Page 103 of The Wild Beneath

“I could eat better, maybe.”

“Well.” Tessa clicks back into Annie’s results. “Maybe it’s your periods. Are they heavy?” She takes a sip of her coffee. The lid is imprinted: compostable. Drips have escaped, staining the sides of the paper cup.

“Not really,” Annie says.

A faded birth control poster detailing probabilities based on contraception methods is pinned to the far wall with brown thumbtacks. A hundred stick figure women line up, all coloured in grey, except one is pink.

“Let’s book the infusion anyway,” Tessa says.

Annie can’t stop the forward momentum. And why wouldshe? This is normal, this is reasonable. This is how low iron is treated. Maybe she’ll feel better.

“Three p.m. today.” Tessa tosses her unfinished coffee in the garbage.

The room feels crowded and small. Annie feels small. She sticks her hands under her thighs.

By 3:48 p.m., a catheter flows into the hollow of Annie’s elbow.

She tries to get comfortable on the plastic chair in the hematology unit. It smells curiously of turpentine. The walls are whitewashed.

A janitor walks past with a bucket of water the colour of mud. A yellow sharps container is screwed to the wall beside her; the biohazard warning across the front is peeling off.

The nurse writes on a clipboard. “You good?” she asks, as Annie’s heartbeat creeps across the monitor. “Your heart rate’s low.”

Annie nods. “I’m fine. That’s normal for me.”

It is not normal.

“Alright, Dr. MacLeod,” the nurse says. “We’ll keep a close eye on you.”

Annie watches the drip, hoping it helps. Hoping she’ll feel more human again, and Evan can stop worrying, and they’ll be fine. If she focuses, she can hear the liquid iron falling from the bag into the plastic reservoir above the tubing. Each drop reverberates.

“You’ll get some energy back soon enough,” the nurse says and slides the clipboard into a slot on the wall.

Her footsteps disappear down the hallway.

Annie looks out the window at high-rises, electricity lines, low-hanging clouds. In the distance, through an opening between buildings, she can see the ocean.

Chapter 39

That same afternoon, Evan is alone in the apartment, a greasy rag over his shoulder and a wrench in his hand.

Johann didn’t show up. Again. But Evan’s managed to repair the leaky kitchen faucet himself while Annie’s at work. Just as he finishes, there’s a brisk knock on the door. Outside, a gentleman waits in shined black shoes and a three-piece suit. He seems out of place with the dinged drywall and water-stained carpeting.

“Mr. Hale?” The visitor has a leather folio under his arm and golden cufflinks. “I’m Leonard Gibbons.”

Evan checks his palm for grease, then shakes his hand. It’s a firm shake. He smells like mint chewing gum.

“I’m afraid I have bad news. May I come in?”

“Of course.” Evan shepherds him inside. They sit across from each other at the kitchen table.

“I’m from the legal firm representing Hale Timber,” he says.

“Alright.” Evan folds his arms over his chest, bracing himself. He still hasn’t been in touch with his dad. The last time they spoke was when he moved in with Annie, and Isaac told him he was throwing his life away. Evan politely thanked him for the advice and changed his cell phone number the following day.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” Gibbons says. “I’m sorry to let you know that Isaac Hale passed away suddenly about nine days ago.”

The air seems to disappear.