Page 31 of The Devil You Know
“Hey,” I say to her. “Do you, by any chance, have an extra stethoscope?”
Barbara looks up at me with an expression to indicate that she thinks I’ve completely lost my mind. I guess that was a long shot.
My first patient, Maggie Engstrom, is a woman, believe it or not. Occasionally, female patients are seen at the VA. And as the newest hire, it’s assumed I’m the only one who has retained any competence at doing pap smears, so that’s what I’ll be doing today. I’ve already stolen supplies for the procedure from the supply closet on the unit next door.
While Ms. Engstrom is changing into a gown, I locate Lisa, who appears to be between patients. Lisa is very much about the VA rhythm—she shows up acomfortable five to ten minutes late every day without the slightest bit of guilt about it. She smiles when she sees me, totally up for chatting instead of rooming her next patient.
“What’s up, Jane?” she asks me. She’s dressed in skintight black pants with high-heeled black leather boots that come up to her knees and her neck is draped in two different scarves. Although she admittedly looks very good, the whole thing feels vaguely inappropriate for the attire of a physician. Her red lipstick is definitely questionable. But I know most people would say Lisa is much better dressed than I am—I just don’t understand these modern fashions. I should have been born in 1930.
“You don’t happen to have an extra stethoscope, do you?”
Lisa laughs. “That depends. Do we get to have lunch again with Dr. Cutie McCute?”
I roll my eyes at her. “You have a very annoying crush on him.”
“I think he’s my soulmate,” she says soberly. Although her words remind me of a time, a very long time ago, when I thought that Ryan Reilly could be my soulmate. Well, not my soulmate in the sense of the word that we had anything actually in common, but soulmate in the sense of I wanted to spend my life with him and someday get buried in a plot next to his. I have very morbid fantasies. “Let me put it this way: I’m not puttinghim on my list because he’s not technically a celebrity, but if I did, he’d be number one.”
“Even before Hugh Jackman?” I clasp my chest in mock horror.
“He’s sexier than Wolverine,” she says.
Wow. That’s quite a compliment coming from Lisa.
“Don’t forget you’re married,” I remind her.
“As are you,” she says pointedly.
“What’sthatsupposed to mean?”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “You think I don’t see the way you look at him? Or the way he looks at you?”
I can’t quite look Lisa in the eyes when I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Suuuure you don’t,” she snorts. “Fine. I understand why you don’t want to have lunch with him. Or at least, I can understand whyBenwouldn’t want you to have lunch with him.”
“Ben doesn’t know about Ryan.” I shift between my feet. “Not that there’s anything to know.”
Lisa pats me on the shoulder. “Be strong, Jane. Let me get you that stethoscope.”
It turns out all Lisa’s got is one of those cheap-o stethoscopes that you can probably get at the dollar store or something. I don’t even know why they bother to make those things. Anyone who claims to hear anything with those stethoscopes is a bald-faced liar. Oh well. Hopefully, I won’t have a bunch of people coming in with newmurmurs or pneumonia before I can make it out to my car.
Maggie Engstrom is sitting in the examining room, wearing her gown. Sometime over the last year, I’ve gotten so used to seeing male patients that seeing a female makes me nervous. And something about Ms. Engstrom makes me nervous in general. She’s about my age, overweight but clearly very well-muscled and athletic with closely cropped hair. She’s not active duty, but I can definitely imagine her in combat.
“So when was your last menstrual period?” I ask her.
“Six weeks ago.”
“Is there a chance you could be pregnant?”
She nods the affirmative. “I also want to be tested for every sexually transmitted disease. Especially herpes.”
Herpes. A terrible disease but not as bad as glitter.
“Why are you worried about getting all these diseases?” I ask.
Ms. Engstrom shifts on the crackly tissue paper. “My girlfriend just found out she has herpes.”
I frown. “But why areyouworried you have herpes?”
