Free By Your Side by Candace Calvert Page A

one trapped between disposable chopsticks.
    “No thanks, I’m good with this egg roll.” Macy smiled at the young doctor, glad for the unexpected early lunch. A miracle they’d both been able to ditch the ER for this outside table, even for a few minutes. “Got to love the drug reps. They usually come around with the best goodies on my days off   —and this isn’t half-bad. Of course it’s nothing like what I used to get in San Francisco.”
    “You worked there?”
    “I was born there,” Macy explained, instantly wishing she hadn’t. “My mother was from the Bay Area.”
    “Oh, I see.” Andi regarded Macy for a moment, curiosity in her expression. “Was she Asian? Your coloring and features, that wonderful hair   —I don’t mean to be too personal,” she added quickly. “But when you’re stuck with a Keebler elf face like this   —” she gestured to herself   —“you can’t help but be intrigued by people who look far more interesting.”
    “Chinese,” Macy told her. The truth, but she’d learned how to hedge it. “Not my mom. On the other side of the family.” She smiled. “It’s okay. Everyone asks eventually.”
    “Well, then . . .” The doc pointed her chopsticks. “I’m envious. And I’m not kidding; my maiden name was Kuebler. Far too close to the cookies and crackers. You can imagine the teasing in school lunchrooms. I used to pray I’d grow to six feet tall. Instead I got thicker skin. Then traded Kuebler for Carlyle.” Elfin dimples framed her grin. “For all the right romantic reasons.”
    “Of course.”
    Macy had good reasons for changing her name too. From Wen to Wynn. It had nothing to do with love. She picked the name because it was close enough in sound not to feelso jarring. And . . . changing her name was the closest she could get to erasing her father’s DNA. Macy had no doubt that wherever he was now   —Hong Kong, Dubai, or some other high-powered foreign business setting   —he was okay with that. Mr. Wen had never allowed Macy’s mother to take his name. And certainly hadn’t meant it to be shared with his unwanted child.
    They both looked up as Elliot approached from the parking lot, briefcase swaying. He offered them a quick wave before hurrying on. He was holding lunchtime staff appointments again today, offering retirement plan investment information.
    “Hey,” Macy said, recalling her last conversation with him. “Ever heard of viatical investments?”
    “Sure.” Andi reached down to hike up one of her signature socks, a Big Bird pattern today. “Investors purchase life insurance policies from patients with terminal illnesses. The patient receives a lump sum, a percentage of the policy payout. The investor takes over the payments and essentially becomes the beneficiary of the full policy payout.”
    Macy grimaced. “And what . . . ? Waits for the person to die so they can collect? Isn’t that kind of ghoulish?”
    “Depends on your perspective. Viaticals started getting attention back when HIV/AIDS first hit the news. Long before there were effective treatment options like we have today. Young people who saw no chance of a future jumped at the chance to sell their life insurance policies.” Andi sighed. “Unfortunately their desperation fueled greed and unscrupulous practices. There was a lot of controversy over viaticals. And some major lawsuits.”
    “That’s changed?”
    “I’m no expert, and viaticals aren’t in my meager portfolio. But I’ve known a few very ill patients who felt that a viatical policy would make all the difference in their remaining months. Pay the bills, lessen their worries   —help their families.” Andi tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”
    “No real reason,” Macy answered, always hesitant to bring up the root of her relationship with Elliot. “I just heard about them and wondered what they were.”
    “Again,” Andi told her, “I’m no expert. I defer to my standard default: google