Page 55 of Speak of the Devil

He’s gone.

Shane Faris never looked back.

I won’t either.

18

Cate

Ten months later. . .

“Cate?”the receptionist calls from the front desk.

I look up from Mr. Rosen’s back and lower my stethoscope. “I’ll be right there, Misty.” With a quick nod, she returns to answering other calls.

Coming around Mr. Rosen, I sit down. “What were the changes you wanted to make this past week?”

“I was cutting out sodas.”

“How did that go?” I can already tell by his expression that things went off the rails.My life can relate.

His face, from his spikey gray brows to his jowls, hang with his frown. “I drank two more than usual and snuck one into my room after dinner service.”

“There’s something to be said about your honesty.” I pat his shoulder. “These are lifestyle changes. Maybe instead of cutting them out, you start with drinking a few less this week.”

“I’ll try. Anything else, doc?”

“Nurse.” I make a note in his file about what we discussed. “Yes. I’d like you to join the walking club.”

He stands up like he’s ready to take off. “I hate running.” He could have fooled me.

“That’s okay,” I say, standing as well. “It’s the walking club, not the running club. They do four laps on the track across the street four times a week and walk the parking lot twice in the morning and after dinner. You don’t have to do both, but I would like you to build exercise into your daily routine.”

“I have no choice if it’s the doctor’s orders,” he groans.

“Nurse’s orders.” The white coat and stethoscope throw everybody off.

Walking away, he tugs his pants up by the belt. That leather decided a long time ago that it wasn’t doing any heavy lifting, especially since he missed the loops when he threaded it this morning. “I better get out of here before you tell me to cut down on the fries.”

“We do need to discuss the fries.”

He waves me off without even looking back. “Next time.”

He’s ornery on his good days. On his bad, he’s in one terrible mood. “Baby steps.”

I head to the front desk and rest against the counter. “Hi, what’s up?”

Misty looks up. “Mrs. Callender is taking meals in her room today.”

“Do I have her scheduled this afternoon? I don’t think I do.” I glance back at my e-pad as if I can read it from here to verify.

“Nurse Lucy said she’s not up for it and to reschedule for next week.”

“Should I check on her?”

Leaning forward, she looks around conspiratorially, and whispers, “Mr. Rosen yelled at her for turning the TV channel last night after dinner. She’s had her feelings hurt ever since.We’ve been working with him to apologize but haven’t been successful yet.”

I glance over at Mr. Rosen sitting on the beige couch staring at the twenty-four-hour news channel. I’ve thrown out a lot of beige in my life this past year. It wasn’t serving me anymore. I’ve decided to stick to more color. Not playing it as safe has been a nice change, though like my advice to Mr. Rosen, baby steps. “Have we thought about putting something more uplifting on TV? Maybe have a movie day to break up the news cycle?”

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