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“Yeah, that’s perfect,” decides my brother on my behalf.
A minute later, Trey himself emerges from the back. I haven’t seen the guy since last summer. As Reverend Arnold’s son, and a nurse, he’s Godly, kind, and known for having the biggest heart in all of Spruce. I’ve never really had a chance to get to know him all that personally or one-on-one, but if there’s one thing I’m aware of, it’s how big of a scandal it was when his and Cody Davis’s relationship was outed.
And when Trey’s eyes meet mine, and I feel all that kindness and compassion in them, it suddenly occurs to me.
He’s the guy I need to see right now about my problems.
And I’m not talking about my ankle.
“Jimmy,” he greets me courteously with a nod, then turns to my brother. “Tanner, hey there.”
“It’s his ankle,” Tanner says for me. “He turned it wrong or landed on it wrong while he was dancin’, something like that. Can we get him looked at? I understand the doctor’s out.”
“Sure, of course.” Trey smiles at me, then comes to my side to help support me as I rise up onto my good foot.
When Tanner also comes to my side, I quickly blurt, “Thanks, but I’ll go with Trey alone. I appreciate it.”
Tanner’s face turns into a crinkled grocery bag. “Dude, let me help you. You need—”
“I got it, thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.” I turn and give Marybeth a quick nod at the counter. “Thanks a bunch, Marybeth.”
“Tell Bobby I said hi!” she says right back, giving me a wiggly-fingered wave. “Phew, I haven’t seen that sweet boy in too long.” She smiles broadly and rests her chin on a propped-up hand, her eyes batting wistfully at me as I go. My brother just stares at me, baffled, as I leave him with Marybeth and head back with Trey.
Trey leads me into one of the rooms with an arm over my back, guiding me. I sit on the examination bench thing, the rolled-out paper crinkling under my ass, and rest my left leg on the table with my bad foot. In a few words, I tell him what happened, and Trey inspects my ankle to the best of his ability, now and then stopping to apologize and say something like, “When the doctor’s back from his lunch, he’ll be able to give you a more thorough check and say all the things I’m not authorized to conclude or say.” Then he eyes me and adds, “Yet,” with a coy smile. Trey turns my whole leg delicately one way, then the other, constantly asking if it hurts, if he’s hurting me, or if he needs to be gentler.
He’s the nicest person I’ve ever known. It’s no wonder that his life’s calling is to be a nurse and, well, literally save lives.
Not that my ankle is any life-or-death situation, mind you.
“I can’t say anything definitively until Dr. Emory’s back from his lunch—protocol and all,” says Trey dutifully, “but from what I can tell here, I’d say you’re just looking at a minor sprain.”
“Minor sprain?”
“Yep. We should go ahead and do an X-Ray to be sure, but …” Trey smiles. “I’d say the doctor’s gonna suggest a painkiller and just tell you to keep off it for a few days, maybe a week to be safe.”
“What a relief,” I sigh out.
Trey smiles and rises. “Well, if you want to come with, we can run a quick X-Ray before Dr. Emory’s back. We sent him a text, and he responded saying he’s headin’ back this way for you.”
Well, nice to see some people in Spruce actually respond to their texts on time. “Thanks, Trey. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. Now let’s go ahead and get you into the other room for an X-Ray. Ready?” He prepares to help me off the table.
“Trey?”
He stops and peers at me. “Yes, Jimmy?”
“I …” Shit, am I really gonna do this? “I, uh … I need some …”
“Yes?”
“Advice,” I finally get out. “I need some serious advice. It’s on a thing I can’t really talk to my brother about. Or, well, anyone.”
Trey steps back, his lips pursed together in thought.
“Like, I know I don’t go to church or nothin’,” I add, “but uh … I mean, people confess stuff to you, right? And you … keep it to yourself? You don’t go and tell anybody? Like, confidential and … and confessional stuff … uh, right?”
Trey gives a nervous glance out the door, then gently shuts it. “I think that’s more a Catholic thing, really, but—”
“Can I confess somethin’ to you anyway? I need to get it off my chest. I need advice, and I …” Shit, my ankle’s throbbing. “I can’t tell my brother. He isn’t any help sometimes.”
Trey gives me a tiny, tight smile of compassion, then takes a seat on the little rolling doctor stool. After a second’s breath, he lifts his face to mine. “I’m all yours. Shoot.”
