Page 104 of Broken Dream

Still, as I pick at my scrambled eggs, I can’t help but feel her knowing gaze on me. Aunt Melanie has always had an uncanny ability to see through my facades, and right now I feel as transparent as glass.

“Angie,” she starts, her voice gentle. “You’ve been quiet this morning. More than usual. Is something bothering you?”

“Not really,” I mumble, pushing down any trace of emotion that threatens to seep into my voice. “Just…thinking about school stuff.”

Was I more talkative at our dinner Friday evening? Hell if I know. That was before my most recent encounter with Jason. The one where he left in silence after the deed was done.

“Medical school is no picnic,” she says. “Believe me, I know.”

But does she?

Aunt Mel went to medical school nearly forty years ago.

She’s just trying to help.

“I know, Aunt Mel.” I look at my feet. “It’s just harder than I thought, is all.”

She pats my hand. Her touch is warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the cold, hard knot of guilt sitting heavy in my stomach.

“Angie,” she says softly, holding my gaze with an understanding that makes me want to crumble. “You don’t have to do this alone. You can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?”

I blink back the tears threatening to spill from the corners of my eyes and give her hand a weak squeeze. The temptation to spill everything is almost too much. To tell her about Jason, about how I feel like I’m drowning in my secret.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Not only am I embarrassed by my lack of willpower when it comes to Jason, but I can’t add to her troubles. She has enough going on with Uncle Joe.

Instead, I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat and manage a shaky smile. “I know, Aunt Mel. Thank you.”

She doesn’t push further. “All right, sweetheart. But remember, it’s okay to ask for help sometimes.”

The rest of our breakfast passes in silence, punctuated only by the occasional clinking of silverware against plates. I’m grateful for her understanding, the way she doesn’t push for more than I’m willing to give. Still, the guilt doesn’t leave.

Once we finish eating and the check is paid, Aunt Mel stands and pulls on her coat. “I have a meeting I have to get to, and then I’m off to the airport to fly home.”

I nod and glance out at the snow falling gently outside the window, the weather mirroring my mood.

“Be careful. The snow and all.”

She smirks. “It’s just a few flurries. You know we see a lot worse on the Western Slope.”

I rise and give her a hug. “Take care, Aunt Mel,” I whisper into her coat, clinging on to her just a little longer than necessary.

She wraps her arms around me, her hug steady and comforting. Like an anchor in the storm that’s been my life lately.

“You too, Angie,” she murmurs into my hair before pulling back. “Remember what I said. You’re not alone.”

I nod as I watch her walk out of the diner, leaving me alone at the breakfast bar. I stare at the glass dome covering scones and muffins. As much as I appreciate Aunt Mel’s words, they resonate hollowly within me. Because despite what she says, I do feel alone.

Alone with my guilt. Alone with my secret.

And with the fact that I think I might be falling in love with Dr. Jason Lansing.

My professor.

“Hey.”