Read Online Skipping a Beat by Sarah Pekkanen - Free Book Online

quiet as she listened, but I could see her jaw tighten.
    “Charming,” she said calmly. “Michael nearly died today, and you’re calling his wife and upsetting her even more. Have you thought about getting a job at the National Enquirer? You’ve got the perfect touch. Oh, and by the way, you should wear longer dresses. Your knees are getting wrinkly.”
    Isabelle slammed down the phone: “Vulture.”
    I finally found my voice. “What did she mean?”
    Isabelle shook her head. “She’s a pathetic gossip. She’s just jealous we didn’t invite her to your birthday party. Ignore her.”
    “Do you really think he wants to quit work?”
    “Nah. He would’ve said something to you first. Maybe he wants to take off some time and travel. He was probably just talking about taking a little break.”
    “Isabelle,” I whispered. “Michael wanted to talk to me about something important, but I got so angry with him because of—well, because of some stuff I can’t go into now. I left the room. I wouldn’t listen to him … I went back an hour later, but they’d taken him away to do some tests. We never got to finish talking.”
    I could see Isabelle turning the possibilities over in her mind. She wanted to console me, but she’d never lie to me.
    “Okay,” she finally said. “Here’s the plan. Tomorrow morning you go to the hospital first thing and talk to Michael. Find out what’s going on. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”
    “You’re right,” I said. Somehow my voice stayed even, but my mind churned in panic. Michael wanted to quit work? What the hell was going on? What had really happened to him during those lost four minutes and eight seconds?
    I reached over and grabbed the soft throw blanket from the arm of the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders. Suddenly I was so cold.
    “Oh, God, the party. If Michael’s still acting like this …”
    She shrugged. “So we’ll cancel it. More cake for us.”
    “Would you mind if we did? I just don’t know if Michael’s going to be back to normal by then,” I said.
    Isabelle looked at me, and her brow furrowed. “I think this calls for a margarita. I’ll make some. Don’t worry; you won’t get a hangover. They’re in the same alcohol family as sangria.”
    “They are?” I asked dumbly.
    “Sure. They both end in aah , don’t they?”
    I smiled despite myself. “But you’ve got a date tonight,” I said.
    Don’t go , I thought. “You should get going.”
    “First of all, my date is with a guy named Norm whose pride and joy is his collection of antique rifles. Try and tell me he isn’t compensating for something.”
    “But there isn’t anything we can do tonight,” I said, taking a slow, shuddering breath. “I’ll be fine. Really.”
    “I’m not leaving you alone to go out with Norm, proud owner of a musket.”
    I snorted again—but in a graceful way, of course. I’m told they teach my snort in debutante school. “Okay,” I said, feeling as though the coating of ice around me was breaking up, allowing warmth to flow back into my body. I felt so absurdly grateful that Isabelle was taking charge that I blinked back tears. But I know Isabelle saw them; she doesn’t miss much.
    “And secondly,” Isabelle said, reaching for my hand and squeezing it. “There is something we can do tonight.”
    She reached for the television remote and held it aloft like a trophy as she smiled her wonderful smile: “Project Runway’s on.”
    I felt the last vestiges of my panic subside. “I may have some chocolate stashed away. Purely for emergencies, of course.”
    “Project Runway , chocolate, and margaritas,” Isabelle said. “And suddenly, all is right with the world again.”

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    Seven
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    “I SHOULD’VE TOLD YOU first.”
    Michael was trying to look chastened, but his eyes refused to cooperate. They were bright and cheerful, like he’d just enjoyed an exceptionally long night’s sleep. But sleep was Michael’s mortal enemy; he