Page 59 of The Love We Deny
I’m in the middle of trying to help a patient from home so they don’t have to come in and wait in the flu-infested waiting room over their sciatica when someone approaches the desk, slapping it with both hands.
“Dude.” Will is there, practically vibrating with something I haven’t seen from him before, like a kid on Christmas instead of a grown man.
“Hang on,” I say, lifting up a finger to tell him to wait, “Alright, Mr. Brown, I’ll call in that prescription for you right away. Please let me know if it helps.”
I hang up, setting the phone down, putting it on hold when it rings again. “I have patients—”
“I got a car,” Will interrupts.
“I know. You texted me.”
“Did you see the picture I sent?” I shake my head, and he pulls out his phone, but pockets it before he can show me.
“Come look at it.” He tilts his head toward the door, already backing away. “It’ll take two seconds.”
“I can’t. I don’t have anyone at the front desk today, and I need to see about—”
“Just come outside real quick—”
“Will.” I know my voice comes out harder than I mean it to, but I’m exhausted, and I haven’t eaten, and it grates my nerves how self-centered he can be sometimes. “I can’t right now. I’m busy. I’ll look at it later.”
The expression on his face shifts, from the excitement I see so little of, to his usual frown. “Right,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Sure.”
Something about the way he says that doesn’t sit right. “Will—” I say, reaching for him.
“It’s fine.” He lifts a hand, waving me off without turning around. “I’ll be out back if you need anything.”
The phone rings before I can think about anything else, the same time my eleven o’clock comes in.
I put my professional face on and call her back. I don’t think about Will’s expression or the fact that he came here to tell me something he was excited about. That I was the person hewantedto tell.
I don’t have time for that.
I have patients who need me.
Chapter 16
It’s report card day.
Which means one of two things.
My daughter will be in a great mood, or don’t speak to her for at least two days while she contemplates how her life is ruined over a single letter.
She got that from me.
By the time she gets home, she’s already seen her grades online on her phone, and when she looks up at me, her smile takes up her whole face. Straight A’s.
“We’re going out to eat,” she announces.
This has been the tradition since the first report card that came home with nothing but A’s. We’ve been doing it ever since, and I don’t think it’s crossed her mind that we could go to her favorite Mexican restaurant some other time.
“Who are you texting?” Ollie asks from the backseat while I navigate the afternoon traffic.
“Uncle Will. He’s meeting us there.”
Of course he is.
Will is already standing outside when we pull into the parking lot, wearing a green flannel shirt that makes me feelthingsevery time he wears it, bringing out the green in his eyes.
