Page 48 of Curious Hearts (The Healing Hearts #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

By mid-afternoon, Yaya’s cooking was providing Ali with a welcome distraction from the anxiety of waiting.

“The cilantro goes in last,” Yaya instructed Ali, who was halfheartedly helping chop vegetables for pozole while checking her phone every few minutes. “And not too much. Americans always use too much.”

“Mmhmm,” Ali murmured, barely listening as she stared at her darkened screen. “Why haven’t they called yet? It’s been four hours.”

“The board is notorious for running late,” Fenna said, setting out cutlery on the table. “And they had three other proposals to review after ours.”

The doorbell rang, and Yaya bustled to answer it, returning moments later with Jessica. Ali’s face lit up at the sight of her, momentarily forgetting her grant anxiety.

“Hey! I got your text—partner!” Ali abandoned her chopping duties to wrap Jessica in a tight hug. “That’s incredible!”

Jessica returned the embrace, the tension visibly draining from her shoulders. “It still doesn’t feel real. I went in expecting resistance, maybe even termination, and instead...” She shook her head in wonderment.

“It’s because you are brilliant,” Yaya declared, patting Jessica’s cheek fondly. “Even my Ali says so, and she knows things.”

Ali’s cheeks flushed.

“What are you all doing here?” Jessica asked, looking curiously at Ali’s lackluster vegetable chopping.

“Distracting Ali with cooking,” Fenna explained. “Yaya is convinced her home brings good luck.”

“It does,” Yaya affirmed. “Every important decision in our family happens here. Good news only at this table.”

Jessica squeezed Ali’s hand. “Any word yet?”

Ali shook her head, the knot of anxiety returning. “Nothing. I’m starting to worry that?—”

Her phone rang, cutting her off mid-sentence. The caller ID showed Dr. Monahan’s office. The room fell silent as Ali stared at the screen.

“Answer it, mija,” Yaya urged gently.

Ali’s hand trembled slightly as she accepted the call. “Dr. Ritchie speaking.”

The others watched as Ali’s expression shifted from nervous anticipation to confusion, then to something that looked like shock tinged with devastation.

“I... I don’t understand,” she said, her voice unsteady. “The presentation was well-received. Dr. Rosen specifically mentioned the positive impacts...” She fell silent, listening intently, her face draining of color. “Yes. Thank you for letting me know personally. I appreciate the courtesy.”

She ended the call and lowered the phone slowly, as if it might explode in her hand.

“Ali?” Fenna prompted. “What did they say?”

“We didn’t get it,” Ali said. “The grant was denied.”

“What?” Fenna stood abruptly. “That’s impossible. Your presentation was flawless. The data was irrefutable.”

“Apparently there was a last-minute intervention,” Ali explained, still looking stunned. “A concern was raised about... about my suitability to run the program. Something about emotional stability and professional history.”

Jessica stepped closer, her expression darkening. “That’s absurd. Who would question your qualifications?”

“Monahan wouldn’t say specifically. Just that a ‘respected member of the medical community’ expressed reservations based on my... previous breakdown.” The last words came out in a whisper.

Fenna’s phone was already in her hand. “This doesn’t make sense. I’m calling Elizabeth Rosen.”

As Fenna stepped into the next room to make her call, Jessica wrapped an arm around Ali’s shoulders. “This isn’t right. Your professional record is exemplary. And your previous illness was years ago, completely resolved, and absolutely not relevant. They can’t use mental health issues against you.”

“Apparently they can,” Ali said, the initial shock giving way to a dull acceptance that Jessica found more heartbreaking than tears would have been. “This is what I was afraid of all along. That no matter how much good work we do, my past would always be used to undermine the work we do.”

Yaya muttered something in Spanish that sounded distinctly uncomplimentary, then began aggressively chopping cilantro. “Politics,” she spat. “Always politics. Never about who does good work, only about who knows who.”

Fenna returned, her expression thunderous.

“I just spoke with Elizabeth. She was blindsided by this too. The board was about to approve our proposal when someone submitted a formal letter questioning Ali’s fitness to manage a program that interacts with vulnerable patients.

It carried enough weight to halt the process. ”

“Who?” Jessica demanded. “Who submitted it?”

Fenna’s eyes flicked to Jessica, then away, her expression growing uncomfortable. “Elizabeth couldn’t say officially. But she implied it came from someone with significant influence at the hospital. Someone on the board of the cardiology wing.”

Jessica went very still. “The cardiology wing,” she repeated. Jessica’s expression transformed from confusion to dawning horror to cold fury. “My mother,” she said. “My mother did this.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“Jessica,” Ali began, reaching for her hand. “We don’t know that for sure?—”

“I do.” Jessica pulled away, pacing the small kitchen. “This is exactly how she operates. Stealth strikes where they’ll do the most damage, always maintaining plausible deniability.” She stopped suddenly, turning to Fenna. “Did Elizabeth mention when this letter was submitted?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Fenna confirmed. “Just before the final review meeting but the board members weren’t shown until final deliberation today. She said she still voted in favor but it seemed to sway others and for the program to work, it needs complete buy-in from all clinical staff.”

“Less than twenty-four hours after I told her I was staying in Denver,” Jessica said, the pieces falling into place. “After I told her about Ali, about us. This wasn’t about Ali’s qualifications at all. This was about me.”

Ali shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why would your mother sabotage my grant application? What does that accomplish?”

“Control,” Jessica said, her voice tight with anger. “She wants to hurt you. Derail your ambitions the same way she thinks you derailed hers. She’s not a good loser.”

“That’s...” Ali seemed lost for words.

“Monstrous,” Yaya supplied, brandishing her knife for emphasis. “To use power to crush dreams because they don’t fit your plans… plans that are no business to you.”

“But Jessica, this isn’t a game,” she said, watching Jessica reaching for her car keys.

“I need to go.”

“Where?” Ali asked, alarmed by the anger in her voice.

“To the hospital. To talk to my mother.” Jessica’s tone made it clear it wasn’t for a family chat.

“Jessica, wait—” Ali started, but Jessica was already heading for the door.

“Jessica!” Ali called after her. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret!”

The front door slammed in response. Through the window, they watched Jessica stride to her car, every line of her body rigid with fury.

“This is not good,” Yaya said, setting down her knife. “Angry confrontations never end well.”

Fenna was already grabbing her own keys. “We need to go after her. Ali, come on.”

“Then I’m coming too!” Yaya threw off her apron and grabbed her cardigan from the back of the kitchen chair.

As they hurried to Fenna’s car, Ali felt a mixture of emotions churning inside her—devastation about the grant, confusion about Lakshmi’s interference, and deep concern about what Jessica might do in her current state.

In all the time she’d known her, Ali had never seen Jessica angry, not even at the cats who had turned her life upside down.

Controlled, composed Jessica, was now driving across Denver with the kind of cold fury that made Ali’s stomach knot with worry.

“Hurry,” she urged Fenna as they pulled away from the curb. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”