"Well, you explain that to Mom. I don’t want to be there when she starts weeping."
Sam laughed. "Those will be tears of joy, Brother."
When I got off the phone, I finished the scotch and headed to my bedroom. It was just after ten, but I decided to go to bed. I wanted a good night's sleep since tomorrow was the day I was going to have to talk with Allison while wearing a wire. I hoped that if it turned out that her cousin was using her, the police would be able to protect her from whatever she happened to tell me or them. Her cousin wasn't known to be violent, but when drugs were involved, it seemed like anything could happen.
I fell asleep worrying about Allison, but somewhere in the middle of the night, I was back in Las Vegas. I was in the Desert Oasis, but it wasn't the rundown heap that it was today. It was remodeled in the style of the Golden Age of Hollywood. There were pictures of glamorous movie stars from the 30s, 40s, and 50s. Holograms of icons such as Marilyn Monroe and James Dean danced with customers. The club was filled with laughter and music. The place was the new go-to location in Las Vegas being written up, not just in Vegas or Nevada tourism articles, but in travel sections of newspapers and magazines all over the country. I watched it all from the corner of the club.
"I couldn’t see your vision or picture something that wasn't going to seem redundant or kitschy, but you’ve really created something amazing here, Max."
I looked to my left where Amelia was standing next to me, praising my efforts. She lifted her left hand, straightening my tie. The lights from the club glinted off the ring she wore on her left hand. It wasn't the ring that she had woken up with the day we discovered we were married. It was a platinum and diamond ring.
I woke with a start. The dream was unsettling, but not because it suggested a future with Amelia. What was unsettling was how much I wanted it to be true.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Amelia
A week later, when I was still waking up with the dry heaves, I knew something had to be wrong. I’d had nerves before, but never the level of stress that made me sick every day. Maybe I’d developed an ulcer. I hoped that was what it was and not something more serious. Whatever was going on, it was time that I found out and did something about it. I had an afternoon free and was able to make a doctor’s appointment.
While I always thought I was someone who could manage stress, as I sat in the waiting room, my mind wandered to all sorts of potential ailments. It could be something serious, in which case, what would I do with my business? I had great people working for me, but no one was trained or appointed to take over in the event that something happened to me. I decided that figuring that out was going to the top of my to-do list once I finished this doctor’s appointment.
The nurse called me in, taking my weight, my blood pressure, and temperature, and then told me the doctor would be in shortly as she left the room.
A few moments later, the doctor, a middle-aged woman with bright eyes and a friendly smile, entered. She reached out her hand. "I'm Dr. Vale."
I shook her hand. "Amelia Dunsmore." The fact that my doctor had to introduce herself to me was a reminder that it had been a long time since I'd been to the doctor, except, of course, for my gynecologist.
She sat down in the chair next to the computer, reviewing my notes. "What seems to be the problem?"
"For the last week or ten days or so, I've been feeling queasy. I thought it was nerves because I had a big business deal. But that's over and done with. I feel like I'm worse today than I was when I first started feeling it."
"Do you have any pain?"
I shook my head. "No. Just queasy. Almost like I'm seasick or what I imagine being seasick must feel like.”
She nodded and typed in a few notes. "Is this something that you feel continuous through the day or at certain times, say, after eating?"
I thought about that for a moment.
"It's worse when I first get up. Sometimes, it lasts as long as to lunch time, but it’s almost always gone in the evening."
She lifted her head, looking at me as she asked, "Have you had any changes in your diet or maybe medications?"
"No. I don't take any medication, except for birth control." Thank God for that because on more than one occasion, Max and I had sex without a condom.
"Is there any chance you might be pregnant?"
"Nope."
She arched a brow. "You don't have a boyfriend, or you haven't had sex in the last two months or so?"
"I don't have a boyfriend." Technically, that was true. Max wasn’t my boyfriend. He was a short-term lover whom I just happened to be married to.
"But have you had sex?"
"Three times. But I’m on the pill." I’d already said that, but maybe she missed it.
“Did he use a condom?”