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“Well, I am sending out another round of blood samples. If you want to check and see if it’s a toxin, we can have you tested easily enough.”
“No. I really don’t think it’s that.” I attempt a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Have you considered seeing a counselor?” There’s no judgment in his voice. His tone is the same clinical one he uses when he asks for a second opinion on a case or if I’m feeling like Mother’s Dumplings for lunch, and yet I immediately feel defensive.
Before I can say anything, though, he continues. “PhDs are intense. They require focus and discipline, both of which I know you have, but if I could make a suggestion…” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer, and doesn’t continue until I nod.
“Figure out whatever it is that’s going on before you go.” He points at the monitor with my brain still on the screen. “Even if it is nothing, it’s still a distraction you don’t need.”
He’s right. I am about to embark on the most intense and important two years of my professional career. I can’t afford to be worrying about the health of my brain.
“Those labs you’re running, are they a full tox workup? Heavy metals included?” I ask, and Phillip nods.
I push up my sleeve. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”
Phillip grabs a syringe. He draws blood so effortlessly that I only feel a tiny pinch. When he’s done, I feel silly about my earlier hesitance. We will get to the bottom of this and clear it up well in time for Liverpool.
I get to my feet feeling like I’ve at least done something to remedy the situation. But when I reach for the door to leave, Phillip clears his throat.
“Ahem. I need one more sample.”
He tosses something at me, and I catch it more out of instinct than skill.
“Throw it in the deep freeze when you’re done.”
I stare down at the empty urine collection cup and sigh.
• • •
It’s still light out when I leave, and so I decide to walk home. By the time I round Queen Street, I can see Koko pushing the racks back into her store for closing.
I wave when she looks up and spots me.
“Lise, hey.” She smiles as she places the last two hangers onto the rack. “Come inside with me. Mac is here. I’ve taken advantage of his precious small-town heart and exploited him as free labor.”
I don’t fully understand what she means until I follow her inside and look up to see Mac sitting on top of one of the wooden rafters that spans the length of the store.
“Hey,” I call up to his dangling feet.
He leans forward, smiling as he sees me. “Hey.”
It’s been an entire week since we said good night after the Gladstone. His late-night schedule and my early mornings have limited our contact to Post-it notes and the occasional creak in the floorboards when I hear him come home after his gigs.
“Whatcha doing up there?”
Beside him is what looks like a makeshift storage space I never really noticed before. It’s made from a piece of particleboard long enough to bridge two of the rafters. Sitting on the board are several cardboard boxes, what looks like a broken piece of a clothing rack, and several discarded mannequin parts.
“Well.” He picks up one of the boxes and pulls it into his lap. “I thought I was up here getting boxes for Koko out of storage, but now I’m worried she’s trying to keep me here as a store greeter.”
“He’s very cute,” Koko calls out from behind the cash register. “I know more than one customer who wouldn’t mind taking him home.”
She looks from him to me and winks.
My cheeks immediately flare red, and I sneak a glance upward to see if he saw that, but he seems preoccupied with whatever is in the box, only looking down at us again when I ask, “But how did you get up there in the first place?”
I try to judge the distance between the rafter and the floor. It has to be easily twelve feet off the ground.
“A miscalculation.” Mackenzie kicks his shoe toward a pile of toppled boxes behind one of the clothing racks. “There is a very good reason I am a musician and not an engineer.”
