Read Two of a Kind for Free Online Page B

of juice and unwrapped the muffin. Stone-cold. Joanne
knew
he liked his muffin toasted, damn it. Was that so hard to remember? He was just about to call her back when his eyes settled on the framed photograph of Rachel that had pride of place on his desk.
    It was his favorite photo, taken on the beach some years before she’d gotten sick. Her corkscrew blond curls were partially contained by a red bandanna, and her eyes, the clear, light blue of a swimming pool, looked straight at him.
Give it a rest, Andy-boy,
she seemed to be saying.
Joanne’s a good egg and you know it. So she forgot about the muffin today. Is that such a big deal?
Rachel had this way of talking him down from himself. He was a better man in her presence and now that she was gone, he missed the person he’d been when he was with her almost as much as he missed her.
    Biting into the cold muffin, Andy looked down at the file, though he wasn’t really seeing it anymore. He was thinking of his Rachel, and the unbelievable irony that she’d died of ovarian cancer, when he was in fact a gynecologist, trained to diagnose such diseases. Of course he hadn’t been her gyn; that was a breach of protocol. But still, he felt haunted by the idea that somehow he should have
known
.
    There was a knock on the door. “Dr. Stern, your first appointment is here,” said Joanne. “And oh, I realized I forgot to have them toast your muffin; sorry about that. I’ll make sure it’s done tomorrow.”
    â€œThanks, Joanne,” he said, glancing at the photograph.
See,
Rachel seemed to say.
You can have your muffin toasted without being an
ogre.
“Send them in.”
    Beth and her husband, Bob, entered his office. She was thirtyish, with pretty features clouded by an anxious look; the husband held her arm like he thought it might break. Andy took in Beth’s expensive-looking slacks and top. On her arm she carried a quilted Chanel bag—he recognized it because many of his patients carried those bags—that cost more than four grand. But all the women he saw had money; he charged a
lot
and took no insurance. Only the very wealthiest women could afford him.
    Even though he now made plenty of money, Andy never quite shook off the feeling of inferiority when he met people like the Kleins. He’d been a scrappy kid from the Bronx, dying to claw his way out of the neighborhood where the three of them were crammed into a tiny apartment above a butcher shop; life there had been permeated by the smell of blood. His parents were always fighting and Andy’s memories included slammed doors, dishes hurled, and plenty of shouting. It was a relief when his father finally left. He and his mother moved in with her best friend while Ida looked for work. She’d found it too, and she was able to see him through City College, where he’d been in the top one percent of his class. She even helped with his medical school bills, though he’d taken out plenty of loans to pay those. As for his father, there had been sporadic attempts to stay in touch, but eventually those petered out. Andy had moved from grief to anger to apathy; he never thought about his father anymore. The man had been dead for twenty years now.
    â€œPlease sit down,” he told the Kleins. “I’ve read through your history,” he began. “That last pregnancy must have been excruciating.”
    â€œIt was,” she murmured, looking down.
    â€œI know. Which is why I am going to make sure that nothing like that happens the next time.”
    â€œNext time?” This was from Bob. “Will there be a next time?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” said Andy. “We know that Beth can
get
pregnant. Now we just have to make sure she
stays
pregnant.”
    â€œDo you really mean it?” Bob said. His wife was weeping softly and he took her hand.
    â€œYes, I do.” Andy handed Beth a tissue. “Now, let me tell you exactly what