The Lonely Hearts Club Read Online Free PDF Page A

their brief conversation the week before were the true barometer of how she was feeling. Right now, their lustrous green was cloudy. “How long have you been feeling ill?”
    “I…” Liz fumbled for the words. She hadn’t told anyone other than Candace and Bren yet. Over the last week, she’d started planning for the changes in her life that were right around the corner. She’d have to arrange for maternity leave, find a nanny, and then negotiate with her law partners how best to adjust her work schedule when she returned—not to even mention doctor’s visits, baby clothes, nursery furniture. If she let herself think about it, she’d panic over how much there was to do. But structuring the future assuaged her anxiety and helped restore her confidence in herself. Still, she wasn’t ready to face the explanation and the inevitable questions that would follow. Not now, not to Reilly. Not when she already must appear so pathetically weak. “I’m not sick, in fact, I’m already feeling much better. Maybe it’s something I ate or a twenty-four-hour bug. Really, Reilly. Go back to work.”
    “I worked last night so I’m off today. The only reason I’m still here at eight-thirty in the morning is that there was a staff meeting.” Reilly pushed away from the wall and took a step closer. “You’re white as a sheet, Liz. And you’re shaking. Do you have a car here?”
    “No, I usually take a cab. Saves the time of parking.”
    “Then let me drive you home.”
    “I’m not going home,” Liz said incredulously. Spying her purse on the floor, she busied herself retrieving it. She didn’t even remember grabbing it on her flight from the conference room, but she was glad she had. Avoiding Reilly’s slightly unnerving scrutiny, she searched her purse for the mints she always carried and slipped one into her mouth. “I’m in the middle of a meeting with the hospital administrators, and I have a dep to prepare for this afternoon.”
    “You need something to drink and a little bit of food in your stomach. And you need to change your clothes.”
    “What?” Liz glanced down at her navy slacks. Both knees were marked by perfect damp, chalky ovals.
    “I think that’s cleanser,” Reilly observed. “And I think emergency dry-cleaning is required.”
    “God damn it,” Liz muttered. “I do need to go home.” She eyed Reilly. “But I’m just a ten minute cab ride away. I really don’t need you to go out of your way.”
    “Liz, stop being so stubborn.”
    “I’m not being stu—” Liz caught the flicker of amusement on Reilly’s face and grinned despite her acute embarrassment. She hated that Reilly had witnessed her debacle. She also hated to admit that the subtle sickness still churned in her stomach. “All right, maybe I am a little…resistant. I’d love a ride, thank you. Let me get my briefcase and make up some excuse.”
    “Why don’t you just tell them you’re not feeling well?” Reilly asked as she followed Liz out into the hall.
    Liz shot her a look. “What is it you surgeons say? To ask for help—”
    “Is a sign of weakness,” Reilly finished. “I doubt anyone would ever consider you weak. And being under the weather is hardly a sign of weakness.”
    “Just give me a minute,” Liz said, heading down the hall. Despite what Reilly had said, she doubted that if Reilly were ill, she’d ever admit to her fellow surgeons that she couldn’t do her job. No matter how natural that circumstance might be, women in positions like theirs still didn’t admit to their predominantly male colleagues that there was anything, short of death, that could interfere with their work. And then they’d better be the ones dead. She took a deep breath, settled her expression into one of calm control, and stepped into the conference room.
    “I’m so sorry,” Liz said. “The office just paged and I’m afraid I have to go. I’ll check in with you later, Tom, in case there’s anything we need to go