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Damn it, why didn’t he answer? Now I have to wait, and I’m not good at waiting.
* * *
It’s Wednesday lunchtime, and I’m sitting in the café, scrolling though Instagram until I get to my messages from Nathan. He was last active on Sunday.
He hasn’t been on Instagram since Sunday. What’s going on?
I’m beginning to get worried, so I call him. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Nathan, call me,” I demand. “I’m getting worried.”
By 5:00 p.m. on Wednesday, I can’t stand it anymore. I dial Nathan’s office.
“Hello, Dr. Mercer’s office,” Maria answers.
“Hi, Maria.” I smile.
“Hello, Eliza.”
“Is Nathan free?” I ask.
“Umm.” She pauses. “I thought you would know. He’s taken the week off.”
I frown. What? “Oh… I’m away,” I lie. “I haven’t had any service to speak to him.”
“Yes, I sent him home on Monday. He’s so stressed at the moment. I cancelled his conference.”
“I know, I’m a little worried about him. Have you spoken to him this week?”
“No, and he’s not answering his phone. It’s switched off. We’ve been trying all day.”
Fuck…something’s wrong.
He would never switch his phone off in case a patient needed him. “Okay, thanks.”
“Ask him to call us when you find him.”
“Okay.” I hang up in a rush and dial his number again. It goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck!
I text him.
Nathan, I’m worried. Where are you?
Check in with me or I’m calling the police
to come and break into your apartment.
A text bounces back.
I’m fine.
What?
I screw up my face in surprise. I dial his number again.
“Yes!” he snaps, exasperated.
