Page 81 of After Everything
I looked at the clock. 4:49 PM.
I thought about my bath. My Thai food. My plan to spend the evening watchingmindless TV and absolutely not thinking about my ex-husband.
"Bring her in," I said. "I'll stay."
"Thank you." The relief in his voice was audible. "We'll be there in thirty minutes."
"Mr. Harrison." I stopped him before he could hang up. "You're staying for the exam? Or just dropping her off?"
Silence for a beat.
"I'll stay," he said. "She's—she doesn't have anyone else. I told her I'd be here the whole time."
Of course he did.
"Fine. Thirty minutes."
I hung up and sat back in my chair, staring at my computer screen without seeing it.
Two weeks. I'd made it two weeks without seeing him, without having to be in the same room, without having to feel whatever it was I'd been trying very hard not to feel.
And now I had thirty minutes to prepare myself.
I stood up and went to tell Jessica we'd need the building to stay open late.
Twenty minutes later, I was in exam room three, laying out supplies with unnecessary precision. Sterile gloves. Documentation forms. Camera for photographing injuries. Consent paperwork.
My hands were steady. They were always steady during patient care. It was one of the things I was good at: compartmentalizing, staying focused, keeping the personal separate from the professional.
Except tonight, the personal was walking through my door in approximately ten minutes.
I caught my reflection in the small mirror above the sink. Hair still in its professional ponytail. Minimal makeup that had survived the day. Navy scrubs that were wrinkled from twelve hours of wear but still presentable.
I looked exactly like I always did.
So why was I checking?
I turned away from the mirror, annoyed with myself.
There was a knock on the exam room door and Jessica stuck her head in.
"They're here. Should I bring them back?"
My stomach flipped. "Give me one minute. Then yes."
She nodded and disappeared.
I took a breath. Let it out slowly. Rolled my shoulders back.
This was just another case. Another patient who needed help. The fact that the lawyer was my ex-husband was irrelevant. I'd worked with him on cases before professionally, distantly, and without issue.
Except we hadn't seen each other since the coffee shop. Since I'd admitted I didn't hate him anymore. Since I'd looked across that table and seen something in his eyes that had terrified me enough to send me on a seven-mile run.
The knock came again. Softer this time.
"Ms. Peterson? It's David. We're ready when you are."
I opened the door.
