it,” I say. “That’s disturbing the dead. It’s my job to make sure no one messes with her . . . including me.”
“But how else are we going to know whether or not it’s there?”
“ We aren’t going to know,” I say firmly, beginning to shove him toward the door. “The OCME will find it, if it’s there. The only thing either of us has to do is leave, meaning you, before the cops get here and arrest you for disturbing a potential crime scene. Go do your job, and I’ll do mine.”
“Fine,” he says, tugging on his shirt, which I’ve caused to become untucked with all my shoving. “I will. You don’t have to get so huffy about it. Just because your case is more interesting than mine—”
“This isn’t a case, Cooper. It’s a resident in my building who died, and it’s tragic, but you yourself reminded me just the other day that more young adults end up in hospital emergency rooms than any other age group . . . and more of them die in those emergency rooms than any other age group too. So I guess it’s natural that we might lose someone, even this early in the year. But you can’t leap to the conclusion that there was foul play involved, because we don’t know yet—”
Cooper turns by the door somewhere in the middle of this long speech to put his hands on my shoulders. When I’m finished, he says, “Heather. Heather, I know, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened, and I’m sorry to have upset you. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I only wanted to help. I promise I’ll stay out of it from now on, if that’s what you want. I’ll go home and call Perry to cancel our lunch appointment. Okay?”
I groan. I’d forgotten all about our meeting with the wedding planner.
“Oh God. We’re never going to be able to get another appointment with her after canceling like this. You know how she is.”
It’s only because of a sudden cancellation (the bride left the groom for his brother) and Cooper’s father pulling a few strings to get us moved up the waiting list (apparently you can do this if you’re the CEO of a large recording company) that we managed to get a wedding booked at the Plaza at all. Perry, our wedding planner, can’t stop reminding us how fortunate we are, because it’s rare that any size wedding—let alone one as large as ours—is “thrown together at the last minute” in New York City like this. Apparently by “thrown together at the last minute” she means had tens of thousands of our own dollars—many of which are going to her—poured into it weeks in advance.
Sometimes I want to punch Perry in the throat.
“I think we have a fairly good excuse for canceling,” Cooper says soothingly. “So you let me handle Perry. You take care of the situation here.”
The weight of his strong hands on my shoulders—not to mention his deep voice—has a soothing effect, and for the first time since I entered the room to find Jasmine lying there—maybe for the first time since her resident’s mother Mrs. Harris took a seat next to my desk—I begin to feel calm.
I wrap my own arms around Cooper’s waist, comforted, as always, by his warmth, and the smell of the fabric softener we use, mixed with his own innate Cooperish scent.
“I’m sorry I snapped,” I say. “It seems horrible to say under these circumstances, but I was really looking forward to going over the seating arrangements with you.”
“Not horrible,” he says. “Human. And another one of the many reasons I love you.”
He kisses me, then, almost as abruptly as he appeared, he slips out the door to room 1416 and disappears down the back staircase, well before the elevator doors open and several uniformed officers from the Sixth Precinct show up, looking around questioningly.
“Down here,” I call, raising an arm.
It’s a good thing Cooper isn’t here, I think, or he’d comment on how the cops look as young as Jasmine.
At that very moment the door to room 1412 opens,
“But how else are we going to know whether or not it’s there?”
“ We aren’t going to know,” I say firmly, beginning to shove him toward the door. “The OCME will find it, if it’s there. The only thing either of us has to do is leave, meaning you, before the cops get here and arrest you for disturbing a potential crime scene. Go do your job, and I’ll do mine.”
“Fine,” he says, tugging on his shirt, which I’ve caused to become untucked with all my shoving. “I will. You don’t have to get so huffy about it. Just because your case is more interesting than mine—”
“This isn’t a case, Cooper. It’s a resident in my building who died, and it’s tragic, but you yourself reminded me just the other day that more young adults end up in hospital emergency rooms than any other age group . . . and more of them die in those emergency rooms than any other age group too. So I guess it’s natural that we might lose someone, even this early in the year. But you can’t leap to the conclusion that there was foul play involved, because we don’t know yet—”
Cooper turns by the door somewhere in the middle of this long speech to put his hands on my shoulders. When I’m finished, he says, “Heather. Heather, I know, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened, and I’m sorry to have upset you. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I only wanted to help. I promise I’ll stay out of it from now on, if that’s what you want. I’ll go home and call Perry to cancel our lunch appointment. Okay?”
I groan. I’d forgotten all about our meeting with the wedding planner.
“Oh God. We’re never going to be able to get another appointment with her after canceling like this. You know how she is.”
It’s only because of a sudden cancellation (the bride left the groom for his brother) and Cooper’s father pulling a few strings to get us moved up the waiting list (apparently you can do this if you’re the CEO of a large recording company) that we managed to get a wedding booked at the Plaza at all. Perry, our wedding planner, can’t stop reminding us how fortunate we are, because it’s rare that any size wedding—let alone one as large as ours—is “thrown together at the last minute” in New York City like this. Apparently by “thrown together at the last minute” she means had tens of thousands of our own dollars—many of which are going to her—poured into it weeks in advance.
Sometimes I want to punch Perry in the throat.
“I think we have a fairly good excuse for canceling,” Cooper says soothingly. “So you let me handle Perry. You take care of the situation here.”
The weight of his strong hands on my shoulders—not to mention his deep voice—has a soothing effect, and for the first time since I entered the room to find Jasmine lying there—maybe for the first time since her resident’s mother Mrs. Harris took a seat next to my desk—I begin to feel calm.
I wrap my own arms around Cooper’s waist, comforted, as always, by his warmth, and the smell of the fabric softener we use, mixed with his own innate Cooperish scent.
“I’m sorry I snapped,” I say. “It seems horrible to say under these circumstances, but I was really looking forward to going over the seating arrangements with you.”
“Not horrible,” he says. “Human. And another one of the many reasons I love you.”
He kisses me, then, almost as abruptly as he appeared, he slips out the door to room 1416 and disappears down the back staircase, well before the elevator doors open and several uniformed officers from the Sixth Precinct show up, looking around questioningly.
“Down here,” I call, raising an arm.
It’s a good thing Cooper isn’t here, I think, or he’d comment on how the cops look as young as Jasmine.
At that very moment the door to room 1412 opens,
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