Heart Trouble Page 8

  Finally, she gave herself a mental kick. Her medical training had taught her that it was usually better to do something that might turn out to be wrong than to do nothing. “I… I’m not sure. It could be related, or it could be just stress or…”

  Clutching the pillow, Laleh slid a little closer. “You…you’re experiencing it too, aren’t you?”

  Hope sucked in a breath. No. Not her too. This can’t be happening.

  They stared at each other.

  “It?” Hope asked after a long pause. Her mouth was dry, as if she’d been gargling with a mouthful of desert sand.

  Without looking away from Hope’s eyes, Laleh slid her own water glass over to her.

  What the…? Did she just…? No. She was imagining things. Just because strange things were happening didn’t mean Laleh could read her thoughts. As a waitress, she was attuned to her guests’ needs, or maybe she had seen Hope lick her lips and had guessed that she was thirsty.

  “I’m not sure I can explain.” Laleh’s voice shook.

  “Try. I have a feeling I might be able to relate.”

  “Since I’ve been back home from the hospital…” Laleh tapped her chin. “No, actually, I think it started even sooner than that. Well, anyway… Something weird is going on with me. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. Mostly, it’s just weird…and a little scary. My family is starting to notice.”

  Hope couldn’t wait any longer. She had to know. “Notice what?”

  “It feels like someone put a chip into my head. A chip that contains an entire encyclopedia of medicine.”

  A shiver went through Hope. She cleared her throat. “You mean, like you knowing what v-fib is?”

  Laleh nodded.

  “Maybe you heard it somewhere in the ER or in the CCU, and you just don’t remember. There are studies indicating that even unconscious people might be aware of more than we think.”

  “That’s what I thought too. But then I diagnosed my brother’s acute appendicitis and talked to the EMTs like I was one of them, throwing around medical terms that I’ve never even heard of.”

  Well, appendicitis wasn’t exactly a rare condition. The symptoms were common knowledge, weren’t they? “So if I asked you what…” Hope searched her memory for the most obscure sickness that she knew. “…Hailey-Hailey disease is?”

  “Oh, you mean familial benign pemphigus?”

  Again, they stared at each other. Laleh looked as surprised by her knowledge as Hope felt.

  What were the chances of Laleh having heard of this rare genetic disorder? Even Hope hadn’t known what it was when a patient had presented with painful blisters and a rash in the ER last year. “How…how do you know that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just…there.” Laleh reached up and touched her fingertips to her temples.

  “That’s…that’s…”

  “Scary. I know.” Laleh slumped against the back of the couch and hugged the pillow to her chest. She eyed Hope for several seconds. “Do you…? Have you experienced something like that too?”

  Hope’s sense of humor kicked in, so instead of merely nodding, she decided to show her. “Bale, fekr konam.”

  Laleh’s jaw moved, but it took a while before she actually spoke. “Did you just say ‘I think so’ in Farsi?”

  Hope nodded. So she wasn’t just imagining it. She could really speak a language that had been entirely foreign to her a few weeks ago.

  “I didn’t know you speak Farsi.”

  “Me neither,” Hope mumbled. “I only found out yesterday, when I listened to the Iranian family at the table next to us in the restaurant.”

  “You mean you never learned the language?”

  “Not a word. I can say thank you after ordering saffron and rose water ice cream on Westwood Boulevard, but that’s it. Well, that was it up until now.”

  “But how is that possible?”

  Hope shrugged. “The same way it’s possible for you to know all these medical terms, I imagine. All I know is that it’s not a brain tumor or some other abnormality.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well, I work in a hospital. I had our staff neurologist and a radiologist check me out. So if you were worried about a brain tumor, I can ease your mind.”

  “I wasn’t,” Laleh said.

  Well, that made one of them. “I also talked to a psychologist. She doesn’t think it’s a psychosis either.”

  “If it were, it would be a really strange one,” Laleh said with a hint of a smile, “since we share the same delusion.” She petted the pillow she clutched, as if that would soothe her or help her think. “It’s like when we both got hit by the shock from the defibrillator at practically the same time, a connection between our brains was established.”

  Hope’s mind still couldn’t grasp that concept. “But I’ve been accidentally shocked during a resuscitation before, and I know several physicians and nurses who got zapped at some point in their careers, and nothing weird happened afterwards. Your hand and arm tingle for a while, and it scares the hell out of everyone. But then you go back to work, and after a few days, you forget about it. End of story.”

  “Not this time, apparently,” Laleh said. “Or how else do you explain that I suddenly know everything you know and vice versa?”

  A wave of panic surged through Hope at that thought. She’d never been comfortable with someone else rooting around in her brain, not even when she’d been eight and they had sent her to a child psychologist. “We can’t be sure of that. Maybe the knowledge we, for some reason, share is limited. Let’s test that hypothesis.”

  Laleh chuckled. “You’re such a scientist.”

  Despite her tension, Hope had to smile too.

  “Okay,” Laleh finally said. “How do we test it?”

  “Ask me something—something not related to the Persian language and culture, because I obviously know a few things about that.”

  “Who played the best friend of the rookie detective in Chicago in Winter?”

  Automatically, Hope’s gaze went to the shelf with the DVDs.

  “No peeking.” Laleh reached over and covered Hope’s eyes with one hand.

  Her fingers were warm and a little clammy, as if discussing this topic made her nervous too.

  “I don’t need to peek,” Hope said. “That’s an easy one to answer.”

  “Oh yeah? It’s not exactly a well-known movie.”

  “It is in lesbian circles. Hello, women in uniform?”

  Laleh took her hand away.

  Was she uncomfortable with Hope’s sexual orientation? Whatever their connection was, it obviously wasn’t telepathy, because Hope couldn’t even guess the answer to that question.

  “So? Who played the best friend?” Laleh asked.

  “Jill Corrigan.”

  “And you knew that because you knew it…or because I did?”

  Hope thought about it. If someone had asked her that question about one of the supporting actresses in Chicago in Winter last month, would she have known the answer then too? After a minute of trying to figure it out, she gave up. “I have no idea. That new knowledge in my head…it feels like mine, not like something that has been planted in my brain and shouldn’t be there.”

  Laleh nodded slowly. “I know what you mean. I feel like I could insert a chest tube between the ribs of a patient with a pneumothorax as easily as I could wait tables and cook fesenjan.”

  “Maybe we should test that,” Hope said.

  Laleh stared at her. “You want me to…?”

  A peal of laughter burst from Hope in a deep belly laugh. Part of her tension eased. “God, no. Stop eyeing my ribs. I’m not just a physician, you know? I’ve got other skills too.” For a moment, a note of flirting wanted to creep into her tone, but she mercilessly suppressed it. This was the last woman she should want to flirt with.

  “So, what are you suggesting?”

  “We already know that whatever is going on is affecting our declarative memory—facts, informa
tion, that sort of things. But how about our procedural memory? Physical skills are stored in another region of the brain.”

  “I know,” Laleh said with a hint of a smile.

  Hope rubbed her forehead. God, she’d never get used to this. “I keep forgetting that you…”

  “It’s okay. This is new and confusing to me too.”

  Maybe, but somehow Hope had the impression that Laleh was handling this much better than she was.

  Laleh gave her a quick pat on the arm. “So, you want us to do…what?”

  Hope thought about it for a moment. “Do you play squash?”

  “No. Never even tried it.”

  “Good. So the sequence of movements needed to, let’s say, hit a backhand can’t be part of your own procedural memory. If you’re able to keep up with me on the squash court, we’ve got proof that whatever is happening concerns our procedural memories too.”

  A slight smile played around Laleh’s lips. “Well, that or maybe I’m a natural.”

  Now was that a hint of flirtation in Laleh’s tone too, or was this all in her own mind? God, this was thoroughly confusing. Hope cleared her throat. “Do you want to meet at my gym sometime next week? They have a squash court.”

  Laleh hesitated. “I’m not the most coordinated person.”

  “Well, you actually might be, now that…” Hope gestured back and forth between them.

  “You’ve got me there. I also used to have a terrible sense of direction, and suddenly it’s like I have GPS in my head. I have a feeling I have you to thank for that.”

  Hope’s head was spinning. She still couldn’t grasp how all of this was possible, but she had to admit that it exceeded the bounds of coincidence.

  “Okay.” Laleh finally nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “The gym is just a few miles from the hospital on…” Hope paused to see if Laleh would jump in with the address, but she didn’t. Apparently, she didn’t have access to all the information in Hope’s brain. That was a relief. “It’s on Hollywood Boulevard. Are you free on Saturday?”

  “No, it’s our busiest day at the restaurant. How about next Wednesday? That’s usually my day off.”

  Hope nodded. If need be, she could find someone to cover her shift. She wanted to get to the bottom of this as fast as possible. The more she knew about these strange new abilities, the more control she would gain. For her, it was the only way to deal with all this bizarreness that was suddenly part of her life.

  She took a pen from the coffee table and looked around for a notepad.

  “Here.” Laleh pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket.

  Hope stared at her for a moment. Had Laleh been able to sense what she’d been looking for? Oh, please. When someone picks up a pen, it’s only logical for you to figure they’re next going to need a piece of paper. You certainly don’t need any strange connection to work that one out.

  “Thanks,” Hope said, her voice a little scratchy. She took the note and discovered that it wasn’t a blank page from a notepad. Jordan’s cell phone number was written on it.

  Right. Jordan had asked Laleh out for coffee. She didn’t like that thought. Of course you don’t. What if she tells Jordan about…this? She turned the note around and scribbled her number onto the back. “Call me or text me, and we’ll set up a time.”

  Laleh tore a strip of paper off the bottom, gave Hope her cell phone number in return, and slid the note back into her pocket without looking at it.

  When Hope got up, Laleh followed her to the door.

  There they stood for a moment, facing each other.

  This is awkward. How did you say good-bye to the person who…? Hope blew out a breath. She didn’t even have a word for whatever this was. She’d never been a touchy-feely person, so she lifted her hand in a quick wave, opened the door, and stepped outside.

  The cool night air was a relief.

  She half-turned and glanced back.

  Laleh stood in the doorway, holding on to the frame with both hands. The light from the living room backlit her, making her look like an angel or some ethereal being and lending her and this entire get-together an even more surreal feel.

  “I’ll bring a racquet for you,” Hope said.

  “Thanks.”

  Hope shuffled her feet. “Um, if…when you meet Jordan for coffee, please don’t mention any of this.” She waved her hand back and forth between them.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Laleh smiled wryly. “I wasn’t exactly eager to tell anyone, not even my family.”

  At least they were on the same page with that. Hope gave her a nod. “See you next week,” she said and jogged toward her car.

  Too bad she couldn’t outrun this weird situation. Admittedly, her scientific mind found the mystery kind of fascinating, but her inability to come up with a logical explanation was driving her crazy. She got into her BMW and closed the driver’s side door with more force than necessary, as if that would help separate her from Laleh and their strange connection.

  CHAPTER 7

  The next day, a Wednesday, Laleh puttered around her apartment, trying to keep herself busy, but her thoughts returned to Hope and their conversation time and again. Her racing mind had kept her awake all night as she tried to make sense of this strange situation.

  She felt as if she’d been transported to the make-believe world of Persian fairy tales her mother and grandmother had told her as a child. But instead of dervishes with supernatural powers, talking animals, and demons, she and Hope were the main characters in this story.

  Well, it could be worse, she tried to tell herself. The defibrillator shock could have triggered a curse. Having a broad medical knowledge and a great sense of direction was a good thing, no matter how it came about. This weird connection didn’t seem to have any negative side effects as far as she could tell. And Hope seemed like a decent human being. While she was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, she at least had a sense of humor. There were worse people to be connected to.

  Laleh nodded to herself as she opened her laundry hamper in the bathroom and sorted her dirty clothes into darks, lights, and delicates. She reached into each pants pocket to make sure she hadn’t left a coin or a tissue in there. When she slid her fingers into the pocket of the trousers she had worn yesterday, she found a piece of paper.

  It was the note with the cell phone number.

  She turned it around and looked at the other side. Two cell phone numbers, she corrected herself.

  Neither Jordan nor Hope had added their name, just the number.

  Great. How was she supposed to know which one was Jordan’s and which one belonged to Hope? Trial and error?

  You’ve got something better. She shared Hope’s knowledge or at least part of it. Shouldn’t she know Hope’s number by heart?

  She closed her eyes and tried to visualize the number.

  Nothing. She didn’t have any more success than when she’d been eight and had tried to predict the winning lottery numbers so she could buy herself a pony.

  She looked at the piece of paper and studied the first phone number.

  It was scrawled diagonally across the note in large numerals. If the stereotype about doctors having horrible handwriting was true, it could definitely be Hope’s. She stared at the last digit. Was this a three or an eight? It was hard to tell, and the numeral in the middle could be either a seven or a slightly crooked one.

  She flipped the note around. Clearly, this had been written by another person. The numerals were placed neatly on the lined paper, and each number was easily readable.

  Logic said this wasn’t a physician’s handwriting, but her instincts screamed something else. The longer she stared at the precise edges of the number four and the perfect shape of the zero, the more familiar the handwriting seemed.

  So if this was Hope’s number, the almost illegible one had to be Jordan’s.

  Now whom should she call first?

  She wasn’t sure which of the two planned outi
ngs was weirder—having coffee with a woman who wanted it to be a date or playing squash to test out if she could access the procedural memory of a perfect stranger.

  The latter. Definitely the latter. Okay, so she would call Jordan first. She and Hope seemed to be good friends, so she could probably find out more about Hope from Jordan. Maybe that would help her figure out what it was about her that made Laleh’s brain latch on to Hope’s—or the other way around.

  Abandoning her laundry, she sat on the closed toilet lid and pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans. At the last moment, she hesitated. Jordan probably wouldn’t even be able to answer. Most people were at work right now.

  A text message would be safer, so she typed, Hi, Jordan. Still up for coffee? Laleh.

  She had just put her cell phone back into her pocket when it vibrated. It was an answering message from Jordan. Any time. When’s your day off?

  With a smile, Laleh typed her answer. Today. She added a smiley and hit send.

  The answer came immediately. Damn. I’ll be stuck at work until late today. How about next Wednesday?

  Laleh was about to agree when she remembered what else she’d planned for that Wednesday. Playing squash with Hope was enough of an adventure for one day. Besides, they hadn’t agreed on a time yet, so she wanted to keep her schedule open. I can’t, she typed. I’m playing squash.

  This time, it took a minute until her phone vibrated. With Hope?

  Laleh groaned and cursed herself for mentioning it. If she said yes, would Jordan think Hope had asked her out too? After the week…heck, the month she was having, Laleh wasn’t up for too many questions about her and Hope. But she also disliked lying. She had nothing to hide, right? Well, other than the weird stuff going on. It was better to keep that between Hope and herself, as she had promised. Yes, she typed.

  Again, the answer came with a noticeable pause. When did you set that up?

  I ran into her on my way home last night. There. Not a lie, but neither did it imply that Hope had searched her out. Now Jordan could think whatever she wanted.