Page 84

"Yes. Like I told you, I lived with my mom until a certain age."
"And you said you were happy, too. What happened to separate you? I can’t imagine a mother changing like that. No one just gives up on their child out of the blue."
"She didn’t change her mind or stop wanting me, but I don’t like to talk about it."
She tries to get off my lap. "Fine. I’ll go change so we can leave."
I know she’s upset, but I can’t tell her about my biological mother yet. I know someone hurt her, but unlike in Brooklyn’s case, where we know the name and face of the miserable woman who hurt her, I still don’t know who my mother’s enemy is. Whoever left her in that state remains in the shadows.
"Brooklyn."
She’s already walking toward the hallway but stops. "It’s fine, Athanasios. You have every right to keep your secrets."
It’s not what she says but the lack of light in her eyes—always so full of life—that hits me hard.
"It’s not fine. I’m not great at reading emotions, but I’m becoming an expert at reading you."
"Okay, yes, I’m upset because I share everything about my life with you, and aside from that disastrous dinner at your parents’ house—which wasn’t your fault—and the follow-up dinner with William and L.J., I don’t know much about you."
I stare at her in silence, torn between giving her what she’s asking for and sticking to who I am. In the end, I decide on a middle ground. "Are you hungry?"
"No. I didn’t expect you to arrive so early, so I had cake and coffee with my family."
"Go get changed, then. I’m taking you to meet someone."
"Where are we going?" she asks as we near the hospital.
"You said you wanted to see a bit of my world. I’m taking you to meet a favorite patient."
She turns in her seat to face me. "I’m not sure what surprises me more: that you’re sharing this with me or that you have a favorite patient. But I think it’s the second one."
"Why?"
"I thought—and forgive me if this offends you—that patients were just names and numbers to you. People whose lives you save and then never think about again."
"In most cases, yes, though you’re wrong about me forgetting them. I know the name and face of every patient whose life I’ve saved."
"Are you serious?"
"I am."
"Now I’m even more curious to know who this patient is and what makes her so special to you."
"She’s in a coma."
"Oh! Like I was?"
"No. She’s undergone multiple surgeries, but her recovery isn’t progressing as I’d hoped."
The driver parks in my private garage at the hospital, and I get out to help Brooklyn out of the car. We walk in silence, my mind racing as I try to decide whether I’m making the right choice by bringing her here.
"How long has she been like this?" she asks as we reach the floor.
"She’s been with me for a year, but based on her medical history, at least five years."
"What happened to her?"
"I’m not sure yet, but I’ll find out."