The One In My Heart

He smiled slightly. “At least most of my patients will be under anesthesia.”


Mrs. Somerset turned a caprese salad skewer round and round on her plate. “Too bad the same can’t be said of your colleagues.”

“They can have some fun at my expense if they want to.”

“And I’m sure they will,” I said. “But in a week or two they’ll get bored with catcalling you. Which reminds me”—I turned to Bennett’s parents—”why don’t we plan a get-together for once this blows over? There are tons of places in town that Bennett hasn’t tried yet.”

“Yes, that sounds wonderful,” gushed Mrs. Somerset.

“Bennett, mind coming over here a second?” called Zelda. “I have someone I want you to meet. He’s your attending physician’s brother.”

“Excuse me,” said Bennett.

After he departed in Zelda’s direction, Mrs. Somerset and I exchanged contact information. Mr. Somerset, who’d been silent since the statement about Vanity Fair, spoke again at last. “Have you seen the exhibit, Evangeline?”

“Bennett and I were there yesterday.”

“Is it as sensational as the media has made it out to be?”

“Oh, it was sensational, all right. But…” I hesitated only a moment. “But I think you should go see the exhibit. There are thousands of images, and the vast majority of them aren’t the least bit objectionable. They’re more like a photojournal. If you’ve ever wondered about those years of your son’s life, you won’t find a better record anywhere.”

“You’re right,” said Frances Somerset. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

Rowland Somerset wasn’t so easily swayed. “But it isn’t just a record of his life in pictures—it’s also a record of a relationship. That doesn’t bother you, Evangeline?”

I looked him in the eye. “It was uncomfortable for me—this was the private life of someone I know and respect. Not to mention, no one who sees the exhibit can miss the sexual angle of that relationship, and I’ll never be one hundred percent okay with the fact that he was a minor when it all started.

“But after I left, it wasn’t the nudity—and everything it implied—that I remembered. I was…saddened by what the young man in those pictures didn’t know yet. That his forever wouldn’t be forever after all. That he’d have his heart broken. That it would be a long time before he looked so trustingly at anyone again.”

If ever.

Bennett’s father studied me. A long beat of silence passed. “You are a romantic, Evangeline.”

“And so are you, I believe,” I told him.

One of Zelda’s musician friends came up to the appetizers table. “Hey, Evangeline, who did your catering today? Great food.”

“Thanks.” I set down my wineglass and pulled out my phone. “Hmm, I don’t have it on here. Put in your number and I’ll text you their contact info—we have it on the fridge somewhere.”

Once she’d entered her number, I excused myself and went to the kitchen. After I sent her the text, I turned around and was half startled to see Frances Somerset in the kitchen with me. “You need something, ma’am?”

A word, most probably.

“I hope you won’t think me terribly nosy, Evangeline,” said Mrs. Somerset, “but would you mind telling me the provenance of your ring?”

A frisson of excitement shot up my spine. Even though I had mixed feelings about the ring, I’d put it on my right index finger as a sign of solidarity. But since I’d had a glass of wine in that hand most of the time, she probably saw it only a minute ago, when I finally set down the wineglass.

“This? It’s a present from Bennett.”

She inhaled audibly.

“But it’s not an engagement ring,” I hurried to reassure her. “He just wanted me to have it.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Is it a family heirloom? If it’s meant to stay in the family I’ll be happy to return it. I don’t wear jewelry in any case—lab protocols and all that.”

“Oh, no, absolutely not. Please keep it.”

Before I could ask more questions, Mrs. Somerset patted me on the hand and left the kitchen. I looked at the ring for some time. When I returned to the living room, she had disappeared, though her husband was still there, talking to a musician.

Zelda, too, was nowhere to be seen.

The next time I saw Mrs. Somerset was twenty minutes later, right before she and her husband said their good-byes. Bennett not only remained to the end of the party, but stayed on afterward to help us tidy up. Zelda kept glancing at him—and then to my ring—Zelda, who didn’t normally pay much attention to accessories. When we’d put everything away she invited Bennett to stay for dinner, but he declined, saying he had to get ready for his shift.

“I’ll walk you out,” I said.

“What do you think?” he asked, buttoning his coat outside the door.

It was late in the afternoon. A few flakes of snow were again drifting down. One caught in the palm of the glove he was pulling on.