Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
With that in mind, I call the hospital to ask if a Gertrude Sullivan has been admitted. The woman says, no, and I sag with relief. When I ask about John Sullivan, she’s able to tell me that he’s in the ICU and in stable condition.
I thank her and end the call, my stomach in a slow, dread-filled free fall.
I’m relieved that Sully’s not lying in a hospital bed and that her grandfather is okay—obviously—but then, why hasn’t she called? Why did I sleep in that big king bed alone last night?
“Track her down and find out,” I mutter to myself, disgusted by my own lack of action.
This isn’t who I am. I don’t sit around, waiting for other people to solve my problems. I go straight to the source and address any issues head-on. Sadly, Sully and I haven’t reached the point in our relationship where we’ve enabled location tracking for each other, but there are relatively few places she could be.
And one of them is right across the highway from my hotel.
I pack my things and head for the elevator, checking out on my way through the lobby. At the hospital, I make my way directly to the ICU, where I know her grandfather is recovering, but it’s still a little while before visiting hours begin. The nurse on duty at the check-in desk encourages me to get a cup of coffee and come back at nine.
After leaving the ICU, I check the various waiting rooms scattered throughout the floor, but there isn’t a Sullivan to be found. I head to the chapel and yoga room next—also Sullivan-free and mostly empty at this early hour—before hitting the cafeteria. I grab that cup of coffee the nurse suggested and wander around the space, finally spotting a few familiar faces in the corner.
I linger beside the coffee station, taking my time adding cream to the burnt-smelling brew as I try to put names with faces. One of the women is definitely Sully’s aunt Cathy, from yesterday, but the older woman and the two middle aged men with her are unfamiliar to me.
The most important detail, of course, is that my Sullivan is nowhere to be seen.
The knowledge sends another wave of apprehension through my core.
If she didn’t stay at the hospital last night, why didn’t she join me at the hotel across the street? Surely, she knows she can call or text me any time of day or night, especially in a crisis.
Second-guessing the wisdom of putting coffee on my irritable, empty stomach, I dump it in a bin and head back to the car. Aiming the Subaru toward Sea Breeze, I consider calling Sully to ask if she’s at home, and if I can swing by to talk, but that feels wrong.
She hasn’t responded to my last message, why would she reply to another one? She’s clearly avoiding me, and the only way to put an end to that is to track her down and insist she tell me what’s bothering her.
She’s probably angry that you pressed charges against her cousin, right after she begged you not to press charges against her father, the inner voice says, but I’m not buying it.
I pressed charges against everyone on that boat, including my own nephew. And Sully isn’t the kind to condone destruction of property, especially when that property is a seafaring vessel. She’s a lobster woman. Her boat is her livelihood. A yacht isn’t the same thing, of course, but that yacht is my home in Sea Breeze. I can’t imagine her being okay with fully grown adults boarding my boat without permission and trashing it.
There has to be something else, something I haven’t thought of yet.
My stomach growls, as if suggesting perhaps the reason I can’t think straight is that I’ve barely eaten in the past day. I managed to force down some grilled chicken and rice last night for dinner, but the room service was bland and overcooked, and I was too worried about Sully to have much of an appetite.
But this morning, my stomach insists on sustenance, no matter how unsettled I am by my girlfriend’s disappearance.
Girlfriend…
I hope she hasn’t decided to end things. I know she must be worried about how she’s going to help care for her grandfather from New York, but that’s one thing about money—it can buy a lot of time, help, and freedom. I can get Gramps a full-time, live-in nurse. And Sully and I can fly back every other weekend to spend time with him.
I’m open to visiting Sea Breeze on a regular basis, but we can’t stay here. It isn’t good for either of us.
I’m reminded of how “not good” things have been as I pass the boat on my way into town and see a Happy Housekeepers van parked in the lot. Looks like Mark is making good on his promise to have cleaners in to take care of things. Hopefully, he’s taken care of hiring temporary staff for the Sullivan boat, as well. The sooner all those ducks are in a row, the sooner we can get out of here.