Heart Trouble Read online

  She glanced up at the three-story building painted in a warm, beige color. Each condo seemed to have a balcony of its own. Nice. Clearly, Hope didn’t have to live on a waitress’s income.

  Her low heels clacked over terra-cotta tiles as she walked toward the arched entrance. Juggling her box of food on one arm, she pressed the buzzer that read H. Finlay.

  “Come on up,” Hope said when she greeted her through the intercom. “I’m on the third floor.”

  Of course you are. Laleh had to smile. Somehow, that seemed to fit Hope.

  A short elevator ride later, she stood in front of Hope’s condo.

  Hope was waiting at the door, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a red V-neck T-shirt. Her constantly tousled brown hair fell in damp waves onto her neck, as if she’d only just gotten out of the shower. She instantly stepped forward and took the box of food from Laleh. “Wow. Either you’re very hungry, or you expect me to burn a lot of food so that you’ll have to start over.”

  Laleh laughed. “I thought it would be nice for you to have leftovers.”

  “If it tastes anything like the food in your aunt’s restaurant, I won’t say no to that.”

  Laleh followed her into the condo and looked around with curiosity. High ceilings lent the space an airy feel. The walls were so white they looked as if they’d been freshly painted. No rugs covered the beige tile floor.

  The spacious living room and the kitchen were practically one room, separated only by an L-shaped, marble-topped kitchen island. Laleh’s gaze went to the living room first, which held a glass-fronted fireplace but was otherwise sparsely decorated. Dark blackout curtains framed the large windows, as if Hope sometimes slept on the couch after her night shifts. No pillows or cushions added a hint of softness or a splash of color to the black leather couch. Not a single family photo adorned the walls or the shelves of the entertainment center.

  Hope’s home had all the personality of an emergency department waiting room. Either she’d only recently moved in, or she hadn’t bothered with decorating for some reason.

  Laleh felt Hope’s gaze on her as she looked around. “It’s nice,” she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Very clean and sophisticated.”

  “It’s pretty minimalistic, I know.” Hope shrugged. “I’m hardly ever home anyway, and my decorating skills are about as good as my cooking skills.”

  Laleh wagged a finger at her. “We don’t know that yet. Which is why I’m here.” She turned toward the ultra-modern kitchen, which would have made her aunt or any professional cook green with envy.

  Stainless-steel appliances sparkled in the evening sunlight streaming in through the windows. The gas stove top looked brand-new, as if Hope had never turned on a single burner. Several pots and pans, sorted by size, hung above it.

  “Wow,” Laleh muttered as she stared at the large subzero refrigerator and the wall oven, “I think I’m in love.”

  Hope laughed. “First time a woman has ignored me for my kitchen.”

  Laleh liked how comfortable Hope seemed to be with her sexual orientation. She walked over to the box, which Hope had set down on the counter.

  Hope joined her and peeked into the box. “Ooh. Pomegranates! A few weeks ago, I had such a hankering for them, I could have killed for one.”

  “Not necessary.” Laleh held up her hands. “You’ll get it without any bloodshed.”

  Hope leaned against the counter. “You know, I’d be perfectly happy just watching and keeping you company while you cook. I don’t want to ruin it.”

  “Oh, no. Cooking isn’t a spectator sport.”

  “It’s not a sport at all,” Hope said.

  Laleh gave her a gentle backhand slap to her upper arm and then paused, amazed at how comfortable she already felt around Hope. She’d always been a touchy-feely person, but it usually took her a while to establish this kind of easy camaraderie with someone.

  “That’s what you think. I’ll make you sweat. You just wait and see.”

  “Oh yeah?” Hope turned fully toward her, a challenging twinkle in her blue eyes. She opened her mouth but then snapped it shut without adding anything.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Hope busied herself unpacking the box.

  Laleh blocked her path to the refrigerator. “Oh, come on. That’s not a nothing look on your face. You can tell me.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that curiosity killed the cat?”

  Laleh regarded her with her most charming grin. “Good thing I’m not a cat. Tell me.”

  Hope sighed. “I just… I was about to make a joke about your ‘I’ll make you sweat’ comment, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  Why would that make her…? Oh. “I appreciate that, but you don’t have to censor yourself around me. One of my best friends is gay, and she’s pretty much the biggest flirt you can imagine.”

  A smile tugged on Hope’s lips. “Worse than Jordan?”

  Laleh had to chuckle. “Okay, my friend’s the second-biggest flirt, then. But, seriously, I want you to be yourself around me.”

  Hope rubbed her neck. “Isn’t it a little weird for you too?”

  “Because you’re a lesbian? I told you—”

  “No, because I’m your…was your doctor.”

  Laleh considered it for a moment. “In the beginning, it was a little weird. I had a hard time seeing you as anything but the doctor who saved my life. But now that I know you a little better, I’m getting over it. I mean, I’m still grateful, but I’m starting to see the person behind that white lab coat.”

  Hope squirmed a little, as if she wasn’t entirely comfortable with that idea.

  Maybe she actually liked hiding behind her white lab coat, and that was why she had a hard time giving up her established role as a doctor. But it wasn’t for Laleh to point that out. While their relationship wasn’t that of a patient and her physician anymore, they were not close friends either.

  At least not yet, a voice in her head provided. Hope seemed a little hesitant, but Laleh was certainly open to a friendship. After all, you could never have too many friends. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s cook fesenjan.”

  * * *

  Laleh peered up at the pots and pans hanging above the stove. “First, we need a large frying pan for—”

  “Toasting the walnuts,” Hope finished the sentence for her. Now that she focused on it, she realized that the recipe for fesenjan was right there in her brain, along with the exact measurements. Pretty amazing, considering she normally needed a cookbook for even the simplest dishes—or, better yet, a phone so she could order takeout.

  Laleh looked at her over her shoulder and nodded. “Right. So I see you’ve got the theoretical part down pat. Let’s see if you can apply your knowledge in practice.”

  Hope gulped. “You want me to toast the nuts?”

  “Um, no. They go from toasted to bitter in an instant if you’re not careful. Why don’t you dice the onion?”

  Okay. Dicing an onion. She could do that. As a physician, she was pretty good with her hands. She got a cutting board and a knife out of a drawer while she watched Laleh heat the pan and toast the walnuts. Despite her great fine-motor skills, the results had never been too pretty whenever she’d diced an onion, but now she knew why. She’d been going about it all wrong. Now, thanks to the connection with Laleh, she knew to leave the root end intact instead of cutting all the way through. That way, the onion wouldn’t fall apart.

  Who would have thought? Hope Finlay, chef. Well, sous chef. Clearly, Laleh was the real pro.

  Laleh shuffled the walnuts with quick flicks of her wrist to toast them from both sides and finally poured them onto a baking sheet so they could cool off. Leaning one jean-clad hip against the counter, she took a handful of the cooling walnuts and rubbed them between her palms until the skin came off.

  With the knife hovering over the halfway diced onion, Hope watched Laleh’s hands. Wow. Poetry in motion. Laleh’s touch was so gentle that she co
uld remove the skin without breaking any of the nuts. It looked almost like magic. After a few moments, Hope tore her gaze away and sliced her knife through the onion with more force than necessary. Focus! On the chopping, not on ogling h— Ouch! Dammit!

  Pain shot through her finger. She dropped the knife and clutched her hand.

  Laleh rushed over. “Did you cut yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And here I promised you that there’d be no bloodshed.” Laleh smiled crookedly.

  “It’s not that bad.” It was burning like crazy, though, probably from the onion juice. “I think.”

  “Let me see.” When Hope hesitated, Laleh added, “Hey, I’ve got the knowledge of a trained emergency physician. You can trust me to handle a little cut.”

  “I think we established that it’s only the theoretical knowledge. If I really had the skills of a cook, I wouldn’t have cut myself.”

  “It’s a little cut, not an aneurysm. I’ve got this.” Laleh gently pulled Hope’s hand aside, took a look at the cut, and directed her over to the sink. “Go wash that out while I get a Band-Aid. Where do you keep them?”

  “In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.” Hope opened the tap and suppressed a hiss as she held her finger under the water. “It’s the second door to the…”

  When she looked up, Laleh had already opened the correct door.

  God, would she ever get used to this? More importantly, would she have to get used to it—or would this weird knowledge that they had of each other’s lives fade away over time?

  A chuckle drifted through the open bathroom door. “Minions?”

  “Uh, excuse me?”

  “Why are there Minions on your Band-Aids? You don’t have kids, do you?”

  Jeez, how embarrassing. Hope covered her eyes with her unhurt hand for a moment. “No, I don’t. But these were the only ones they had left at the store.”

  “Right,” Laleh drawled.

  “Really. I—”

  “I’m just teasing. Besides, I like the Minions.” Laleh walked back into the kitchen, still grinning at the package of Band-Aids. She shut off the water and gently dried Hope’s hand with a clean kitchen towel.

  Hope looked down at Laleh’s fingers cradling hers. “I can do this myself, you know?”

  “I know. But why not let me practice my medical skills? I’m working up to that aneurysm or a pneumothorax.”

  Hope laughed and left her hand in Laleh’s. The fingers holding hers were warm and comforting.

  Laleh shook a Band-Aid from the package.

  It was too small to cover the cut without sticking to the wound. Hope shook her head. “We need a larger—”

  “I’m on it.” Laleh had already put the Band-Aid back and chosen another. “Are you like this with your residents too?”

  “Um, no.” But then again, she wasn’t the patient when she was in the emergency department.

  “I guess it’s true what they say about doctors making the worst patients, huh? Relax.” Laleh pulled off the plastic coverings, careful not to touch the sterile pad in the process, and gently placed the Band-Aid over the cut. “There. All done. The procedure was successful, and the patient’s still alive.”

  Hope eyed the Band-Aid around her left index finger. Three Minions were balancing on top of each other. She would have to remember to take it off before she started her next shift; otherwise, she’d have to put up with a lot of teasing. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “You’re welcome.” Laleh threw away the wrapper, finding the trash as if by instinct. “How about I finish dicing the onion and you grate the nuts?”

  Hope nodded. “That sounds a lot safer. And I’ll get us something to drink. I’ve got a Cabernet from a great little winery in Paso Robles that should go really well with dinner.” Then she remembered. “That is, if you even drink alcohol.”

  “I do,” Laleh said. “My family has never been very religious. Everyone but Uncle Sohrab pretty much ignores Ramadan, and my father loves ham almost as much as tahdig. What about you?”

  “I’ve never been big on organized religion either.”

  “No, I mean, will you have a glass of wine with me? Or do you avoid alcohol on week nights?”

  “Well, it’s not a week night for me. I just worked a stretch of four night shifts, so it’s my DOMA.”

  “DOMA?”

  So that part of her knowledge hadn’t transferred to Laleh. “Yeah. Everyone thinks it must be so nice to be an emergency physician and get three days off in a row, but the truth is that you pretty much sleep the entire first day after a stretch of night shifts. That’s why we call it DOMA—day off, my ass.”

  Laleh’s laughter echoed through the kitchen.

  Smiling reflexively, Hope pulled the bottle of Cabernet from the wine rack, poured them each a glass, and handed one to Laleh.

  After a few moments, Laleh sobered. “If you worked several night shifts in a row, you must be pretty tired. If you want to do this another time…”

  “No,” Hope said quickly. Normally, she enjoyed a bit of solitude after being around patients and colleagues all day, but she found that she enjoyed Laleh’s company. “I took a long nap earlier, so I’m fine. And as I said, I’ll sleep in tomorrow.”

  Laleh studied her for a moment as if not quite believing her. Finally, she nodded. “Here’s to your DOMA, then, and to no more cooking accidents.”

  Hope lifted her glass. “And to us figuring out what’s causing this”—she waved her hand back and forth between their heads—“and how to make it stop.”

  “Well, I’m not really in a hurry to get my shitty sense of direction back, but I’d like to find out what caused this too, so…” Laleh nodded.

  Softly, they touched their glasses together and then raised them to their lips.

  Over the rim of her wineglass, Hope looked into Laleh’s eyes. Amazing how warm and brown they were. Not a hint of green in them. When she realized she was staring, she tore her gaze away, set down her glass, and went in search of the cheese grater to grate the walnuts.

  * * *

  “Oh my God!” Groaning, Hope popped the top button of her jeans and stretched her legs out in front of her. “You and your family are so, so bad for me. If we keep this up, I’ll be overweight in no time.”

  Laleh looked over at her and took in the toned belly that peeked out above the low-slung jeans. Wow. Hope was in great shape. Obviously, she was a doctor who practiced the healthy living she preached. “I seriously doubt it.”

  Hope licked a bit of sauce off her thumb. “This was really good.”

  “Well, you were the one who added the spices, so it seems you got it right.”

  Although Hope had insisted that she didn’t know a thing about cooking, she’d been able to tell which spices were missing and had added just the right amount of saffron, turmeric, and pomegranate paste.

  When Hope moved to get up and clear the table, Laleh waved her back down. “Let me do this, or you’ll get your Band-Aid wet.”

  With obvious reluctance, Hope sank back onto her chair.

  They had already cleaned up the kitchen while the sauce had simmered, so all Laleh had to do was rinse the plates and put them into the dishwasher.

  Hope topped off their wineglasses and carried them to the couch.

  After Laleh dried her hands on a dish towel and walked over to join her, her gaze fell on several copies of the Journal of Emergency Medicine piled on the coffee table. One magazine was folded open to an article with the title Examining Reports of Near-Death Experiences.

  Laleh sank onto one end of the couch and pointed to the journal. “May I?” When Hope nodded, she picked up the magazine. “Are you interested in near-death experiences?”

  “Hell, no. I don’t believe in stuff like that. Do you?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought,” Laleh said. “But…yes, I think there could be something there. I mean, all these people describe pretty much the same experiences: floating outside of their bodies, moving th
rough a dark tunnel and then into the light, experiencing a sense of peace… That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

  “I’m not saying it’s a coincidence. I’m saying there’s a scientific explanation for all of these phenomena.”

  “So if you already made up your mind, why read that article?” Laleh asked.

  Hope pulled one leg up on the couch and rested her wineglass on one knee. “Not for the near-death experiences. I just thought… I thought maybe one of the patients in this study, who were all resuscitated after cardiac arrest, would report something that might resemble what’s happening to us.” She averted her gaze as if embarrassed to admit it.

  Laleh slid a little closer. “And?”

  “Nothing. Well, one patient reported a sudden desire to learn to play the piano after he woke up, but that’s hardly the same.”

  “No, it’s not.” Laleh hadn’t had an out-of-body experience or seen any light while she’d been in v-fib. The weirdness had started after her resuscitation, not during it. She tossed the journal back onto the pile.

  Another journal slid to the side, revealing a CD in a clear plastic case. Written in black marker across the silver disc was resus—October 4—8.07 p.m.

  She reached out to restack the journals—and then froze. Resus…resuscitation. It can’t be, can it? But that date was engraved into her mind, and from her connection with Hope, she knew that each trauma room held a camera that began filming automatically as soon as the lights were turned on. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the CD. “Hope…” Her voice was rough with emotion, so she cleared her throat before continuing. “Is this…?”

  Hope put her wineglass down, reached across the space between them, and gently took the CD from her. “Yes. I thought maybe there’d be something unusual…something that could explain what’s happening.”

  “And?” Laleh stared at the silver disc, as if that would make it reveal its secrets. “Was there anything?”

  “I haven’t watched it yet.”

  They both looked at the CD, then at each other.

  “Let’s watch it now,” Laleh said. She glanced at her watch and nodded. Since she’d agreed to drive her uncle to the airport tomorrow morning, she couldn’t stay too long, but there was still time, and now that she’d discovered the CD, she couldn’t leave without seeing it.