Page 19 of Sherry and Sunflowers
She could barely breathe. She'd read online what this was about. Swollen lymph nodes could be a sign of…
She couldn't finish that thought. She refused to. But that didn't stop her hands from shaking as she joined them together in her lap when he was done.
"Let's move back to the desk, shall we?"
They both moved back to their chairs, and she stared at him as he rested his elbows on it and leaned forward with that same kind smile.
"What do you think's wrong with me?" she blurted out.
"Well, Miss Brighton, there are a lot of things that can cause your symptoms." He seemed to hesitate—only for a moment, but it was there, she was sure—before he added, "And most of them are very fixable."
Her breathing stopped.Most of them. What was he trying to say?
She tried to focus on his words as he continued. "I don't want to guess. What we need to do is find out. So, I'd like to run a full blood panel. Blood count, iron, B12, thyroid, and a few other things. Does that sound all right to you?"
She nodded mutely.
"Okay, well, we can get that done while you're here today. And then I'd like to see you back in a week, when we have the results." She finally remembered to breathe again—until he added, "Sooner, if anything comes back that we need to talk about."
She stared at him, unable to make herself speak.
"Do you have any questions?"
She shook her head. She had a million of them, but she knew she wouldn't be able to get them out.
"Okay, then." He turned to his screen again. "Before you go, though—I understand that you don't have much medical history of your own. Nothing documented that you can share. But I see that you didn't fill out any of the information about family history either."
He didn't ask the question, just raised his eyebrows.
"I… I don't know it. I don't remember my parents. I was raised by my aunt. She…" She swallowed. "The last time I saw her was seven years ago. I know she died a couple of years ago, but I don't know what of."
She avoided his gaze, not wanting to see pity in it. Or to have to explain any of it.
"All right then. That's not a problem. I just wanted to make sure that we had all the available information. When you go back out front, Clara can see about getting your bloodwork done. And I'll see you again soon."
When she finally dared look at him, there was neither judgment nor pity in his gaze. Only kindness.
"Thank you so much, Dr. Ambrose," she said as she got to her feet.
He rose and led her to the door. "You're most welcome. We'll see you again soon."
~ ~ ~
After Alara had gone in, Reaves chatted with Clara for a while. She'd worked here for as long as he could remember. He hadn't told Alara yet, but Henry Ambrose was a close friend of his dad's, and he'd been their family practitioner for most of Reaves's life.
When Clara got busy on the phone and then disappeared into the back, Reaves picked up a magazine, but he couldn't focus on it. Setting it back down, he took his phone out, but there was no one he wanted to talk to. Instead, he scrolled through his camera roll, smiling at photos of Zia and his dad he'd taken the other evening, when the two of them were watering the sunflowers down the side of the house.
He looked up when Clara came back out through the door behind her desk.
"Your friend shouldn't be much longer now," she told him.
He wanted to ask what was going on, what was taking so long. But he didn't. Alara would tell him as much as she wanted him to know when she came out.
The minutes dragged by and he was starting to reconsider—would it really be so wrong of him to ask?
A moment later, the door that led to the treatment rooms opened, and Alara came out. He quickly got to his feet and hurried to meet her, before forcing himself to slow down. Itwasn't as though he could give her a hug, even though he wanted to. By the look of her, she could use a hug.
"How did it go?" he asked, when she didn't say anything.
