“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll have to get someone to cover for me. Let’s not make a habit of this, all right?”
I whooshed out my relief. “I promise.”
He disconnected abruptly, and I found myself dialing Dan.
“Yes?” he said, cautiously.
“Doctor Pete is coming over, Dan. I don’t know if he can help me—I don’t know if anyone can. I just wanted you to know.”
He surprised me, then, and made me remember why he was still my friend, even after everything. “Do you want me to come over?”
“That would be very nice,” I said, quietly. “I’m at the hotel.”
“Give me ten minutes,” he said, and rang off.
He found me on my patio, looking out at the Castle and the peaks of Space Mountain. To my left spread the sparkling waters of the Seven Seas Lagoon, to my right, the Property stretched away for mile after manicured mile. The sun was warm on my skin, faint strains of happy laughter drifted with the wind, and the flowers were in bloom. In Toronto, it would be freezing rain, gray buildings, noisome rapid transit (a monorail hissed by), and hard-faced anonymity. I missed it.