Seven

Almost against her will, Emily found herself thinking of Trent over the next few days. ‘Some Day’ was played ceaselessly on the radio, and she took to playing the CD at home and in her car whenever she was alone. For reasons she couldn’t quite articulate, but had something, she thought, to do with a vague sense of guilt, she told no one of her evening with Trent. Although nothing untoward had happened, and she had little inclination in that direction, nor the sense that Trent did, she felt, somehow, that she was betraying Thomas.

When she went back to work next evening, her irrational (or so she thought; after all, nothing had happened, and besides, it’s not like Thomas was around, holding her to wedding vows, was it?) guilt was compounded by the reception she received when she walked through the doors.

“Emily Peterson,” Sarah shrieked. “Tell me it’s not true! Tell me you didn’t go out with Trent Buchanan!”

Emily shifted uncomfortably, trying to decide if she should deny it. Sarah, she knew, would be a little insulted that Emily hadn’t called to give her the dirt, and besides, Emily didn’t want everyone to make a huge deal about it, and since it was obvious that there had been an eyewitness, there didn’t seem to be much of a chance that anyone would believe a refutation. Seeing Sarah’s expectant face, she decided to come clean.

“Sorry, hon,” she said, shrugging sheepishly. “It’s true.”

Emily cringed at the squeal of disbelief from Sarah. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Emily smiled; Sarah, at thirty-five, Emily’s own age, was jumping up and down like a star-struck teenager. Wow, thought Emily. If that’s the reaction he provokes, it’s no wonder that girl got hit by his bus.

“How did you know?” Emily asked.

“Jake saw you getting out of his car. What’s he like? Is he not the hottest thing? Oh my God, I can’t believe you actually met him. What did you do? Where did you go?” Sarah babbled on, offering Emily no realistic chance at replying, had she been inclined to, and may have continued indefinitely, if the ambulance hadn’t screamed to a halt at the front door to deliver another heart attack victim to the Emergency Department.

Jake, currently her less-than-favourite paramedic, jumped out the back, and hauled out the stretcher, giving a report. Emily pointedly ignored his knowing smirk. God, she thought, he must have told everyone. It’s like they think I’m having an affair or something.

As Emily ran the code, she wondered at her own reticence in admitting she’d been out with Trent. What was the big deal? she kept asking herself. It was just coffee. Coffee with a rock star, Thomas’s voice echoed in her head, like the devil’s advocate. A hot eligible rock star.

Hey, when did he become hot? How do I know he’s eligible? Emily wondered. For all I know, he could be a Casanova, with one in every port. Either way, I’m not in the market, she told herself. I’m married. Or I was. I should be, she thought, with a sickening twist of her stomach.

The shift passed, otherwise uneventfully, but with much ribbing and fishing for information on the parts of her various colleagues. They played Uptown CDs throughout the shift, old ones that Emily had never heard. I’m so out of touch, she thought, feeling as if she hadn’t been out of the house in years. Which, truth be told, she hadn’t, except for work, and things of interest to the twins, most of which she was told about by the twins themselves.

Anyway, Emily kept thinking. It was my fifteen minutes of fame, meeting a celebrity. It would give the staff at the hospital something to talk about for a few days and it would blow over and everyone would forget about it. What the hell, she thought. I can take one for the team. We’re a little low on gossip around here these days. So she grinned and bore the teasing, offering no answers because there were none to offer.