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CHAPTER THREE
“Joan Hamilton?” the man asked, entering the small, nondescript office and shutting the door behind him, his eyes darting between Paige and her mother. He was young and pleasant-looking, with a full head of dark, wavy hair. He wore a white coat over slim khaki pants and a navy-and-white-checked shirt.
“That’s me,” Paige’s mother said, lifting her hand into the air and wiggling her fingers. She’d changed out of her pajamas into the clothes Paige had brought along.
“I’m Dr. Barelli.” The doctor sat down behind his desk, smiling at the two women sitting across from him. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine,” Joan Hamilton said. “A little foolish. My eyes are…well, they seem to be…fine.”
Dr. Barelli opened the folder in his hands, scanning its contents as Paige and her mother watched him expectantly. Not that there was anything else to look at—the pale green walls were bare except for a generic reproduction of a boring landscape; the furnishings were minimal and strictly utilitarian; the desk was void of personal touches or family photographs; the window behind it overlooked a brick wall. Probably some sort of communal space, used for quick discussions and consultations. Still, the room was a welcome respite from the endless corridors and plastic chairs Paige had been sitting in since they’d arrived at Mass General. If she never saw another ancient edition ofStarmagazine, it would be too soon.
It was approaching one o’clock in the afternoon. They’d been at the hospital almost five hours. Her mother had undergone a multitude of tests, including an MRI and a retinal scan, as well as a series of examinations to determine whether her heart was operating as it should. Technicians had drawn so much blood, Paige marveled that her mother had any color left at all.
“Well,” the doctor began, looking up from his folder and smiling again. The smile sent creases up his cheeks to his eyes. “It’s all good news, from what I can see.”
“Good news?” Paige and her mother repeated simultaneously.
“Your blood tests are normal, boringly so, if you don’t mind my saying. Your blood pressure’s a little high, but nothing to be overly concerned about. Both your retinas are exactly where they should be. Your vision is excellent for a woman your age. As is your brain function and just about everything else that we tested for. In fact, you just might be the healthiest person in this place.”
“Well, isn’t that lovely,” Joan Hamilton said.
Paige gasped with relief. “But…her eyes…”
“Classic ocular migraine,” the doctor explained.
“A migraine?” Joan repeated. “But I didn’t have a headache.”
“You’re lucky,” Dr. Barelli said, dark eyes sparkling.
“I don’t understand,” Paige said.
“Your mother experienced the aura that often accompanies migraines. They involve lots of squiggles and flashing lights, usually starting small and then building in intensity before petering out, usually in twenty to thirty minutes.”
“That’s exactly what happened,” Joan Hamilton agreed.
“They’re not uncommon, especially as you get older. And the good news is that they’re not serious. More of a nuisance than anything else. You might not have another one for years,” the doctor continued, speaking directly to Paige’s mother, “or you might have one tomorrow.” He went on to say that although there were many theories as to what caused them, no one really knew for sure, and that while medication could be taken, the auras usually disappeared before such medication could take effect, so it was preferable just to wait them out. “Of course, if you’re driving, I’d advise pulling over.”
“That’s it?” Paige asked as her mother rose to her feet.
“That’s it.” Dr. Barelli extended his hand across the desk for the women to shake.
“An ocular migraine,” Joan said, almost proudly, as they waited for the elevator. “Who knew?”
“You must be starving,” Paige said, speaking for both of them as they stepped onto the street moments later. She’d been surviving on black coffee since they’d exited the ambulance and, as far as she knew, her mother hadn’t had a thing to eat or drink since last night.
“I’m famished,” her mother agreed. “Let’s go somewhere nice for lunch. Do you have time?”
Paige checked her watch. She had a job interview at three o’clock, her first one in more than two weeks, so it was important she not be late. Normally she preferred being early, but she’d learned the hard way that being early wasn’t always a great idea. She closed her eyes, seeing herself tiptoe down the narrow hall of her old apartment toward the bedroom she shared with Noah, hearing the all-too-familiar laughter behind the bedroom door. “There’s a neat little café over on Charles Street,” she said loudly, trying to block out the sound of that laughter.
“Why are you shouting?” her mother asked.
“Sorry,” Paige said, hailing a nearby taxi.
Unfortunately, the small café was crowded with tourists, drawn to the street’s reputation for quirky fashions and charming antiques shops, and they had to wait for a table.
“Dr. Barelli was very cute, didn’t you think?” her mother said when they were finally seated and their order taken.
“A little young.”
