Page 70 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Her stomach grew queasy with his endless questions. “I’ve been overly emotional—crying more than usual. I’ve had several panic attacks over the last few months.”

“Do you feel like there’s anything in particular that triggers your anxiety?”

“I—my work seems to. And my agent and her assistant…” She fidgeted on the exam table, hating that she had to think about her life outside Sanderson. “I’m having a hard time coming up with new concepts for my next exhibition.”

Matthew nodded. “So, you find work to be stressful?”

“For the last few months—probably closer to a year and a half—I haven’t enjoyed it as much as I once did.”

“You’re pretty busy? Pretty fast-paced? You travel a lot, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Lots of press coverage, if I’m not mistaken.”

She nodded.

“How do you feel about that—being in the spotlight?”

“I hate it,” she said before she thought to edit her words.

Matthew wrote something down. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”

“Other than this one, not since I went to Hawaii with my family right after college.”

Matthew raised his brow. “How long ago was that?”

“Uh, about five years ago.”

Matthew hummed as he frowned. “How’s the appetite?” He looked at her chart on the computer screen. “You’re a little underweight.”

“Better now. Since I’ve been on the island, I’m eating regularly.”

Matthew continued his scan of the notes. “You’re blood pressure’s higher than I like.”

“Usually it’s pretty good, but I was nervous when we first arrived.”

“Well, now that you’ve seen that I don’t bite, I want to check it again.” He stood and put the cuff around her arm, pumped it up, then let the needle fall as he kept his stethoscope on her pulse point. “Good. One twelve over seventy-five. Well within normal range.” He put the cuff back and sat again, humming as he made notes in her chart. “Well, Callie Davis, I feel quite confident that I know what’s going on.”

“You do?” She reached for Nate’s hand, bracing herself for the worst.

Nate held her tight, giving her fingers a squeeze of reassurance.

Matthew folded his hands on his knee. “You’re run-down. Your symptoms are classic indicators of chronic stress.”

“Stress,” she whispered, not quite sure she could allow herself to believe that the last few months of hell boiled down to something so simple. “You’re sure it’s just stress?”

“A major killer in this country,” Matthew’s voice grew stern. “Chronic stress is serious business.”

She winced as she nodded.

“We’ll take some blood and run a few labs as a follow-up, but I feel good about this diagnosis.” He typed something else into his notes. “Currently, I don’t have any major concerns about your health. You’re working hard to right the ship, but I want to see steady improvements. I’d like to see another five pounds on your frame.”

She nodded. “But what about the dreams?”

“I’d say your noggin’s trying to let off a little steam. You’re worried about work. It’s weighing on your mind. Our bodies can only handle our abuse for so long before they start to revolt.”

Her shoulders relaxed for the first time since she woke this morning. “I thought—I’ve been terrified that I’m having a nervous breakdown.”