“Gregg, you’ve got to stop calling! You’re tying up the hospice lines.”
“But I’ve gotta see you again! Baby, we were so good together, and you know it!”
Angie Cavanaugh hunkered down behind the reception counter, thankful no one sat in the waiting room to witness her rising anxiety . . . hoping none of the nurses came by before she got her ex off the line. “It’s history, Gregg. Over. You’ve got to get it through your head that I’m not coming—”
“But when we’re together—when nobody else is calling your shots—”
Angie hung up. Her pulse was pounding toward a headache and all her nerves jangled and she just wanted out. Six months ago when their divorce had become final, she knew Gregg Dysart wouldn’t take it well, but this!
She focused on the computer screen again, sucking in a deep breath. Not even nine in the morning, and already the day was spiraling downward into the hell she’d known for most of her ten years with this man. Couldn’t take “no” for an answer, or understand why she meant it. Couldn’t see his obsessive need to control her as abnormal or abusive. He’d been so sweet and loving when they’d dated . . . when she’d first married him.
Her cell vibrated against her belt. She didn’t have to check the incoming number: the constriction of her chest told her he had nothing better to do than toy with her today. Angie opened her phone. “Gregg, the restraining order means—”
“But I apologized for all that! We agreed to be friends, remember?” he crooned. “Do you think I can just stop loving you, like flipping a light switch? I gotta see you—”
“Angie, will you come with me, please?”
Angie gasped and looked over her shoulder. Marilyn McCoy, the hospice administrator, stood beside her, wearing a smile as pale and professional as her lab coat. And what was Dorothy doing here? Her shift didn’t begin until two this afternoon. Feeling like a grade school girl being sent to the principal, she closed her phone. “I’m sorry, Marilyn. I’ve told Gregg not to call me here, but—”
“You’ve had a rough couple of months.” The slender blonde glanced around the empty reception area and sighed. “We all want the best for you, Angie, but we can’t let this continue. I’ve had complaints from two nurses and a doctor about lines being busy, and about your lack of concentration lately.”
Angie nodded, hanging her head.
“We want you to get counseling. And we want you to return when you’ve got this proverbial monkey off your back, because the patients and their families respond to your compassionate nature. When you’re yourself, you’re one of our best.” Marilyn smiled sadly. “Stop by the office for your check, hon. Call me when you’ve got things ironed out.”
