Page 14 of The Devil You Know
Thank God for the change in conversation topic. There’s nothing less sexy than talking about your preschooler. Maybe I should mention her incontinence to seal the deal.
“Is she a redhead like you?” he asks.
“Unfortunately, yes.” I make a face. “She even has my freckles. Poor thing.”
“Your freckles are adorable,” Ryan says in a low voice, almost in my ear. “Remember when I used to count them?”
I do. I remember dozing off in bed with Ryan as he gently touched each successive freckle on my arm, whispering,Twenty-one, twenty two…Until I hit him with the pillow and called him a dork.
My chest aches. I’ve only been with Ryan for five minutes, and I’m already starting to remember how much I used to like him. But I can’t forget that there was a very good reason why things never worked out between us. The thing that we never, ever talk about. And I can’t help but say to him now, “You seem okay…”
He gives me a sharp look. “Iamokay, Jane.”
I believe him. Ryan looks as great as he ever has.
There’s absolutely no sign that he might be dying.
Chapter 6
At half past noon, things are going exactly to plan.
I’m finishing up with my last clinic patient, and I’ve taken the rest of the day off. That means that I’ll have ample time to finish my notes, drive home, change clothes, and be at the preschool plenty early for Leah’s show. The VA can be frustrating at times, but at least it gives me the flexibility to be around for the special moments in my daughter’s life.
I take an extra forty minutes to finish up my notes and clean up my examining room. I grab my giant coat that rivals Leah’s in puffiness (although not pinkness—it’s a shade of gray, like everything else I wear) and head to the waiting area to let Barbara know that I’m leaving.
Barbara is just getting back from lunch and has the roster out for the afternoon clinic. I notice that there’s an elderly man in the waiting area, but she hasn’t checked off any of the boxes.
I look at the patient with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Barbara,” I say.
She finishes what she’s doing on her phone, pats her mullet, then looks up at me. “Yes?”
I gesture at the man sitting patiently in one of the seats. “Who’s that?”
Barbara looks at the man. She looks down at the roster of patients for the afternoon, then back at the patient. She reaches under her desk for the recycle bin and pulls out the list of patients from the morning (which really should have been shredded). She runs her finger down the list to the name of a patient that I thought had no-showed. Louis Hirsch. “Oh,” she finally says, “I think he might have been one of your morning patients.”
I stare at her. “Are you serious? How long has he been sitting out there?”
She looks down at the list again. “Since ten in the morning.”
“He’s been sitting there forthree hours?”
Barbara shrugs. “I guess so.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Why didn’t you tell me he was waiting?”
“I thought you knew.”
I want to throttle Barbara. How could she think I’d knowingly leave a patient sitting in the waiting room for three hours? And now, of course, I need to leave, and this poor man has been waiting patiently for me. What the hell am I supposed to do?
I need to see him. I’ve got two hours until Leah’s show. I’ll just go straight there instead of making a stop at home. And maybe this guy will be quick.
Except he’s clearly not going to be quick. I can tell that the second he grabs his walker when he stands up. He takes these tiny, shuffling steps when he walks, to the point where I just want to pick him up and carry him to the examining room. He’s here for a complaint of back pain, although it’s hard to believe that everything doesn’t hurt this man. His chart said he was eighty-three, but he looks a million years old.
I finally get Mr. Hirsh into my examining room. I don’t bother to ask him to change into a gown, because if I do, I will surely be here the rest of my natural life.
“So, Mr. Hirsch,” I say, “I hear your back is hurting you.”
