The Mistletoe Promise by Richard Paul Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

got back in, his hands were wet and red with the cold. He rubbed them together.
    “Let me see them,” I said.
    He looked at me curiously, then held them out. I cupped them in my hands and breathed on them.
    He smiled. “Thank you.”
    We didn’t say much on the way home. I suppose I felt talked out. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. When we pulled up in front of my apartment he said, “Thanks again for going with me.”
    “It was fun,” I replied. “I’m sorry I talked so much.”
    “I enjoyed learning about you.”
    “Well, I kind of threw up on you. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had anyone ask me about myself.”
    “I’m glad it was me,” he said.
    I smiled at him, then said, “Me too. Have a good weekend.”
    “You too. I’ll see you Monday.”
    I got out of the car and walked up the snow-covered sidewalk to my apartment stairs, leaving footprints as I went. Nicholas waited until I reached the door. I turned back and waved. He waved back then drove away.
    Not surprisingly, my apartment smelled like roses. I went into my bedroom and undressed, turned out the light, then lay back on my bed.
    “Who are you, Nicholas?” I said into the darkness. “And what are you doing with me?”

CHAPTER
    Eight
    People talk of life’s storms as if they are universal experiences. But they’re not. Some people hear thunder while others touch lightning.
    Elise Dutton’s Diary

THREE YEARS EARLIER
    I couldn’t sleep because of the pain. At first I thought it was an upset stomach. Then, as the pain increased, an ulcer. An ulcer made sense. I was a worrier. I’d worried my whole life.
    While my husband, Dan, slept, I downed a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, which did nothing to relieve my agony. Finally, at four in the morning, I woke Dan, and he reluctantly drove me to St. Mark’s Hospital emergency room. It wasn’t an ulcer, it was appendicitis. And my appendix had burst. I was rushed into surgery and spent the next two days in intensive care being fed massive doses of antibiotics to attack the infection that had set in. On the third day I had shown enough progress that they moved me out of the ICU.
    Dan came to see me that afternoon bearing a bouquet of spring flowers. It was only the second time I had seen him since I was admitted, and, in spite of his absence, I was glad to see him. We had talked for only about a half hour when he said he had to get back to work. Dan was working as a telemarketer and managed a phone solicitation office. Afterhe left I was just lying there looking at the flowers when one of my nurses walked in. Keti was a Tongan woman as wide as she was tall.
    “Oh, aren’t you lucky,” she said. “Somebody loves you.”
    I smiled. “Aren’t they beautiful? They’re from my husband.”
    “You hang on to him, honey. I can’t tell you the last time my husband brought me flowers.” She looked up at me. “Oh wait, I don’t have a husband.” She walked to my side. “How are you feeling?”
    “It hurts where they made the incision.”
    “That’s usual. An appendectomy is like a cesarean, except you don’t get a baby for it.”
    “I feel a little warm.”
    “Warm? Like a fever?”
    “Yes.”
    She sidled up to my bed. “I was just about to check your temperature.” She rubbed an electronic thermometer across my forehead and frowned. “You have a temperature. A hundred and two point four. I don’t like that.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Maybe a little infection.” She checked my chart. “You’re already on a pretty high dosage of antibiotics, but let me see if the doctor wants to up your dose a little.”
    “Thank you.”
    As she scribbled on her clipboard, I heard the vibration of a cell phone. We both looked around to see where it was coming from, then Keti discovered an iPhone lying next to the flowers. “Is this yours?”
    “No. It’s probably my husband’s. He must have left it.” I reached out my hand for it. “I’ll text his office and let them