Furious Jeffrey Higgins (english love story books TXT) 📖

hasn’t been the same without you.”

“January, I think. I’m going away for a month. I gave notice.”

“I can’t say I’m happy to hear that, but I understand. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you have my number.”

Jessica leaned across me. “Hi, I’m Jessica, Dagny’s friend.”

My cheeks warmed. “Sorry. Jessica, this is Eric. He’s an infectious disease specialist with a pediatric specialty. Eric’s great with the kids. We’ve consulted together on several patients.

“Nice to meet you, Jessica,” Eric said.

“You remind me of Jude Law. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Eric blushed. “Uh, maybe.”

“Are you single?” Jessica asked.

“Jessica, stop,” I said, turning to Eric. “We have to get going. Nice to see you.”

“Remember, call me anytime,” he said.

I watched him walk into the hospital.

Jessica raised her eyebrows. “Call you anytime?”

“Knock it off. He’s a colleague.”

“I wouldn’t mind having him examine me.”

“Let’s go. I have to pack. Brad and I are leaving in two days.”

“Shit. How can I change your mind?”

“If I keep floundering like this, I’ll die. I have to try something.” I took Jessica’s hand and met her eyes. “Support me on this one.”

“I always do, sweetie, but I don’t have a good feeling about this trip.”

“I know. I’m scared, for a lot of reasons, but this trip could help me . . . I think.”

 “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

CHAPTER THREE

I stood in my foyer after Jessica dropped me off. The house felt different. I felt different. Accepting Brad’s challenge had done something to me.

I could not wait for Brad to come home to tell him I would go on the voyage. I picked up the phone and called his office to give him the news.

“Surgical Associates, this is Ellen,” his group administrator said.

“Hi Ellen, it’s Dagny Steele. Is Brad available?”

“Oh, Dr. Steele. How are you?”

How should I answer that? “May I speak with Brad?”

“Dr. Coolidge?”

“Yes, is my husband out of surgery? I need to speak with him.”

“Uh, no. I mean, he’s not in surgery. He’s, uh, not here.”

“Not there?” I asked. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to try his cell phone.”

She sounded hesitant, odd. I thanked her and hung up.

I dialed Brad’s cell, and the call went right to voicemail.

Where is he?

I gazed through my living room window at the branches of our oak tree swaying in the wind. His office is filled with beautiful nurses. Dark clouds floated by, blotting out the sun.

Deciding to go on the trip—being proactive and taking action—felt right. I had always been driven to achieve, motivated to accomplish my goals. My calling to medicine came when I was eleven years old, after the incident that changed my life forever. Since that day, I had known I was meant to become a doctor, known it with absolute certainty, the same way I knew I was a girl, or that I lived in Boston. I remembered sitting on the edge of my bed, rocking my legs back and forth, trying to burn off my frustration at having to wait to become a physician. I had pictured a clock over my head, its hands ticking, counting the seconds and minutes I wasted while I finished school. Every day I was not a doctor, some other little girl could suffer the same fate as I. Every day, I missed another opportunity to save a life. Tick-Tock. Every day. That sense of urgency had driven me to excel for my entire life.

Until Emma died.

My phone rang, and I answered.

“Hi Dagny,” Brad said. “Sorry, I missed your call. Is anything wrong?”

“Where are you?”

“At work. Is there a problem?”

“You’re at the hospital?”

“What’s going on?”

“I called your office and Ellen said you weren’t in surgery and she didn’t know where you were. I thought—”

“I’m in a pharmaceutical meeting on the second floor. I guess I forgot to tell her.”

A gust of wind ripped several dead leaves free of the oak and they swirled in the air, fluttering to the ground.

“Really?” I asked.

“Are you checking on me?”

“No, I . . . sorry. I called to tell you I’ve decided to go on the voyage.”

“That’s marvelous, really great.” Brad said. “This trip will do wonders for you; help you get your life back.”

“That’s my hope.”

“I promise, you won’t regret it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

The dock swayed beneath my feet as Brad and I followed Ali, our facilitator, through the Bali International Marina. A variety of pleasure craft bobbed beside the narrow piers. Million-dollar yachts looked out of place tied to weathered planks, like Ferraris in a trailer park. Steady maritime traffic flowed in and out of Benoa Harbor, off Bali’s southern peninsula.

I sipped my third coffee of the day, a double espresso, having nursed it on the way over from the Royal Indonesian Resort in Nusa Dua. Brad had scheduled us to depart the following morning, and we had to prepare the yacht. The trip from Boston to Bali had taken over twenty-six hours and had felt like an all-nighter in medical school. I remained groggy, fuzzy, as if I stumbled around inside a dream.

“There she is,” Brad said, eyeing the end of the dock.

“Yes, yes,” Ali said, and flashed a toothy grin.

We crossed an arched bridge onto a long pier which jutted sixty yards into the harbor. I surveyed boats moored in perpendicular slips on our right. Gorgeous cruising sailboats averaged forty to fifty feet; their sails lashed to booms beneath soaring masts, like a forest of redwoods. As we passed, I read the model names painted on their hulls—Gulfstar 50, Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 49, Oyster 56, Bavaria 42, Bristol 40—all floating vacation homes. On our left, twin-hulled catamarans docked parallel to the pier to accommodate their width. I admired them, but my stomach clenched at the thought of taking to sea.

“Which one is it?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

“There, Mrs. Coolidge,” Ali said.

“It’s Steele,” I said. “I kept my name.”

Why did I need to explain that to him?

Ali gave me a funny look and pointed. I followed his outstretched finger to