Page 42 of Mirror Image

At last she scoffed and rolled her eyes, giving me a half smirk in the process. “Yeah. This is”—she picked up a corner of the brown-and-orange bedspread she was sitting on—“so retro chic.”

Hearing the muffled buzz of my phone under the pillow, I pulled it out, powered it off, and tossed it across the room.

“Come on,” I said, getting to my feet. “Let’s go find me a spy phone.”

She laughed, and for the first time, it felt real. We felt real.

Chapter Fifteen

Jenn

Ten years ago

I believed Julian when he told me everything that happened in the ER with David Kellogg that night was going to be okay. There had always been a special bond between us, from the first time I heard him speak on a panel at the University of Miami. He became my mentor, eventually helping me to secure a psychiatric residency under him at Miami Killian.

There was no one I respected or trusted more than Dr. Julian Braithwaite. So when he stopped returning my calls, I drove to his Coconut Grove villa in person.

The front door swung open before I could even get out of my car, as if he’d been waiting for me.

“Why aren’t you taking my calls?” I asked, more alarmed than angry.

I’d assumed something must have been wrong—maybe something with his wife, who I knew was battling cancer. “Is Rose . . . Is Rose okay?”

“What?” Confusion clouded his face, then vanished. “No, no, she’s fine. Well, not fine, but she’s as well as can be expected. No, I’m sorry, I haven’t gotten back to you because I can’t. I can’t have any contact with you.”

I stood at the bottom of his front steps and looked up at him, incredulous. When I spoke again, my voice was hoarse, its volume barely above a whisper. “You know what’s going on? What Kellogg is saying I did?”

“I do, yes,” he said, the words tight with regret.

“But . . . you know it’s a lie, right? I came to you. I told you what he did. You said it would be okay, that you’d help me!”

“Jenn, listen to me,” he began slowly. “You must understand I’m in a delicate position here . . . Until the administration has completed a review of the events, I’m not permitted to have any contact with you. But trust me, this will all blow over.”

“Really? Because I’m not so sure about that.” I pulled a folded envelope from my back pocket and waved it at him. “He’s filed an official complaint with the state medical board.”

Julian winced, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments. When he opened them again, I saw the answer there. The fury that rose in me was nothing compared to the betrayal. He couldn’t have hurt me more if he’d slapped me.

I turned toward my car, but not before he could see the tears spilling down my cheeks.

“Jenn, I’m so sorry,” he called after me.

I kept my head held high. And I kept walking.

Friday morning

The echo of his voice follows me now—ten years later—as we walk side by side down the hospital corridor.

Same careful gait, same calm tone, same man who once stood on his porch telling me he couldn’t help.

Only this time, he’s the one leading me somewhere I don’t fully trust.

We walk for several long strides in silence before I finally say, “You could have told me.”

He glances over, brow furrowed. “Told you what?”

“That you handled the Langstons’ adoption.”

His expression doesn’t change. His voice is as smooth and steady as ever. “It didn’t seem relevant.”