Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN WHO DIED ASKING QUESTIONS
Caroline Bellamy had been thirty-one when she died.
She was an emergency physician who volunteered at clinics serving uninsured patients.
According to Tristan, she had become concerned about a research program that promised treatment access to people with chronic illnesses.
Several patients reported confusing paperwork.
Some believed they were receiving established treatment when they were actually being screened for research participation.
Others said appointments had been canceled without explanation.
Caroline began asking questions.
Then she died.
“Do you think her accident was connected?” I asked.
Tristan looked down.
“I don't know.”
He took a breath.
“And I won't pretend I do.”
I appreciated that.
He continued.
“The police investigated. They found no evidence of foul play.”
I nodded.
“But you still wonder.”
“Every day.”
Over the following weeks, Tristan and I began seeing each other.
Slowly.
Coffee became dinner.
Dinner became walks through Central Park.
We talked about ordinary things.
My childhood in Queens.
His summers with Eleanor.
My brother Daniel's engineering degree.
His disastrous attempts to cook.
I discovered that Tristan hated olives.
That he played piano badly.
And that he kept every birthday card his mother had ever written him.
He discovered that I loved old bookstores.
That I cried at animal rescue videos.
And that I refused to let anyone call my nursing career a stepping stone to something more important.
One evening, he walked me home.
My apartment building was old.
The elevator worked when it felt like it.
The hallway smelled faintly of laundry detergent and someone's dinner.
Tristan looked around.
I crossed my arms.
“Go ahead.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Tell me I should move somewhere nicer.”
He smiled faintly.
“I wasn't going to.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“It's your home.”
I looked at him.
Then laughed softly.
“That's a better answer than I expected.”
He stepped closer.
“Bianca.”
“Yes?”
“I'd like to kiss you.”
My heart pounded.
I smiled.
“Then why are you still talking?”
He laughed.
Then kissed me.
And for one brief moment, everything complicated in our lives disappeared.
But when I entered my apartment, I found an envelope beneath the door.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Tristan and me kissing outside the building.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
Caroline asked too many questions too.
