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She says it with such a girlish excitement that I can’t help but smile, reliving every special moment with Steve so far in a second.
I’ve got so much to say, so many feelings. It feels like I might burst if I don’t tell somebody something, and soon.
Leading me into her small but comfortable-looking office, which I can see doubles as her living space, I let her know the doctors have given me a once over too.
“It’s been a great shock,” she sighs, sitting in an easy chair after pointing to an empty one for me.
There’s a ready tray on a low coffee table with Christmas cookies and what smells like egg nog steaming from little porcelain cups.
It’s dark out by now, but I can see the snow falling silently through a large window lit by some Christmas lights on the grounds. A blanket of white over everything.
A picture-perfect Christmas scene.
“You seem to have a certain way with Steve,” I observe a little boldly, making the old woman smile, but it’s clear she wants to know more about me first.
I recount what happened leading up to and including when Steve was mugged.
She listens intently, and I can see the question in her eyes. The same one, Steve himself, asked.
Why would I be following him?
Before she asks, I make sure and tell her about all the money he was withdrawing, half wondering if I should mention the million-dollar check with her name on the back.
“Every year, Mr. Carter likes to visit the wards and give out crisp little bundles of hundred-dollar bills,” she tells me with another little sigh.
“It’s worth more than toys to these kids and their parents, most of whom can’t afford to eat most days, let alone pay for conventional hospital care,” she explains, sipping some eggnog.
Her words are like an arrow through my heart, and I feel my emotions getting the better of me again.
Steve Carter is all about giving, not taking.
Hardly the type I would have thought that could succeed in a world where people cut each other’s throats for bigger profits.
“Oh! That reminds me,” she says suddenly. “I called his office and let them know he’s fine. His personal assistant, Madison, will be bringing over some of his things. Phone, new credit cards. That sort of thing,” she says softly. Almost as if she’s reminding herself rather than telling me.
Personal assistant?
Madison?
It surprises me, but I feel a pang of jealousy run over my belly like a nervous itch.
Like the one thing that was waiting to spring out and prove all this was too good to be true.
“Personal assistant?” I hear myself stammer, picturing a leggy blond in a mini-skirt with big hair and an even bigger chest.
The kind of assistant that wealthy businessmen have, more than ready to take dictation at a moment’s notice.
“Oh yes,” Sister O’Halloran says, smiling and looking up thoughtfully. “They’ve worked together for… well, more years than I care to remember. More like an old married couple than boss and employee,” she giggles, creasing her brow when she notices my hurt.
My lips are trembling uncontrollably, and I feel like a complete fool.
“I should go,” I hear myself saying coldly, standing too quickly and bumping the coffee table, spilling some eggnog, and spraying cookies everywhere.
“My dear! Whatever’s the matter?” The old woman asks, moving to her own feet quickly but not worried about the mess I’ve made.
She’s more concerned about me.
I turn to make my way to the door, having no idea how to even get out of the damned building, let alone make my way home, but the thought of Steve and his personal assistant is just too much.
