The One In My Heart

“And to answer your question, I do enjoy medicine, far more than I ever expected to, paperwork aside. And I love going on medical missions—it’s humbling to be able to actually make a difference.”


Something in me fell back into place with a sigh of relief—perhaps I was a better friend than I thought. “Then you don’t need to worry about why you started medical school. It will come through, that love—and your dad will see it.”

He sat up slowly and pushed his fingers through his hair, the beautiful prodigal son who had come home, even though no father shouted in jubilation for a fattened calf to be slaughtered and a magnificent feast put on. “I hope you’ll prove to be right.”

“Give it time,” I said softly.

He rolled up the now-empty paper bag. “Sometimes I wonder what it might feel like to be close to my parents. I wonder whether we’d ever be as close as you and Zelda.”

“You mean having your menstrual cycles perfectly synced?”

He snorted. “Other than that.”

You don’t want to be as close as Zelda and me. You don’t want every moment of joy counterpoised by a shadow of fear. You don’t want to begin every New Year praying, Let this not be our last together.

“There is no substitute for how much care and affection you put into a relationship. So…baby steps.”

He nodded, his expression contemplative as he studied me. I had the strange sensation that he wasn’t thinking so much about what I’d told him, but what I’d kept to myself.

I stood up. “I’ll go to sleep now. Good night.”

He rose and barred the path to my door. I braced myself for a touch, or perhaps a murmur, but he only asked, “What do you do when you despair, and there isn’t an August rain to drown your sorrow?”

I didn’t think it was possible for him to ask me anything more penetrating than my personal sexual fantasies. I was wrong. Compared to despair, lust was nothing.

I made my tone light. “Then whatever weather would have to do, wouldn’t it?”

He cupped my face. I swallowed—he would kiss me again. But he only pressed his lips to my forehead. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to handle dinner without you.”

It’s what you pay me for, I should answer.

Instead, I rested my hand briefly against his arm and told him, “I’m glad to help. Consider this my medical mission where I might actually make a difference.”





Chapter 10





I DRIFTED IN AND OUT of sleep, dreaming of a rumple-haired, dirty-hot Bennett surrounded by beautiful girls, snorting lines of cocaine from a glass table.

I woke up disoriented and restless—and immediately Googled him. There were a couple of men with the same name who had fairly high-profile jobs—one a journalist, another an event promoter in LA—and pages that mentioned their names clogged the first dozen pages of search results. And when I Googled “Dr. Bennett Somerset,” only a few meaningful results turned up, mostly from his medical school and the two hospitals where he had worked.

If he was on Facebook, the account was hidden. I found nothing on Instagram. A Twitter account, opened at the instigation of his sister, most likely—she was the only one with whom he’d exchanged tweets—had sat idle for several years.

I put aside my laptop, got dressed, and started to pack. But my progress was slow and haphazard. I couldn’t stop thinking of the rudderless young man trying to distract himself with sex and drugs—and couldn’t stop wishing I’d been there for him.

That was, of course, unrealistic thinking on a crazy scale. Had I been there, he’d have used and discarded me. But it was a powerfully alluring idea, that of saving a man from himself and winning his eternal devotion in return.

My phone vibrated—a text from Bennett. Having breakfast with Mom at a nearby café. Be back soon.

The hotel phone rang at that exact moment, startling me. I picked up, expecting the front desk. “Pronto?”

“Buon giorno. May I speak to Evangeline?”

Mr. Somerset.

“This is she. What can I do for you, sir?”

“I was hoping you’d have breakfast with me.”

The thought of sitting down alone with Bennett’s father chased away my appetite. “That sounds lovely.”

“Excellent. How about the hotel’s restaurant? And what’s a convenient time for you?”

“I can be down in fifteen minutes.”

“I look forward to it.”

I reached the hotel restaurant in precisely fifteen minutes. Mr. Somerset and I shook hands, visited the continental breakfast buffet, and sat down together. We exchanged pleasantries. The weather had turned cold and foggy again. Bennett and I were headed out for the airport in an hour; the older Somersets would be staying another night on the Amalfi Coast.

A waiter came and poured coffee. Mr. Somerset took a sip from his cup; I took a deep breath.

“My wife and I are delighted to have met you.”

I smiled like the paragon everyone believed me to be. “It’s a pleasure to spend some time with you and Mrs. Somerset.”

“We have met only one other of Bennett’s girlfriends—you know something of the circumstances.”