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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

“What’s your number?”

She hesitated, then gave me her number. I called it right away. In her pocket, a bird tweeted.

I smiled. “Now you have my number, in case we lose each other.”

“Great,” she said flatly, doubting all her choices. Copying her dad’s videos, cutting ties with her parents, writing a letter as part of her 12-Step therapy. “See you in a bit,” she said and disappeared behind the employees-only door.

No way was I leaving for coffee. I sat on the cold, shiny hospital floor, my back against the wall.

67

67

Claire’s apartment was small, ugly, and dated. Cheap carpet, cheap blinds, laminate. Her parents were filthy rich, and here was Claire, living in a crummy apartment.

Maybe she was frugal, lived cheaply, had a million dollars socked away, and was planning an early retirement in the Keys.

“So, you’re a doctor?”

“Yeah. I’m a doctor and I drive a junky car and live here.” At the sink, she poured two glasses of water and handed one to me. “Cheers to student debt.” She clinked my glass. I wasn’t ready for it, so I splashed a little. She sipped. “There’s more to it than that, but there is serious student debt.” She opened her mouth, closed it, and said, unable to contain her smile, “Do you remember our backyard circus?”

“No.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s such a shame. This one time we built a ramp from plywood. We built it right in the grass and I rode my bike up it and you were supposed to toss a ball in the air for me to catch mid-flight, I have no idea what we were thinking, and you beamed me in the head with the ball and I went tumbling and was crying and you came running to help me but you tripped on the hose that was filling Donnie’s baby pool, and we were both lying on the ground, and Donnie stood from sitting in the pool and said, ‘Good job. Good job.’ He was only wearing a diaper and it sagged down to his knees. Oh my God, we laughed so hard.”

Her smile hung in reverie, and she sighed. She unclasped her bracelet, dropped it into a shallow dish holding jewelry. “I was so confused how I had this best friend sister living with me one day and the next day you were gone. You don’t remember living with us? Like, at all?”

“No. Shortly after living with you, my sister died. I think I have a bit of PTSD-memory loss.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It was a long time ago.” I shrugged, trying to lighten things. “Anyway, the suspense is killing me here.”