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“You needed a good meal. Are you drinking plenty of fluids?”
“Yes, Doctor,” he teased. “The eight-pack of Gatorade and case of bottled water you put in the fridge clued me in.”
“We can’t have you getting dehydrated again. Did you run a fever again today?”
“For a while. I slept it off though. I think I’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”
Avery’s lips twitched. Sounded just like her brothers when they were sick, as if they could just wish the virus away. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I haven’t forgotten our deal.”
“A couple years ago my brother Cooper felt a virus coming on and decided to go for a jog to ‘sweat it out.’”
“How’d that work out for him?”
She snorted. “Oh, he ended up in bed for a week. God forbid he should ask his sister—a doctor, for crying out loud—for medical advice.”
Wes grinned. “Generally speaking, we men don’t like to ask advice.”
“And see what happens?”
“You’re not wrong.” He took a long swig of water. “Is that what made you decide to be a doctor? The stubborn men in your family who clearly need medical direction?”
Avery’s smile slipped a little before she bolstered it back into place. “I can’t blame it on them. I decided to be a doctor before my stepbrothers ever entered my life.”
Should she tell him where it all started? This drive to protect those she loved? Her gaze locked on his face. He waited patiently for her to continue. Something trustworthy and patient infused those blue eyes. And his own vulnerability gave her the courage to open up.
“I told you my mom passed away, but I didn’t tell you I was the only one with her at the time. She had a—a progressive disease.” She intentionally omitted the name of it—and the fact that she had a 50percent chance of developing Huntington’s herself. It had weighed heavily on her recently since symptoms could appear as early as thirty (and had for her mom).
“I was alone with her, and she was choking, and I didn’t know what to do. I called for help but the hospital was forty-five minutes away. She didn’t make it.”
“That’s awful. You must’ve been so scared.”
She’d never forget the terrible gurgling sound. Or the way her mother’s eyes filled with panic and pleas. As Avery made the call, a rosy blush bloomed on her mom’s face, but by the time help arrived, her lips were a ghostly shade of blue and she’d passed out.
Her mom died on the way to the hospital.
In the days after her passing, grief had swallowed her dad. It took him a while to realize the depth of Avery’s suffering. The weight of her guilt.
“The whole thing paralyzed me. Eventually my dad got me some counseling, which I’m sure I needed. That helped, but I never wanted to feel that kind of helplessness again.”
“So you became a doctor. And you opened a clinic so your community would have the help they needed.”
“In a word, yes.”
He observed her for a long moment.
She resisted the urge to squirm in her chair.
“You took something terrible and made something good out of it. I admire that. I’m sure med school was rigorous, and everyone knows residency is no cakewalk. You’re awfully young to have opened your own clinic.”
“I’m over the hill, remember?”
“A matter of perspective, I guess.” They shared a smile.
A person tended to move quickly when she didn’t know how many good years she had left. Yet another reason she needed to find that doctor. She needed this clinic to survive—even if her health eventually failed her.
Genetic testing could answer the question once and for all. She had a 50percent chance ofnothaving the gene. But the decision whether or not to get tested was difficult and complicated, and the results of testing had the potential to be traumatic. Genetic counseling was highly recommended prior to testing to help a person determine if she even wanted to know what miseries the future might hold.
