Echoes of Unrequited Love

Shooting the breeze really made time fly. Just as I was getting ready to leave the hospital room, my phone in the bag started buzzing.

To my surprise, it was Cecilia on the other end of the line.

I stepped away from Jason and walked down the corridor before hitting answer.

“Xaviera, you busy? Can you swing by the hospital?”

The shaky voice of Cecilia pressed against my ear; there was panic mixed with urgency in her voice.

I suddenly got a bad feeling and asked, “What’s up?”

“Just the soup,” Cecilia cautiously began, “You know, the fish soup you taught me to make? I brought it over for your aunt, she tried, but she was still not happy with the taste.” “Get Xaviera over here now!” Hilary’s angry voice suddenly cut in. “I want to ask her myself!”

Having pondered for two seconds, I roughly pieced together what had gone down.

When Cecilia asked me to teach her how to make soup, I already had a hunch that she’d use it to score brownie points with Hilary, but what I didn’t see coming was that I would have to take the blame for it.

I made the soup, and if Hilary liked it, Cecilia would be showered with praise. But if not, I’d be the one holding the bag.

Caught off guard, I had no clue what could be wrong with the fish soup; I’d have to see it for myself to know.

“Xaviera, can you make it?”

Knowing that there was no dodging this bullet, I replied softly, “Sure thing.”

Fifteen minutes later, I showed up at the top–notch hospital room.

Unlike Jason’s simple triple, this place was spacious with an expansive view, complete with huge floor– to–ceiling windows. Looking out, you could see Rivertown Bay in the distance. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were at a hotel. Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

And there was Hilary, lying in that comfy hospital bed with a face like thunder.

The nanny stood by with a’look of distress, and opposite her was Cecilia.

The poor girl was hanging her head low, with her eyes red–rimmed, the picture of misery. When I walked in, all three sets of eyes turned to me. I glanced at Cecilia, and she dropped

her gaze again, the image of woe personified.

But Hilary’s face softened for a moment when she saw me. She lifted her arm and said, There’s Xaviera, come here, come here.”

I walked over calmly, eyeing the insulated jug and the soup spilled all over the table, and smiled, “Haven’t had dinner yet?”

Hilary snorted coldly and, after giving Cecilia a chilly glance, fixed her eyes on the bowl of fish soup and asked, “She said you made this?”

I nodded, “Director Irwin really wanted to make sure you had a soup to your liking, so she asked me for advice. She put a lot of effort into it.”

“Then didn’t you tell her that I can’t stand white pepper in my soups?” Hilary’s voice suddenly raised, sounding indignant, “How is that considered effort?”

At that, I raised my eyebrows, feeling a little taken aback, but I didn’t respond right away.

I was sure I hadn’t added any white pepper to the soup.

Hilary has always hated that spice; one taste of the soup, and she’d know. If she says there’s white pepper in it, then it’s definitely there.

So, the million–dollar question is, how did that white pepper end up in the soup?

With that doubt in mind, I curiously glanced at Cecilia, and the next second, I heard her timidly ask, “Xaviera, what’s going on?”

Right after she spoke, the door to the hospital room was pushed open; I turned around, only to see Hogan, all suited and booted, looking worried at the doorway.

My guess? He must’ve caught wind of the situation early.