Bitter Truth (Broken Hearts Book 2) Page 2

  “Yes, of course. You go on. First patients are in at eight.”

  “Thanks again.” I walked down the hall.

  I stowed my bag on the shelf with my name on it, turning toward the pigeonholes where we kept our patient files. Out of habit, I looked for my name.

  Everly Jenkins.

  It should have been empty.

  But one manila folder was wedged into that square hole.

  One lonely folder.

  I swallowed down the excess saliva in my mouth. Without looking, I knew whose folder that would be. When I called to say that I needed to take some personal time, and that things with Bentley and I were over, they’d have handed all my patient files to my replacement.

  All except for the one patient who wasn’t coming back.

  Slowly, I sank to the floor, dragging the folder with me, and opened it up.

  Isabella Kennedy.

  Thirty.

  Due date: 12 May 2016

  My breath shook out between my lips as I thudded my head against the hard metal cabinet behind me. Oh, Bella.

  “Oh! Hi. Didn’t see you there.” A woman with cropped, blonde hair that fell to her square jaw bustled into the room, stashing her bag next to mine. “You must be Everly, then.”

  “Hi.”

  “An unusual name, Everly. Quite pretty. Do you like it?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

  “Ah, I bet it’s one they always get wrong when you order a coffee, am I right? Beverly, Effer … err, well, I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ve heard some good ones.” She stopped in front of the mirror on the back of the door, straightening her pink and orange top before her hand flew to her lips. “Goodness gracious, where are my manners? I’m Denise. Denise Hendelson. I’ve been looking after your patients while you’ve been on leave.”

  I pushed to my feet, still clutching the folder close to my chest. I held my other arm out. “Hi, Denise.”

  “Hi indeed. So lovely to hear you’re back.” She shook my hand with enthusiasm. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed filling in for you, mind. Something different to my normal gig. As well as being a midwife, I’m a writer. For a parenting blog.”

  “You are?”

  “Sure am! Hey, we’re always looking for new contributors, if you want to earn a bit of extra cash on the side. Midwifes like us can specialise in newborn advice, and pregnancy tips. I’m not supposed to say, but a certain news mogul owns it—so there’s a bit of cash to be had.”

  Isabella. Isabella Kennedy.

  Thirty.

  Due date: 12 May 2016

  “Everly?”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged, looking down at the folder before meeting her round blue eyes. “First day back. Just a lot on my mind.”

  “I’m sure there is.” She sighed, her square shoulders rising and falling dramatically. “Love, I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it—”

  “Thank you, I really—”

  “But I just wanted to tell you how rotten I think this whole business is. I had an ex who did the dirty on me, and it broke my heart. As much as you don’t want to hear it right now, there are plenty more fish in the sea. Ones who swim better, if you know what I mean.” Her plump elbow nudged me in the side, then she gave a merry laugh, as if she’d just cracked some amazing joke.

  I managed to giggle along with her, but only to keep up appearances.

  “Okay, let’s get started. Busy day and all that.” Denise walked to the sink, turning the tap on full bore and pumping soap enthusiastically onto her large hands.

  “Everly.”

  I spun back to the door.

  Dr Rosalie stood there as if she were a queen, so calm, so composed. I’d never felt more like her unworthy subject.

  “Rosalie, hi.” I swallowed, suddenly lost for words.

  “I’m pleased you’re back. And I hope we have you here for good now.” She gave a curt nod before making eye contact with the other woman in the room. “Denise.”

  “Mornin’, Rosie!” Denise sang, and Dr Rosalie left, her pace slow, that aura of peace following her as she exited the room.

  “A bit of a ballbreaker, isn’t she?” Denise nudged me again.

  “She’s the best obstetrician I’ve ever met,” I replied truthfully. When it came to delivering babies, there wasn’t much Rosalie didn’t know.

  “Ah, she is good. I’ll see you out there.” Denise walked into the hall, pulling the door to behind her.

  My reflection stared back at me from the mirror on the back of the door. Boring blue eyes. Pale skin that looked as if it hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, maybe months, and in all honesty, I knew it had been a while.

  A manila folder, clutched so tight in my grip that the whites of my knuckles showed.

  That damn manila folder.

  Isabella. Isabella Kennedy.

  Thirty.

  Due date: 12 May 2016.

  Voices from the reception area reached me. I had to go. But what was I going to do with—

  “Everly, your first patient is in,” Kellie’s voice sounded through the office intercom, jerking me to life.

  I shook my head, then stuffed the folder back in my pigeon hole before washing my hands at the sink. I’d ask Kel to file it appropriately later. As I wiped my hands on the towel, I gave myself a short pep talk. You can do this, Everly. You have to do this.

  My feet clipped along the white tiled floor, stopping next to reception.

  “Alicia Nobell, twenty-five. First appointment, first baby.” Kellie handed me a thin file, nodding toward a blonde woman sitting next to a bearded man in the far corner of the room.

  “Got it. Thanks.” I raised my voice. “Alicia?”

  She looked up, and I smiled.

  “Come through.”

  The day went smoothly. All my patients were in good physical health, and I wondered if Rosalie had perhaps engineered that, easing me into my first day back on the job.

  The problem was, it didn’t matter.

  First, it was the way a woman clenched the material at the side of her T-shirt as she waited for the ultrasound wand to find her baby.

  Next, it was the lady with the long red hair, carefully pulled back into a manicured ponytail.

  By three p.m., it was everything. It was a woman mentioning how excited she was. A lady asking if she could record the heartbeat so she could play it for her husband. Someone saying she missed coffee and wine, and espresso martinis, and me biting my tongue to stop from mentioning the café I used to frequent, the one that did the fantastic mocktails.

  Three Swallows didn’t make any drinks anymore.

  When six o’clock came around and the last patient left the building, I slumped down onto the faux leather bed in my appointment room. The headache that had started as a small cloud marring my vision had turned into a full-blown thunderstorm raging inside of my head. I pinched at the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.

  “Shit,” I whispered. I was better than this. I should have been better than this.

  But I wasn’t.

  Instead of being focused on work, on moving forward, I was stuck in the past, stuck on that day seven months ago.

  My phone buzzed from the desk, and I slid from the bed, the material gripping to my thighs.

  Joanna: How’d the first day back go? So proud of you, big sis xo

  My thumb hovered over the phone. How’d it go?

  Everly: Honestly, not great. But I know it will get better.

  Seconds later, it vibrated again.

  Joanna: Of course it will! Time heals all wounds, Ev. You got this.

  “Knock, knock.”

  I glanced up, placing the phone back on my desk. Rosalie stood in the doorway, her hands in the pockets of her black slacks. “Rosalie, hi.”

  “Hi.” Cool grey eyes assessed me, and she nodded to the chair sitting opposite my desk. “May I?”

  “Sure. Sorry. Of course.” I walked around the wooden table and sat opposite her. “What can I do for
you?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to check in, see how your first day back was.”

  “Oh, thank you. It went …” Well. Fine. I wanted to say those words, but for some reason, my mouth was having trouble working around them. “Not what I expected.”

  “It wasn’t?” Rosalie’s tone held no judgment. “In what way?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know why I thought things would be different. I just … did.” I hadn’t expected that everyone would remind me of Bella. That every patient would somehow snap my memory back to the woman I’d connected with.

  “Okay.” Rosalie nodded. “Things will get better with time, I imagine.” She stood, tapping her knuckles on the desk. “Just let Kellie know if you need to ease back into it a little slower.”

  “No,” I blurted. No. That wasn’t what I wanted. Every patient would always be her. Represent her—her loss, and her death. Her injustice.

  With absolute clarity, I knew what I had to do.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “You can resume at whatever speed you want, as long as—”

  “I didn’t mean no to that.” I stood, meeting her level gaze with one of my own. With a decision of my own, something I hadn’t truly felt capable of doing for months. “I mean I can’t ease back into it at all. I’m sorry, Rosalie. I’m handing in my resignation.”

  Chapter 3

  Everly

  I didn’t tell Joanna straight away.

  Instead, I walked down to the beachfront near the small cottage I’d rented, letting the ocean breeze whip my hair about my face and my emotions into pieces. How had I let things get this far? How had I lost myself so much?

  I thought about what my therapist, Sherrilyn, had said.

  Healing takes time.

  Only with me, it felt like grief was taking time. Like some days, I would be completely fine, and the next, the monstrosity of it all would overwhelm me.

  When the wind died down, I sank onto the cool metal bench overlooking the sand dunes and opened my bag, pulling out that manila folder I’d liberated from the office. Isabella Kennedy. Reading it somehow made me feel closer to her. As if I really did know her—because it felt like I did.

  I was the one who’d told her about Three Swallows. Hell, I was supposed to be there that day. And the fact I wasn’t …

  There but for the grace of God go I.

  I’d never been one to believe in the big man upstairs. But some things didn’t have explanation, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to think that perhaps someone was looking out for me.

  Only, they weren’t looking out for Bella.

  What kind of god would do that?

  My phone rang, and I pulled it out. Joanna’s name flashed on the screen. Should I take this now, or deal with it later?

  “Hey,” I sighed down the line. Easier to get it done with.

  “Hey, big sis. How you doing?”

  “Not great.” I braced myself against a particularly cold gust of wind. “Listen, don’t get mad, but—”

  “People only ever say that when the other person is going to get mad.”

  “True, and you are.” I grimaced. “I quit.”

  “You quit?” Joanna’s voice reached new heights. “Why on earth would you quit your well-paying job with people you like when they’ve been so patiently awaiting your return for seven long months?”

  “Well, because I …” Because everyone reminds me of her.

  But that wasn’t all. There was something else.

  Something different.

  “Because I’m not a midwife anymore,” I said, and as soon as I did, everything made sense.

  “What do you mean? Your papers don’t expire … Do your papers expire?”

  “Not like that. I mean, mentally. I don’t want to bring life into this world.”

  “Ev, don’t get started on another doom-and-gloom rant because so help me God, I will—”

  “No! That’s not what I’m saying. I want to be there for people who already have life. I want to give assistance to young mums—those who have shitty family situations, or boyfriend situations, or husband situations. To people struggling to make it work.” I bit down on my lip. I’d been saved from death by foolishly toying with my own life. Now, I wanted to help people who needed it. Try to assist those in situations much worse than my own. “It’s just … just birth I don’t want to deal with.”

  Just birth that reminds me of the past.

  “So donate to a charity. Everly, you’re twenty-eight. Do you really have time to go back to school, study for another four years? People don’t start their careers at thirty-two. They go on maternity leave, have babies.”

  “Well that’s not going to happen to me.”

  “You haven’t tried all the options,” Joanna protested.

  “Bentley made it pretty clear.” I tightened my lips. Pain from all our failed attempts at falling pregnant still lingered. Would it always linger? “Anyway, I’ll get government assistance. And I’ll work part-time. Writing, for some mummy blog.”

  “Blogs don’t pay good money.”

  “This one does.” I crossed my fingers. Hopefully, Denise had meant what she’d said in the staffroom.

  “Just … just give it some time, Everly. Please,” she said.

  “It’s already happening.” I placed the file in my bag and stood. The backs of my legs felt good as I stretched them straight. “I’m changing everything, Joanna. And things are going to be great.”

  Things weren’t great.

  They weren’t easy.

  Enrolling in university would take too long, so I found a correspondence course at a college to get started. Family counselling. It was what I wanted to specialise in. The area I felt most confident.

  The problem was, of course, my finances. The government assistance helped, but it was nowhere near enough. Money was hard to come by without calling my ex, and that was something I just didn’t want to do.

  One morning, I finally bit the bullet and dialled Dr Rosalie’s offices.

  “This is Dr Rosalie’s—”

  “Kel, it’s me. Everly. Hi,” I said.

  “Everly! So good to hear your voice, sweetie. How you doing?” she asked, her tone changing from professional and polished to pitying in a heartbeat.

  “I’m okay, thank you. I was wondering if I could please talk to Denise?”

  “She’s just with a patient, but I’ll get her to buzz you when she’s done. Want me to leave a message?”

  “Sure. Can you please ask her to call me about the blogging job?” I hoped it wasn’t rude to pass this message through my old workplace, but they were so understanding when I resigned. Maybe they’d even expected me to quit. You didn’t take personal leave courtesy of a mental breakdown and come back unscarred.

  “Of course. No problems.” The tap-tap-tap of keys sounded through the phone. “Listen, I have to go. Lots of patients here, and—”

  “Of course. Please.” I said my goodbyes and hung up, placing the phone down on the wooden deck.

  Timber palings framed the expanse of green grass in front of me. It looked healthy—perhaps the ocean air was as good for the plants’ growth as it was my soul. Ever since I’d moved here, I felt … freer. Lighter somehow. As if perhaps everything would be all right.

  The phone rang beside me, Bentley’s name flashing up on the screen. I hit the button on the side, sending it to voicemail.

  Perhaps I could make a garden. Grow my own produce. Live more off the land, like they did on those gardening shows I used to watch in the evenings. Yeah, I could do that. It might even end up cheaper than spending so much on produce. If I just ordered in some soil, stretched it across the back of the space …

  The phone rang again, the obnoxious sound a harsh contrast to the soft breathing of the waves in the background. This time, I picked it up, swiped to answer, and held the device to my ear.

  “Hello?” I said, my voice clipped, like I didn’t know it was him on the other end of the line.


  “Everly, hi. How you doing?” Bentley crooned.

  “Fine,” I gritted out. Why didn’t he just ask what he meant? Was I still suicidal, or had things changed for the better?

  “Good. I’m well, too. In case you forgot to ask.” He chuckled, as if I were some naughty child who needed the occasional reprimand to bring her back on track.

  “Bentley, what do you want?” I kept my voice level, in control.

  “I want to try talk you out of this house nonsense. Move back in. It’s pointless having you live out of the place you called home just because I made one stupid mist—”

  “It’s for the best. I’ve already had three real estate agents look at it, and I’m meeting with one of them tomorrow. I’ll send you the papers to sign.”

  “You can’t sell—”

  “To rent, Bentley. We already spoke about this.” I sighed. Thankfully, the rent on the large house would leave a little left over after paying the mortgage, enough to make a difference to my finances even after I split the difference with Bentley. “What do you really want?”

  “A man can’t call to check in on his—”

  “Ex-wife?” I glared at a knot in one of the timber palings.

  “It’s not official,” he said, and God, how had I ever found him charming?

  “I know. When will you sign those papers?” I asked. I’d sent them to him weeks ago.

  “Soon. I promise.” He paused, took a breath. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Doing better than you were …”

  My hands, clutching the rail on the edge of the cliff. The wind pulling at my shirt, tugging it toward abyss. Toward peace.

  I’d felt consumed by darkness. Why was I unable to get pregnant? Why had he cheated on me?

  “I worry about you, Evvie. Just because I’ve found someone else, doesn’t mean I—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped. “But you don’t need to stay awake at night with that on your mind. I’m fine.”

  “Right. Okay.” Some of the warmth left his tone. “I guess I’ll hear from you when those papers come through tomorrow.”