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I feel like I’m drowning as he moves toward the door. The air I’m dragging through my nostrils doesn’t seem to make it to my lungs.
This time, when the door shuts, I’m alone with Doctor. The room seems to buzz around me as he grabs my upper arm. “Perhaps you’d like to explain where your undergarments are. And why I walked into my clinic to find my wife down on the floor embracing Homer Carnegie!”
His gray eyes widen slightly, and I note he’s grown a bushy mustache.
I shake my head. “He came here…craving.” My voice quakes, and he loosens his grip on me.
“That’s why his hands were shaking?”
I meet his eyes, nodding slightly.
“That’s why you were with him?”
I nod. “He arrived quite unexpectedly, leaving me no time to dress. He’d been drinking, as you noticed. He was out of sorts. I tried to help.”
Doctor nods, pressing his lips together. He gives me a small smile, and for a moment, I glimpse in him what I did when we met four years ago: a conviviality that, if not actually kind, could at least be companionable. “It’s been quite some time,” he says softly.
“You’ve arrived early.”
He reaches into his pocket and brings out something he holds pinched between his fingers. My pulse quickens when I see that it’s a ring with a large diamond.
“Oh—I—” I swallow. “Thank you.”
I take it from him, and he takes it back. “Hold out your hand, Fin.”
My fingers tremble wildly as he slides it on my finger. I hold my breath, praying he’ll mistake fear for excitement. When I glance up at his face, I find his thin mouth curled upward at the corners. “To replace that dingy one.”
Gammy’s. I nod. “Thank you, Doctor.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, stretching up a bit too high at first. As I hug him, my head begins to feel hollow.
I pull away, and his eyes search me up and down before they move across the floor—to the spot where Declan was.
“It’s been quite a journey. Lock up, Fin.”
He strolls toward the residence, and I walk to the clinic door on legs that feel like rubber. I pause for only a moment to listen. I hear nothing, but even if I did, there’s nothing I can do. I cross myself and walk toward the short hallway before I realize—the bed! My heart dips down into the hollow of my belly. I feel like I’m moving underwater as I rush over, straighten the covers. That’s when I realize—where is the syringe? Is it still on the floor?
My heart thuds dully in my temples. I turn around, thinking I’ll check the floor quickly. And there’s Doctor. He stands just behind me, staring without blinking.
“Did you have a patient?”
“Well, yes. Homer.”
“He was in the bed…then on the floor?” He arches one brow.
“I rushed to the door thinking it could be emergent. I was in my robe. I directed him here to the bed and went to dress.” I wave down at my pants and sweater. “When I returned, he was near the medication cabinets. Perhaps wishing for…well, who can know? Then he went down to the floor. I believe he’s quite poorly. Withdrawing, since he’s been here,” I say softly.
Doctor nods. He holds his hand out for mine, and we walk toward the residence together. Never has he held my hand. Not ever. As he closes the door linking the residence to the clinic, I can’t breathe for crushing fear.
I flinch a bit away, a habit borne of only three occasions—but they were…impacting.
Tonight, though, he gives me his tight-lipped smile. “It’s good to be home, dearie.”
* * *
“How is it?”
“Adequate, I suppose. Perhaps a bit stale.” Doctor sets the muffin down and shifts his gaze back to the newspaper.
