The doctor is a woman in her fifties, gray hair pulled back, a clipboard tucked under her arm.
“Dr. Jimenez.” We've spoken earlier, and she's worked here long enough to know who I am...without actually knowing who I am. She knows enough not to ask what I don't want her to ask, is what I'm saying. “You have her results?”
“I do, yes, and it pretty much confirms what I suspected. Your wife had what we call a stress cardiomyopathy event. The medical name is Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. It can also be calledbroken heart syndrome, and that's the term you're more likely to see if you decide to look it up later, which I imagine you will.”
Is that for real?I can feel a muscle start ticking in my jaw.A broken fucking heart syndrome?
“It's triggered by an acute emotional event. The heart muscle weakens temporarily, and on imaging it can look very similar to a heart attack. But there is no permanent damage to the cardiac tissue, and recovery is generally complete. Mrs. Sestini's case is at the milder end of the spectrum. We expect her to be discharged within three to four days.”
“What does she need?”
“Rest. Quiet. No further acute stressors for a period of weeks. Anti-anxiety medication if she wants it, which is her decision. Continued monitoring with her regular physician for a few months. And the obvious.”
Dr. Jimenez looks at me sternly. “Whatever caused this—she shouldn't be exposed to it again.”
The woman has guts, I'll give her that. And so, even if her words sting, I force myself to nod. “Duly noted. Anything else?”
A slight smile cracks her expression. “You've already agreed not to have her exposed to the same causes, and I know a man like you takes your word seriously. That's more than enough. Have a good day, Mr. Sestini.”
The muscle in my cheek continues ticking as the door clicks shut behind her. Outside the room, Rollo's silhouette resumes its position on the other side of the frosted glass.
I glance back at my wife.
Broken heart syndrome.
It almost makes me laugh. But I don't. If laughter that doesn't come from the heart is enough to land Juniper in the hospital, I have a feeling it will kill someone like me...even if I don't have a fucking heart.
The phone on the bedside table rings, and I pick up the receiver. “Hello?” The voice on the other end is anxious.
Typical.
Odessa has been friends with my wife since their high school days, and when I checked Juniper's phone earlier for emergency contacts, it was a small (and admittedly undeserved) comfort to see the two women still in contact even after all these years, and despite her now working in Lisbon.
“Odessa, this is Juniper's husband—”
“Nate?”
“I had my assistant inform you about Juniper.”
“How is she?” Odessa questions anxiously. “Your assistant says she's in the hospital? Are you in the hospital? Is she—”
“She's asleep. It's nothing serious.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Odessa.”
“Thank good—wait.Why are you—how are you—”
“I'll leave that for Juniper to explain once she's well.”
“No, wait—”
“Goodbye, Odessa. It was nice talking to you again.”
I hang up the phone. Odessa is the only one who knows about my marriage to Juniper. The best friend any woman could ask for. But be that as it may, she's also the complete opposite of Juniper, and I can only handle her exuberance for token minutes at a time.
I'm about to turn away when the phone rings again.