the wheel as she maneuvered her beloved Honda Prelude toward the curb. With one last pathetic sputter, the engine died and the car rolled to a stop three driveways short of her own.

Lauren sagged against the faded gray upholstery, the weight of her predicament tying her stomach in knots. With an ominous hiss, a plume of steam billowed from under the hood.
Great
. Now she’d have to look for a job close to the light rail station. Or else act like a real Oregonian and start riding her bike. She grimaced, dismissing the notion as quickly as it came.

Blowing an errant curl from her forehead, Lauren eased the car door open and slipped out of the driver’s seat. Heat radiated off the pavement as she circled around the front of the car and opened the passenger door. Today marked Portland’s twelfth straight day of record- high temperatures. No one could remember late June being this hot. She may very well sleep downstairs tonight. Her bedroom AC unit flaked out yesterday.

Lauren scooped her smartphone off of the passenger seat. A text from Mom illuminated the screen.

Found Granny wandering around town this morning. Can’t leave her alone for 1 minute. Sending your brother to meet your flight. See you soon. XOXO

She swallowed hard against the lump rising in her throat. Granny’s dementia seemed to worsen each day. Mom texted twice this week already. First she found Granny fiddling with a broken cell phone, insisting it was a remote control. Then there was the tea party she hosted in the middle of the toy aisle at the General Store. It’d almost be funny if it weren’t dear Granny.

Lauren gritted her teeth. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to bring Holden home to meet her family. Visions of her fiancé, with his monogrammed cuff links and Italian leather loafers, pursuing her disoriented grandmother along a muddy gravel road sent a shiver down her spine. She’d avoided this trip for far too long, using every excuse she could think of. Staying far away meant she could forget the mistakes of her past. Almost.

But the requests for help came more frequently in recent weeks. And Holden’s refusal to set a wedding date without meeting her parents ... well, who could argue with that? Add exquisite manners to this list of things she loved about him. With a heavy sigh, she shouldered the straps of her worn, faux-leather purse and glanced at her phone again. An hour to finish packing.
Get with it.

Lifting a plastic shoe box off the floorboards, a hollow ache filled her chest. Dr. Putnam gave them plenty of notice before he closed his practice, but it didn’t seem real until they cleaned out the office and locked the door today. Seven years as his medical assistant and all she had to show for it was a few pictures and a stethoscope. A flyer promoting Portland State’s College of the Arts was tucked in the side of the box. She smiled at Dr. Putnam’s subtle hint. He never stopped encouraging her to pursue her passion. Unlike Holden, who patted her hand and told her she didn’t need to worry about her education, or lack thereof, anymore. He would take care of everything.

Everything. Lauren nudged the door shut with her hip. Becoming Mrs. Holden Kelly offered opportunities she’d only dreamed of. Like getting out of the aging townhouse she shared with Monique. She frowned at her roommate’s electric blue Jetta hogging the narrow driveway. What happened to the Friday night chick flicks and the occasional splurge on a pedicure? Now they were barely speaking after Monique neglected to pay the water bill. Again.

A rivulet of sweat trickled down her spine as she fumbled for her house key.

“I’m sorry,” she lamented to her once-pink begonias. Despite her best efforts at gardening, they sat shriveled in their clay pots on the top step.
Should’ve gone with the pansies.

Sliding her key in the lock, Lauren turned sideways, and heaved her shoulder against the old wooden door while giving the doorknob a forceful twist.

The landlord refused to change out the temperamental lock. Or fix much of anything, for that matter. The heat wave would break long before he ever stopped by to look at the air-conditioner.

One more nudge and the door flew open. Lauren stumbled into the entryway, her tennis shoes colliding with a pile of shopping bags.

“Seriously?”

She slid Monique’s purse out of the way with her toe. Hot, stuffy air enveloped her as she trudged up the stairs to the second floor. She couldn’t wait to trade her scrubs for a sundress. “Monique?”

The unmistakable sound of muffled crying greeted her. This couldn’t be good. When she got to the top of the stairs, she found Monique in the living room, back pressed against the red overstuffed sofa and her long legs stretched out on the yellow and red striped area rug.

“What’s wrong?”

Monique sniffed and dabbed the corners of her almond-shaped eyes with a tissue, even though her long, thick eyelashes retained every coat of mascara. Strands of ebony hair slipped from the bun at the nape of her neck and framed her heart-shaped face. The girl managed to look exotic even when she was emotionally distraught. So not fair. A cropped pink t-shirt and black running shorts emphasized her lithe dancer’s body.

“I reinjured my stupid knee. Now I can’t dance tomorrow night.”

Depositing her purse and the shoe box on the end table, Lauren sank to her knees next to Monique. “What’s so special about tomorrow night?”

Monique leveled her gaze at Lauren. “Cirque de Soleil. They’ve hired me for the remainder of the tour.”

“Can’t they find somebody else until you recover? An understudy?”

Monique rolled her eyes. “Please. This isn’t some summer drama production. If I don’t dance, I don’t get paid.”

“Could I have a look?” Lauren extended her hand toward Monique’s knee. “Maybe I—”

“No.” Monique’s French-manicured fingertips batted Lauren’s hand away. “I’ll just wait for Holden. He said he’d be here in a few minutes.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She eased back on her heels, gnawing on her thumbnail. “When did you talk to Holden?”

Monique reached for her phone. “I texted him, told him I really need him to call something in for me.”

“Call what in?” Holden was a surgeon. Yes, he’d reconstructed her ACL, but he wouldn’t prescribe Vicodin now. Would he?

“Percocet. Vicodin. I don’t care. Anything for the pain.”

That’s ridiculous.
She bit back a snide reply and got to her feet. “I guess I better finish packing then.”

She hurried to her room, still reeling from Monique’s flippant request. As if all she had to do was ask and he’d oblige. Whatever. She shook her head and flipped the switch for the ceiling fan. Peeling off her sweaty scrubs, she slipped her favorite yellow sundress over her head. There. Much better.

She tossed her discarded scrubs at the white plastic laundry basket, missed, and leaned down to pick them up. A pair of black stilettos sat forgotten next to the basket. Monique was kind enough to loan her the shoes, she could at least express a little gratitude and return them. She groaned inwardly. Dropping the clothes in the hamper, she hooked her fingers through the ankle straps and ventured back toward the living room. Judging by the cadence of her voice, Monique was engrossed in a conversation on her phone. Lauren retreated, pausing outside of Monique’s bedroom.

Clothing adorned almost every flat surface in the room. Monique’s preferred fragrance lingered in the air. Parking the shoes next to a tower of boxes on the floor of the closet, Lauren turned back toward the door. Sunlight streaming through the window glowed amber through an empty prescription bottle lying on the beige carpet.

Before she could ponder how this one action might change everything, she leaned over and snatched the bottle from the detritus of lipsticks and concealer that spilled out of Monique’s cosmetics bag.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she read the label. An empty bottle of Percocet, prescribed a week ago, by none other than Dr. Holden Kelly. Monique’s surgery was almost nine months ago. But dancers had to work through the pain, right? Monique was always complaining about something. Maybe she’d injured her hip or her back. There had to be a good explanation. Holden would never—

“Hello? Anybody home?”

Holden. Her heart hammered against her ribs. He was early. The bottle slipped from her trembling fingers and Lauren raced from the room, meeting her fiancé at the top of the stairs.
Holden’s brilliant white teeth contrasted sharply with his olive complexion as he offered a half smile and leaned in for a kiss. Her scalp prickled. She teetered on the precipice of indecision. Confront them both? Wait until they were alone?

“Hey.” She brushed her lips against his and forced a smile.

He produced an oversized coral gift bag with stiff peaks of white tissue paper protruding between the handles. “For you.”

Warmth spread through her chest. “What’s this?”

“A little something for our trip. Go ahead. Open it.”

The bag was heavier than she expected and the distinctive scent of leather teased her as she separated the tissue paper and looked inside.

“Oh, Holden.” She whispered, lifting an apple green Kate Spade purse out of the gift bag. “How did you know?”

“I watched you window-shop while we were waiting for our table at Papa Haydn’s the other night.”

She ran her hand over the understated silver clasp, slid the zipper open and admired the interior. The joy of receiving such a luxurious gift overshadowed her previous concerns. She pressed her hand to his cheek. “You shouldn’t have. Thank you.”

He pressed his hand over hers, the lines at the corners of his chocolate brown eyes crinkling as he smiled. “You’re worth it, babe. I—”

“I hate to break up the love fest, but I could use a little help here.” Monique interrupted.

Lauren dropped her hand, the tender moment lost. She stepped away from Holden.

Holden’s smile faded. “Duty calls.”

“Thank God you’re here, Holden. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Monique threaded a crumpled tissue through her slender fingers.

Please.
Lauren gnawed on her lower lip and took a seat on the end of the couch while Holden knelt beside Monique. “What seems to be the problem?”

He traced the perimeter of Monique’s knee cap with his fingers, nodding as she gave a dramatic play-by-play of the afternoon’s events. He frowned, manipulating the knee into a flexed position.

Monique sucked in a breath and stiffened, clutching the sleeve of his pinstriped button-down.

Holden studied her face. “Sorry. Did that hurt?”

She nodded, another tear sliding down her cheek. “Can’t you just give me something?”

“Let me check one more thing. You may have subluxed your patella.”

“If I don’t dance tomorrow, I’m not sure how I’ll make rent on my studio.” Another tear coursed down her cheek. Lauren thought about the shopping bags lying in the hallway downstairs. This story didn’t make sense.

“I can call in some Vicodin.” Holden pulled out his iPhone. “Then I need to see you in my office when I get back from Alaska.”

Lauren’s pulse kicked up a notch. More pills? “Holden, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

He glanced up from his phone, one eyebrow arched. “Why?”

He didn’t get it. She tilted her head. “You’ve given her a lot of pain meds. What happened to the Percocet you prescribed after surgery?”

Holden pressed his lips into a thin line. “You heard her. She’s got to earn a living.”

Lauren’s chest tightened. Her eyes darted to Monique.
Was that a smirk?
It vanished as quickly as it appeared. She thought about the empty bottle lying on the floor in the other room and leaned toward her roommate. “I’m worried about you, Mon. Nine months is a long time to still be on this stuff.”

Monique shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll rest after—”

Holden held up one finger to silence them both while he spoke to the pharmacist. Lauren seized the opportunity to glare daggers at Monique, who conveniently avoided eye contact by picking at a loose thread on her shorts.
Unbelievable.

“Same pharmacy, right? The one on 23
rd?” Holden rose to his feet, reaching down to help Monique up.

She struggled to stand, clinging to Holden’s outstretched hand as if her life depended on it. “That’s the one.”

“Your prescription will be ready in an hour.”

“Thanks, Holden. You’re the best.” Monique’s hand lingered on his arm just a little too long. Anger coursed through her veins as Lauren stood up to challenge her. “Just a min—”

His phone rang and he pressed it to his ear, barking out a terse greeting.

“Have a great trip,” Monique called over her shoulder, hobbling toward the stairs.

Lauren couldn’t even muster a response. That girl was up to no good.

Turning toward Holden, she watched the color drain from his face. He released a string of obscenities, pacing like a caged animal while he raked a hand through his dark hair.

“On my way,” he grunted, then pocketed his phone.

“That was the hospital.” He jangled the keys to his new BMW. “I replaced this guy’s knee this morning. He just had a heart attack. Flat-lined. I gotta go.”

Bile rose in her throat.
No.

“I might have to catch a later flight. We’ll talk later.” Then he was gone.

The front door slammed closed behind him. Lauren flinched. There was one flight from Portland to Anchorage tonight and he was supposed to be on it. With her. She’d grown accustomed to his work interrupting their plans but this was surreal. He was her lifeline now.

She drew a ragged breath, taming the wave of anxiety that threatened to engulf her. She could do this. It was time to put on her game face. Reaching for her new handbag, she cradled it against her chest. Regardless of what her friends and family thought about her leaving home or what they said about her after she’d left, this was her chance to prove she’d made a great choice. If Holden couldn’t make it to Alaska, that meant more quality time with her parents and her brothers. Not to mention her beloved Granny.

Twenty minutes later, both suitcases were crammed full. She squeezed her hairdryer and toiletries in before tugging the zippers closed. One more thing, her most prized possession. She sank to her knees and slid a small white box from its hiding place under her nightstand. She only allowed herself to view the contents once a year. It was self-protection, really. Her heart ached as she ran her hand across the smooth, unadorned lid.
Lord, I know I have no right to ask, but please protect him. Show him that he’s loved.