The Best Medicine Read Online Free PDF

destruction of property. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I’ve just told you?”
    Grand larceny? I looked at my patient, ripples of surprise giving way to a shiver of unease as I waited for him to explain. Surely he hadn’t stolen that Jet Ski. Surely there was some mistake. Surely he’d defend himself and the police would go away satisfied no crime had occurred.
    But Tyler Connelly looked up at me. No stain of embarrassment colored his cheeks this time. He was as cool as a jewel thief on the French Riviera, his icy-blue eyes clear of any doubt.
    I couldn’t pull my gaze away.
    Even as he said, “Yes, I understand. But before you cuff me, do you mind if the birthday girl here finishes with my stitches?”

Chapter 2

    MY HEELS CLACKED A STACCATO rhythm on the cobblestone sidewalk as I rushed to the restaurant. It had taken twenty more minutes to finish with my patient—the alleged felon. Although there didn’t seem to be much alleging to it. He’d as much as confessed just by virtue of saying nothing.
    What a sad, sad tale. Tyler Connelly had seemed like a charming, if somewhat careless, guy, but harmless enough. Obviously his good looks had deceived me. A criminal lurked beneath that nice tan and all those muscles. And now I’d never even know what happened to him. He’d be carted off to jail, and all that beautiful facial symmetry would be wasted on a cell mate named Dutch.
    I glanced at my watch as I reached the door of Arno’s. Seven fifteen. Good grief. I hoped my parents hadn’t caused a ruckus by getting into an argument. Visions of my eleventh birthday popped up like an evil clown. My parents had still been married that year, though the fighting had escalated, and the long hospital shifts had grown more frequent. I remembered staring at that store-bought birthday cake and making my wish with every ounce of naive hope strumming through my veins. I wished for a family vacation. Someplace with a beach and lots of sunshine. Someplace warm and relaxing. Someplace that would fix all the things that seemed broken in our lives. Then I’d blown out the candles and watched as my parents had a knock-down–drag-out over who would cut the cake.
    Typical surgeons. All we care about is who gets to hold the knife.
    Before the wisps of smoke had cleared the air, my mother had demanded a divorce and my father had left.
    Birthdays soured for me after that. But I’d tucked away the memory and moved on. It’s not as if my situation was unique. Nearly all my friends had seen their parents go full honey badger on each other at one point or another. I grew up assuming divorce was just the final phase of marriage. That’s why I often contemplated skipping it altogether.
    Now here we were, together again on my birthday, having dinner at the only elegant restaurant in Bell Harbor. I walked through the door and looked around for signs of their scuffle but found none. Gentle music played, blending with the soft murmur of relaxed diners. There were no broken glasses or overturned chairs. No hastily thrown knives dangling from the woodwork. Not even any raised voices.
    Nothing out of the ordinary.
    Except . . .
    Except for the sight of my parents sitting together. Harmoniously. Like normal people. It was like catching Batman and Bruce Wayne at the same party. My mother and father were on two sides of a square table, laughing.
    Laughing?
    My mother’s head tipped toward my father, her cheeks flushed as if she’d already polished off a glass or two of chardonnay. My father was telling some story and gesturing with his hands. I looked back at the door behind me. Maybe I’d tripped through a wormhole into an alternate universe.
    “There she is. There’s the birthday girl,” my mother said when she spotted me. She reached up her