Page 22 of Holding Ground

I nod and sip my coffee, unsure what that means, but knowing it’s not my business to ask more questions because I’m sure Elliott wouldn’t be happy to be discussed about with me.

“You’re a good listener. That’s good. This town has plenty of talkers.” She nods toward the window, and I look over my shoulder again, eyeing the guys in front of the Bait & Tackle shop. “The Thermos Crew is no harm. Don’t worry about them.”

Oh, so those guys are the Thermos Crew. Good to know.

Remembering what Deacon said about her while I was in the bakery, I ask, “How’d you end up in Echo Lake?”

Dottie’s eyes sparkle, and one corner of her mouth tugs up. “Witness protection.” She says it with a straight face. “I bet your pancakes are up. Be back in a minute, sweetheart.” And with no more explanation, she disappears.

I stick around the Hollow Pine Café and chat with Dottie for another hour. We talk a little bit about what possible development could mean for the town, and Dottie’s consensus is pretty much the same as everyone else’s that I’ve chatted with thus far—the summer months are good for business because they bring in more people, but once the weather starts to turn, things dry up. A more consistent clientele would be welcome, but not at the cost of ruining the charm of the existing town.

I feel the same and tell Dottie so. While I’ve been met with skepticism from people in town, Dottie seems to trust me. I have no interest in being a part of bulldozing an entire town and losing what makes it special. My boss has assured me that the firm has no intention of doing so. We’re merely hoping to develop some land on the lake into low-rise condos. Before I leave, I invite her to the town hall next week where I can present the developer’s plans, and residents can ask questions.

I’m walking back to my car to head back to the bunkie and file my first report with my boss when my phone rings. I stop on the sidewalk and fish it out of my purse, answering on the third ring without having a chance to see who it is first.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Emelia Greene?”

“This is she.” I hike my leather bag further up on my shoulder.

“Emelia, this is Dr. Fenmore.”

A prickle of unease needles through me. She must be calling me about the physical and bloodwork I had before I left Boston. “Hi, Dr. Fenmore. Is everything okay?”

“I’m calling because something was flagged in your bloodwork, and I wanted to ask you a few questions about it to assess your risk before we have you repeat the test.”

As I come up beside my car, I stop walking. “What is it?”

“You had an elevated ANA level.”

“What does that stand for?” I unlock my car and toss my bag inside on the passenger seat.

“Antinuclear antibody. It’s something that can alert us to the possibility of autoimmune conditions like lupus or rheumatoid arthritis. This alone doesn’t mean anything, and there’s a chance it could just be a false positive as well, which is why I’m going to have you redo the test.”

“I didn’t even realize you were testing for something like that.” I probably should pay more attention, but I’ve been busy with my job, and honestly, most of what’s on those forms doesn’t mean anything to me anyway.

“Well, you mentioned that you’d experienced more fatigue than normal recently. That, coupled with the rash a couple of months ago that you mentioned…it was merely a precaution.”

I lean my back against the car, facing away from the road. “I’m out of town for a few months. Do I need to redo the test right away?”

“Not at all. I was going to suggest that we wait a few months before we redraw your blood, so as soon as you’re back in town, just go get another blood draw. The order will be in your chart.”

“Okay, sure.” A sick feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. “You said you had some questions?”

“I do. Autoimmune conditions are strongly hereditary and disproportionately affect women. They also tend to run in maternal lines. Does your mother have any autoimmune diseases that she’s been diagnosed with? Any chronic fatigue, joint pain, skin issues, kidney problems?”

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out because I don’t have an answer. Because the woman I consider my mom, Molly, has no issues, but she’s not my biological mother.

“Emelia, did I lose you?” Dr. Fenmore asks.

“No, sorry, um…I don’t know. My mom died when I was three.” I leave it there, not offering any more information.

“I see.” I can hear the click-clack of the keyboard keys echoing over the phone line. “And your father…anything on his side of the family?”

I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “No, not that I’m aware of.”

“All right. I think the best course of action is to have you redo the test when you’re back in town, then based on those results, we’ll move forward with a plan of action.”