Page 44 of Healed Heart

“Uh…I don’t actually know.Maybe.Henry Simpson?He’s my brother.”

She taps on her computer.“Yes, here it is.For two.I take it Mr.Simpson isn’t here yet?”

I look around the entryway.“Apparently not.”

“Let me show you to your table.”

I follow the hostess through the Italian restaurant.I feel like I’m back in 1960, with the checkered tablecloths, Chianti bottles doubling as candle holders, and the soft crooning of Sinatra’s classics.I inhale the robust scent of roasted tomatoes and garlic.

I’m seated near the window.The view outside is mostly blocked by flamboyant flowerpots, but I don’t mind.My focus is inward tonight anyway.

The hostess flutters away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.My mind keeps circling back to that question.

Who hurt Ralph?He’s a dick, and I don’t really care that he’s had the shit kicked out of him, but it could all come back to bite me in the ass.Well…not me so much as Jason.

Jason.His name sends a jolt down my spine.Worry gnaws at me.Could he have been the one who hurt Ralph?It’s hard to believe, given his gratitude toward the cadavers in anatomy lab, how he insisted that we treat them with respect for the gift they’ve given us.He’s a physician.A healer.

A healer who can’t heal…

What has that done to him?

I don’t really know the man.

How can I love him so much when I know so little about him?

A server approaches me.“Can I get you anything to drink while you wait for your companion?”

“Yes, please.A glass of Chianti would be lovely.And some ice water.”

“Coming right up.”She whisks away.

I glance around at the other patrons, couples mostly, leaning in close over candlelight and shared plates of pasta.

A few minutes later, my brother bursts through the front door like a tornado in a suit.He heads straight to our table, launching himself into the chair opposite me.

Henry is classically handsome with blond hair and blue eyes—like a young Robert Redford.He looks so much like our father, only better-looking, if that’s possible.He’s actually my half-brother.His birth mother was a Las Vegas showgirl.She gave up her parental rights when Henry was a baby, and my mom adopted him when she married my dad.

He’s normally well put together, but tonight there are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is mussed.

“Angie!”He grabs a breadstick and munches into it.

“Henry,” I return, taking in his weary appearance.“You look like hell.”

He chuckles at that, the sound devoid of any real humor.“You always did know how to make a guy feel good about himself.”

I reach over the table to squeeze his hand.“How’s work?”I ask.

He collapses his shoulders in mock exhaustion.“Awful.I’m buried in paperwork, and my boss is a control freak.”

I laugh at that, since Henryisthe boss.

Heiskind of a control freak, though, so he’s not wrong.

Our server arrives with my drinks and takes Henry’s order.

After she leaves, Henry leans back in his chair, his gaze drifting out the window.“How’s life in medical school?”

I shrug, swirling the wine in my glass.“The usual.”