MONDAY, NOVEMBER 5
Yes, I know it’s last minute. Yes, I understand—nope, absolutely understand your agency prefers twenty-four hours’ notice . . . yep, and I appreciate you making an exception. Yes, six o’clock tonight would be perfect.”
Oliver spent another minute groveling on the phone with the caretaking agency before making another phone call, this time to one of his favorite restaurants that he hadn’t been to in . . . way too long.
Sure, Monday nights weren’t the most popular date nights, but he wanted to surprise Naomi. To show her that he could meet her halfway, to find a way to make them work.
The woman had gone above and beyond. First with brunch yesterday, not even batting an eye when it had devolved into an expected tantrum from Walter. Then this afternoon when Oliver had gotten hung up with a client at the same time Janice had a sudden, severe tooth pain, Naomi had casually offered to stay with Walter so Janice could get to the dentist.
Just like that, as if it were no big deal. As if they were partners in this, even though he had no right to ask it of her so soon in the relationship.
Oliver knew he was dangerously close to falling in love with the woman, and the only thing holding him back was the nagging sense that she was holding back.
That was what tonight was for. Just the two of them. Nice wine. Fancy clothes. No hard-boiled eggs. Not even puzzles.
To give them a chance, he needed to get them beyond the walls of 517 Park Avenue, to show her—to show himself—that they could make it in the real world.
After making dinner reservations, he made one more call, this time to Naomi. She didn’t pick up, which wasn’t all that surprising, considering his dad frequently demanded all of someone’s attention.
He nearly sent her a text, letting her know that he’d gotten alternate care for the evening, since Janice—on pain pills following an emergency root canal—would likely be ill-equipped to deal with Walter.
He decided instead to surprise her, stopping on his way home to get her flowers. She’d insisted on leaving the roses from yesterday at his place to “brighten it up,” and he wanted something for her place—a congratulations on the new office.
Oliver selected a bouquet of pink roses at a corner shop, then headed home, taking the stairs two at a time up to the fifth floor.
Pre-Naomi, Oliver had always stopped by his own place to catch his breath, change his clothes, switch gears from architect to patient’s son.
Post-Naomi, getting to his father’s place and seeing her there was the highlight of his day. Week.
The woman was becoming the highlight of his life.
Oliver pulled out his keys, then skidded to a halt when he saw the door of his father’s apartment was open.
His heart pounded as he slowly walked toward the door, pushing it open with a combination of urgency and dread.
Nothing.
“Naomi? Dad?”
No response. The only sound he heard was the History Channel on full volume.
Oliver broke out in a cold sweat. They could have gone for a walk, but there was no way Naomi would have left the door unlocked, much less open.
“Dad!” he called, more urgent now, going to the bedroom. Empty.
Absently, he reached for the remote to turn off the TV, the silence only ratcheting up his sense that something was very wrong.
A cell phone buzzed against a hard surface and he scanned the room until he saw Naomi’s phone on the kitchen counter, distinctive in its coral case.
Oliver went for it, reaching for it, when he came up short.
His heart stopped.
“Naomi,” he said on a rush.
She lay crumpled on the floor of the kitchen, a small pool of blood beneath her head.
“Naomi!” She didn’t move.
He crouched beside her, running a hand over her side, even as his first aid training reminded him not to move her.
Oliver softly touched her cheek, but she didn’t stir. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911 with a shaky hand.
“Yes, I need an ambulance at 517 Park Avenue. There’s a woman unconscious.”
He barely recognized his own voice as he answered the operator’s questions.
No, he didn’t know what happened.
Yes, there was blood.
Was she breathing?
Oliver swallowed. He hadn’t checked, because it hadn’t occurred to him—he wouldn’t let it be true.
With a shaky hand, he put his fingers to Naomi’s wrist. Found a pulse. To calm his heart, he put his hand beneath her nose, felt her breath.
“Yes. She’s breathing.”
“Okay, an ambulance’s on the way. Can you stay on the line, help me tell them where to go when they get there?”
He started to say, yes, of course, when he remembered. Walter. Walter was missing.
And suddenly Oliver was faced with the worst decision of his life: stay with the bloodied, unconscious body of the woman he loved, or try to find his lost, ill father.