I did the same, except it didn’t help.
Nothing could.
Because what pierced my ears was the loudest sound I’d ever heard in my life.
TWELVE
HONEY
SPRING 1984
WHEN HONEY RETURNED HOME from the hospital, Valentine got her into bed and set a glass of water on the nightstand along with a box of tissues and the TV remote. She even went to the pharmacy and picked up Honey’s prescriptions and brought her some chicken soup on the way back.
Since it was a Friday, Honey had the whole weekend to relax. Valentine decided to call in sick, too, and the girls spent the next two days watching movies in Honey’s bed. They were just starting 9 to 5 when the phone rang late Sunday morning.
“Can you reach it?” Valentine asked since it was on Honey’s side of the bed.
Holding her side, she carefully rolled until her fingers found the phone, and then she lifted it off the cradle, the long, curly cord following her as she held it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Honey?”
Tingles spread through her stomach when she heard the doctor’s voice. “Yes.”
“It’s Andrew, your surgeon.”
Honey laughed, holding her abdomen even tighter. She wouldn’t ever forget what he sounded like, and she wanted to tell him that but instead said, “Hi.” She looked at Valentine and mouthed, It’s the doctor.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m awake.”
There was silence and then, “How are you feeling?”
It had been about forty-eight hours since Honey left the hospital. She knew he was under no obligation to make this phone call. Once she had been discharged, she was responsible for following up with her own doctor, not Andrew.
He was calling because he cared.
And that meant the world to her.
“I’m doing much better than when you saw me last. That’s thanks to you.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” There were hospital sounds in the background, telling her he was at work. “I want to ask you something.”
She glanced at her roommate, her heart pounding with anticipation. “Okay.”
“I was wondering if you’d want to have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
When Honey’s eyes widened, Valentine shot up in bed, and she came in closer.
Honey held the phone between them and replied, “I would love to.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Perfect.” She smiled as Valentine gently squeezed her shoulder. “Do you need my address?”
“I have it,” he said, his voice getting muffled by the sound of a siren. “I’m afraid I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Honey. Get some rest tonight.”
As she set the phone back on the cradle, she glanced at her roommate and was met with an interesting expression.
She was about to ask what the half-smile, half–head tilt meant when Valentine said, “You look like you want to marry the man.”
Honey laughed. “He’s cute; that’s all. I’m flattered he wants to go out with me.”
“You can’t go out with him.”
Honey was positive her expression matched her roommate’s. She was so confused, unable to think of a single reason why she shouldn’t have dinner with him. With her being only twenty-three, he was obviously older, but she didn’t see a problem with that.
She didn’t see a problem with any of it.
“Why not?” she finally asked.
“He’s married.”
Two words a single woman never wanted to hear.
A tightness formed in Honey’s chest, and there was a shakiness in her hands that had her fingers trembling. “How do you know?”
Valentine had never met him. He had left Honey’s room long before her roommate arrived at the hospital to pick her up. But when she was discharged, Andrew had been standing at the nurses’ station, and Honey had pointed him out to her roommate.
Honey believed her best friend was wrong. That was the only conclusion she could come up with. Because what she had just said didn’t make any sense at all.
“He was wearing a gold band on his ring finger.” She dipped her head, questioning her friend. “I’m surprised you missed it.”
Honey was surprised by that too.