Page 149 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

“It is about gametes.”

“It’s never just about gametes when a man has drawn arrows.”

Despite myself, I laugh once.

Marcus looks pleased. “There we go.”

I wipe the board clean before he can read too much into the sequence. He notices that too, but he lets it go. Mostly.

“So,” he says, lifting his coffee again, “what does the hypothetical patient want?”

“That’s not the question.”

“It is absolutely the question.”

“It’s not mine to answer.”

That makes him quieter. For all his jokes, Marcus knows where the line is. He can push me. He will not push a patient he can’t see.

“Fair,” he says.

I nod.

He studies me for a moment longer. “And what does the hypothetical doctor want?”

I look at him.

He raises both hands. “Fine. Not asking.”

“Good.”

“I am heavily implying, though.”

“I noticed.”

My phone vibrates on the desk before he can continue. I glance at the screen.

Reminder. Alester’s house. Seven thirty.

I had forgotten for almost eight minutes.

Marcus sees my face. “What now?”

“Alester is hosting something tonight.”

Marcus pauses with the coffee halfway to his mouth. “Alester Chandler?”

“Yes.”

“Hosting what? A board meeting disguised as dinner?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going?”