Chapter 9: Cardiology

My husband danced with his full attention and no flourishes.

"You have glitter on your collarbone," he said.

I looked down.

There was a smear of silver on my skin, and it had come from a very specific mirror.

"It's from the lights," I said.

"Is it."

His right hand rested on my back, as light as a hand can be and still count as touching.

His left held mine at the correct height.

Over his shoulder, the photographers were having the best night of their year.

"You're making a scene," I said.

"I'm dancing with my wife at a party. It's the most normal thing I've done in three years."

"You've never danced with me."

"No," Phillip said quietly. "That's the point."

His heart was beating hard enough that I could feel it through two layers of fabric.

I didn't know where to put that fact.

I put it at the back of my mind, with the other things about him I had stopped looking at.

When the song ended he bowed over my hand and let it go.

It was the most formal and unsettling thing he had ever done.

Linnea was waiting at the edge of the floor, looking gently understanding.

I wanted to throw my drink at her.

I didn't.

I needed her to keep underestimating me.

The next morning I went to Sterne's clinic for my standing appointment.

I wanted to be examined by someone who was not related to the problem.

It was on the ninth floor of a private building on the east side.

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