Page 39 of Miss Fortune

“I can never understand the concept of an ending ever being happy.”

Instead of judging my blunt comment, she chuckled. “Good point. Maybe a happy new beginning is a better way to think of it.”

Maybe for some people. “When do you get your stitches out?”

“Tonight. Dr. Lucas is coming by.”

“Saturday night house call?” I did my best to mask the jealousy in my voice.

“He’s been terrific. Dropped by twice to check for infection. Happily, I don’t have any.”

“A lot of attention for such a simple cut.” It didn’t add up with what I’d consider routine after-stitches care. Perhaps Lucas had lied about being interested in Daisy.

“I’m sure he’s giving me extra attention because of his friendship with you. Or it could be because I’ve baked him his favorite bread each time he’s come over.”

My jealousy grew exponentially.

She glanced at her watch for the sixth time since we’d started.

“There a reason you’re monitoring your heart rate?” I could see the screen she was viewing.

“No, just randomly looking at stats.”

If that was true, why was her face turning red? Why had she wanted me to leave the room when Lucas had asked about her medical history? Why was he dropping by so frequently to check for infection? “So it has nothing to do with a medical record thicker than one of my law school textbooks?” I probed.

She stopped in her tracks, causing me to do the same. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“Don’t you think it’s something a friend would know? I’m not trying to be intrusive, but what if you passed out and I had no clue what to do with you? What if you got injured today and have some underlying health issue I wasn’t aware of?” I was looking at what appeared to be a healthy, fit, and beautiful woman. To imagine there might be something concerning about her medical history left me unsettled.

“Don’t you think a friend would know why you’ve sworn off all relationships?” she challenged back.

She wasn’t wrong. Here I was, practically demanding personal information when I hadn’t offered up any of my own. We stood there in silence until I finally blurted out, “I’m divorced.”

She stopped, her lips making a perfect O while her eyes went wide. “Huh, I didn’t believe calling your bluff would actually work.”

“Yeah, well, you’re right. I shouldn’t expect you to share anything personal if I’m not willing to do the same. I don’t tell many people because they ask questions and make assumptions.”

“Assumptions like what?”

We continued walking. “That it somehow propelled me to go to law school so I could become a ruthless divorce attorney intent on taking out all of my personal rage by sticking it to the other side.”

“I’m assuming you were in law school before you ever got married. Did you meet there?”

“Yes. We got married a month after graduation.” And divorced less than two years later.

“Was the split painful?”

Normally, I answered the question with, “it was a long time ago.” But for Daisy, I found myself being more honest.

“No. The opposite.” My ex-wife had packed up her things without looking back. Since I’d known she was better off without me, I’d let her go without a fight. Relief had been my predominant emotion, not sorrow. We’d had a prenup and hardly any community assets, so it had been remarkably easy to go our separate ways. My parents had been disappointed, but no shock there since they didn’t consider divorce a good image.

Daisy stopped again, reaching out to touch my arm. “Thanks for confiding in me.”

But I hadn’t really. While it made me feel guilty to withhold the true reason behind the divorce, there were few I’d ever told about my diagnosis outside of my ex-wife and therapists. I was a hypocrite to go and push her into revealing her medical history. “If you aren’t comfortable answering questions about your health, then I understand. It was insensitive to push.”

She cocked her head to the side, apparently considering my words. “It’s okay. Given the way you put things together, providing you the explanation makes sense. I just don’t want you to treat me any differently.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best. What is it?” Was she sick? Was it serious?