Page 44 of You're So Vine
Bet he doesn’t know what a cresset is. On second thought, I wouldn’t take that bet.
Doc takes Ava’s pulse and blood pressure, sticks a little torch in her eyes and ears, and presses around her ears and neck, checking her glands, I guess. All of a sudden, I feel queasy. Last time a doctor poked and prodded me, I … let’s just say, it wasn’t a fun time. Probably why I haven’t been to a doctor since. I switch my gaze to the poster meant for kids, all bright colors and fluffy bunnies, and focus on regulating my breathing.
“You okay, son?”
Doc has the hearing of a bat and the eyes of an eagle.
“Cam?” Now Ava’s worried.
I take a big breath in. “Yup, fine.”
“You’ve gone the color of oatmeal,” Ava insists.
“Put your head down between your knees,” says Doc.
It sounds like an order. I obey.
“Breathe in for four … hold for four … out for four…”
Circular breathing. I know this. Recommended for panic attacks, too. Least I’m not having one of those. This time.
Ava rubs my back. Ironic. She’s supposed to be the patient here. Ironic and embarrassing.
The nausea is subsiding. Slowly, I raise my head. Doc hands me a cup of water, but makes no further comment, for which I’m grateful.
“Okay,” he says to Ava. “Bloodwork this morning. I’ll call you as soon as I have the results.”
Ava gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Doc.”
Then she takes hold of my arm. Like I’m an invalid needing to be helped out of my chair. I resist the urge to yank it free. That’s my fragile male ego talking, and I’m not going down that road again.
“Want to grab some coffee?” she asks when we’re safely past the Priscilla gorgon and out on the street.
“Any bars open at this hour?”
It’s a joke. Mostly.
“How about coffee and a donut at the Creamery? Buy five, get one free?”
“Sold.”
Two donuts down, Ava asks the question I was praying she wouldn’t.
“You were okay at the hospital on Saturday night,” she says. “I would have thought that was a worse place to be?”
“I was jacked up on adrenaline then,” I tell her. “Didn’t have time to look around me. Just kept my eyes on you.”
“Danny hates needles,” she says, obviously trying to make me feel like less of an idiot. “All his breezy charm fails him, and he becomes a sweaty, gibbering mess.”
Good. After last night, Ava’s brother Danny is second to Jerkson on my grudge list.
Ava fixes me with her blue gaze. She’s got a little sugar around her mouth. I reach out with my thumb to brush it off and she catches my hand.
“Cam, this is all part of the PTSD, right?”
There are times I appreciate her directness. This isn’t one of them. My feet are itching to move—out of this chair, out of this place, away from this conversation.
“Ava, can we just say that I did not enjoy my stay in the army hospital, and leave it at that?”
