tired,” she whispered, even as her eyes flickered.
“Haven’t you been sleeping well?”
“No,” she said, her voice still raspy. “Couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Em—” Before she could finish that word, whatever it might’ve been, she came fully awake and sent a panicked look his way.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, growing more intrigued by the moment. He went to the side of the bed.
“Have to go,” she muttered, the words paining her if her face was any indication.
“You’re not well, Ms. Colton. When’s the last time you ate?”
With her gaze flickering around the room, as if looking for an escape, she shrugged her shoulders.
“Young lady, I need a better answer than that. If you’re on some ridiculous, totally unnecessary diet, I need to know. It could be affecting your voice.”
She lifted one thin hand to rub her forehead. “No,” she replied, though he wasn’t sure what she was saying.
“You’re not on a diet?”
She shook her head, though not vigorously.
He leaned forward and pushed the call button. “Nurse? I want two dinner trays brought to room 226 ASAP.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. When she stared at him in confusion, he said, “I’m starving. I thought I’d keep you company, even though it’s a little early for dinner.”
He wanted to see her eat. And keep the food down. If she was bulimic, he’d have to stay for several hours. But he hadn’t really seen any signs of bulimia.
“Must go,” she said, her raspy voice holding panic.
“I called the theater and told them you were ill and wouldn’t be performing. They promised to take care of everything, and to keep your location quiet.” He wasn’t sure about that necessity, or even if that’s what she’d want. She probably preferred the notoriety an illness would give her.
That was the way divas were.
The nurse came in at that moment carrying two trays.
“You’re in luck tonight, Doctor. Meat loaf is on the menu, along with apple pie,” the nurse told him, grinning.
He returned her smile. “Sounds good. Doesn’t it, Ms. Colton?”
She looked so lost, he felt a stirring of compassion. If she was truly a diva, how had she lost her way so badly? Was someone pressuring her to lose weight? Was her career not going well? The theater said they’d contact her manager, and Nick had felt compelled to give them Liza’s location to pass on to the man. But now he wondered if he’d made the right decision.
He moved to the foot of her bed to raise the head of it a little more before he put one of the trays on the bed table and rolled it toward her. Then he removed the metal cover.
“Doesn’t that look good?” he asked, looking at Liza.
She didn’t move, her face not reflecting pleasure. Instead, she stared at the meal in distaste.
He ignored his own meal and lifted her fork to cut a piece of the thick meat loaf. “Let’s take a bite of this. I think you’ll really like it.”
Holding it up to her mouth, he waited until she finally opened her lips for him to insert it.
He kept his eyes on her as he instructed, “Chew it up, Liza. You need the calories.”
She swallowed and he started to feed her a bite of corn. Before he could, however, she emitted distressed sounds.
He grabbed the dish they distributed for queasy stomachs just in time.
Two
Embarrassed and miserable, Liza shuddered. “Too much.”
“Lady, that was hardly enough to keep a fly alive,” the doctor muttered, clearly irritated with her.
“No,” she protested, her throat even more raw. “Haven’t eaten since…days.”
He stared at her as he checked her pulse. Then he punched the call button again. “Nurse, we need soup, Jell-O, things for nausea.”
“I asked you when you last ate,” he grumbled as he sat back after disposing of the pan. Then his eyes gentled. “Want me to wipe your face?”
She nodded, not bothering to speak. He disappeared, then reappeared, a damp washcloth in his hand. His gentleness as he cleaned her brought tears to her eyes.
“Hey, quit worrying. We’re going to take care of you,” he assured her.
“Have to go,” she whispered.
“Honey, I don’t think you have enough energy to walk. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? I’ll be better able to help you if you do.”
She couldn’t tell him about Emily. It was supposed to be kept secret. Especially what she knew.
The phone rang, startling her.
After raising one eyebrow at her, Nick Hathaway reached for the phone. Whoever it was could talk to him. He didn’t want his patient straining her voice any more.
“Who’s this?” a woman barked into the phone.
“Dr. Hathaway. Who’s this?”
“Cynthia Turner Colton. Liza’s mother and manager. Where’s my daughter?”
“Your daughter is here in bed, Mrs. Colton, resting. May I help you?”
“No! Put her on the phone!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Colton, but I don’t want your daughter to talk right now. Her throat has been damaged enough.”
“Damaged?” the woman shrieked. “Damn it! You’re a doctor. Fix it!”
“I’m doing what I can.”
“I want her on that stage tonight, do you hear me? I will not allow her to screw up her reputation by missing concerts. People will start to whisper about drugs.”
“She can’t—”
“Give her whatever is necessary for her to sing! Tell her I said she has no choice!”
“You’re wrong. She’s an adult.” Even as he said those words, he stared at his patient. He’d assumed she was. He couldn’t remember her age on the chart and she certainly looked young. When the woman on the phone didn’t contradict him, he continued, “She will choose
