Page 95 of Corkscrew You
I give him a look. “Fainted?”
He grins. “A threat to your masculinity is your top concern right now?”
“Damn straight.”
“OK, then, Butch, you passed out. Went down like a felled tree, according to Mom.”
I have no recollection of that. Last thing I remember was Dad being a prick to—
Shit, Shelby. Is she here?
Looking around makes me dizzy, but I see her, standing between the twins, her face twisted with worry. I catch her eye, and see a plea. If I had any confidence in my ability to stand, I’d go to her, and pull her into my arms.
But I don’t get a chance to even try.
“Howdy all.”
And now it’s Doc Wilson sticking his face in mine.
“Jesus, Ava, how fast did you drive?” I hear Danny say.
Doc Wilson is pointing one of those mini torch things into my eyes, so I don’t catch her response.
Now, he’s wrapping a cuff round my arm. “Let’s check your blood pressure.”
“I’m fine, Doc,” I say.
And I am. I’m feeling much better.
“Well, here’s the thing, son,” he says. “Young fit men don’t normally hit the floor like a sack of potaters. So we need to find out what’s up.”
He makes me go through a bunch of “follow my finger with your eyes” exercises, listens to my heart, pokes and prods a bit more, and then packs up his bag, and parks his butt in one of the dining chairs. Smiles down at me, still sitting on the floor, now feeling more stupid than dizzy.
“You been eating regular meals, son?”
“Mostly,” I reply, cautiously.
“How much exercise you doing?”
“He runsmiles,” says Ava, the snitch. “Up at dawn each day. Runs at night, too.”
“I ranonceat night.” I hold up my middle finger to her. “Once.”
“Been under any stress lately? No, scratch that,” says Doc immediately. “You’re a Durant. If there’s a type above Type A, you’re all it. When I diagnose any one of you, I have to account for what I call the Durant premium: everything’s ratcheted up about ten notches.”
“Ray, what’s your opinion?”
Dad. Being his usual impatient self.
“I’ll want to take some blood tests,” says Doc. “But my guess is his iron levels are through the floor.”
“Iron?” I say, meaning all this drama forthat?
The rest of the room has much the same reaction. I can feel the air current, as they all breathe out.
“I’ll want to run an ECG, too,” adds Doc.
And the air is sucked back in again.
