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I watch her leave, mulling over her words. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should send Ken some flowers.
It can’t hurt, right?
TWO
Ken
“I’ll putin your prescription now, Mrs. Pierce. You should be able to pick it up shortly.”
“Thank you, Dr. Coleman,” she says as she heads past the front counter and my receptionist, Juniper.
I let Juniper check her out as I rub at my temples, wondering if I have time for a nap in between my patients today. Not that I’d get any sleep anyway. I’d probably just lie there and run through a list of all the things I have to do and how I don’t have time to take a nap. It’s a miserable cycle, and it’s starting to wear on me.
I’ve been trying to do everything around here for weeks, and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I’m tired all of the time, relying way too much on caffeine, but I don’t have another choice really. I need to find a nurse as fast as I can. I have a feeling that if I don’t, I’m going to burn out fast.
Between the increased patient load, an unusual amount of babies being born, and updating our filing system to be completely digital, I’m stretched to my absolute limit. And yet, there’s no end in sight.
I wipe a hand down my face and silently tell myself to get my shit together as I head back to my office. I enter the prescription for Mrs. Pierce in the system and disinfect the room for the next patient. My eyes blur as I stare at my computer screen and I sigh.
Damn, I’m tired.
It’s just exhaustion or stress. I’m just… weary. Down to my bones. I don’t know any other way to describe it. I feel like I’m waiting for something to shake me up, and the longer I go without it, the more restless I get.
But that’s crazy talk. I just need to get my head in the game, get through these patients, file paperwork, authorize prescriptions, and…
“Fuck,” I mutter. It takes a great deal of effort to pull myself back from the edge of panic.
Finishing up in the exam room, I head back up front to file Mrs. Pierce’s chart. I look around the waiting room to see if we’ve had any walk-ins or emergencies but it’s empty. It’s also messy with old magazines spread across the coffee table and end table, someone’s old coffee cup on another end table and the toys that we have for the kids scattered in the corner.
I make a mental note to clean up when I have a chance and smile at Juniper when I head past her desk.
“Pretty flowers,” I comment, spying the big flower arrangement on top of her desk. “From Jacob?” I guess and she frowns and shakes her head.
“No, actually they’re for you.”
I freeze, wondering if I misheard her.
“Forme?”
“Yeah, that’s what the card says anyway,” she says as she stands and grabs the bouquet to double-check.
I blink a few times and then close my mouth, not realizing my jaw was hanging wide open. Clearing my throat, I get myself somewhat together and slip the chart I was holding back onto the shelf. When I turn around, I expect Juniper to say they are actually for her.
“Yeah, they’re for you,” she confirms, giving me a knowing smile. I frown, not sure what to make of this.
It has to be some kind of mistake. I barely have time to eat, let alone date someone. Who could be sending me flowers? They are beautiful, though. There’s no denying the talent and work that went into creating this arrangement. The centerpiece is a breathtaking light-peach dahlia in full bloom. Other little flowers fill in the vase with a few colorful daisies to add another pop of color.
The flower shop must have messed up. Whoever was supposed to get this arrangement must be someone special, so I’m sure they’ll appreciate me returning them. Luckily, there’s only one flower shop in town so I’ll just pop over and straighten the whole thing out.
I check my watch. My next appointment isn’t for another hour and my stomach growls, reminding me that I skipped lunch. I debate what to do before deciding that I have enough time to return the flowers and then head to Bella’s Bakery to grab a quick bite to eat.
“I’ll be back in a little bit,” I tell Juniper and she nods, reaching over to answer the ringing phone.
I grab my phone, car keys, and the bouquet and head for the door. The Flower Patch is only a block away and it’s nice out so I decide to walk. I could use the fresh air after being cooped up in my clinic for the last few weeks.
My phone dings in my pocket and I pull it out, surprised when I see Graham’s name on the screen. He’s an old friend from when I was still in the military. He was with the CIA or some other three-letter agency and saved my life once.
We’ve kept in touch over the years but when he got out, he moved up to some tiny town in the mountains, Fallen Peak, and he rarely comes to town.
