I press my good hand to her back and try to maneuver the chestpiece with my casted hand. My attempt is futile.
Lucas grows impatient and steps closer so he can replace me. I don’t budge, and there are suddenly too many cooks in the exam room.
“If you’d just step aside, Dr. Bell, I can listen to our patient’s lungs and rule out any pulmonary issues.”
“I’m fine right here.”
He reaches over, grabs my biceps, and shifts me out of the way like I’m filled with air.
I step right back to where I was before. He will not edge me out of this office. Ms. Pecos shifts uncomfortably.
“Dr. Bell, would you please join me in the hallway for a moment?” Lucas says in a measured voice. “I think Mariah might be back with the slide results.”
He doesn’t wait for me to reply, just walks to the door and holds it open like a parent who’s caught me breaking curfew. I smile softly at Ms. Pecos and walk out, dejected.
When we’re alone in the hall, he turns to me.
“What’s your game plan, Daisy? We can’t do this dance with every patient for the next six weeks.”
“You are absolutely right. Here’s a plan: you give your resignation and I go on with my life, happier than ever.”
“You have one hand—”
“Lucas, you of all people should know how much can be accomplished with only one hand.”
I flick my eyes down to his slacks—not because I care what lies beneath them, but because I need to shove the double entendre past his thick skull.
He steps closer, sustaining my taunt.
“You sound like you know from experience.”
He’s wearing a knowing smile and it’s not the smile he wore as a teenager. That was easy to deflect. This little smirk holds dark promises and I realize suddenly that Lucas is a man now—a man who enjoys crowding my space and getting inside my head. I try to look past him, but his shoulders are too broad and he’s waiting for a comeback so I open my mouth and speak.
“Um…Ms. Peni—MS. PECOS, I mean, needs us.” I clear my throat and look down the hall, praying for Mariah to round the corner. HOW LONG CAN IT TAKE TO READ THE TEST STRIP? She’s nowhere, I am alone with Lucas, and the office is suddenly hotter than Hades. I pinch my lapel and air out my blouse. “I think we should…be doctors—stop looking at me like that. Just turn around while we wait for Mariah.”
“You’re blushing,” he says, sounding pleased.
I’ve had enough; I turn on my heel to find Mariah and that godforsaken test strip.
She’s in the lab and when she sees me, she tilts her head and her eyes assess me warily.
“Is everything all right, Dr. Bell?”
“Yes.”
“You look really flushed.”
“It’s the A/C in this place. What’s the thermostat set on?”
“62.”
“Is that in Fahrenheit?”
“Do you want to sit do—why are you fanning yourself like that?”
She’s handling me the way I handled the patients during my psych rotation, and sadly, she is smart to give me a wide berth.
It’s day two and Lucas is already starting to unnerve me.
After the longest work day of my life, I stand on the curb, waiting for my mom to pick me up like I am back in the third grade.
“Yoohoo, paging Dr. Bell!”
HONK HONK.
My mom swerves in front of me like she’s a soccer mom in a sporty hatchback commercial. For the next six weeks, she is my chauffeur. My cast has not only impeded my ability to see patients on my own, but has also forced me into vehicular dependency courtesy of my loud mother. There’s no way I could ride my bike one-handed.
“Oh this is so fun! Just like when I used to pick you up early from school when you peed your pants or cried after visiting the zoo on a field trip. You wanted to set all those animals free.” Her eyes glistened. “My little activist.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and slide into the passenger seat.
“Mom,” I hiss. “Please. Everyone can hear you—stop doing that—who are you waving at?”
“Look who it is!” She rolls down my window and shouts past me, “Lucas! Oh, oops! I should say, Dr. Thatcher!”
I don’t turn to confirm that she is waving Lucas closer to the car.
“Dr. Lucas Thatcher!” she shouts and then says to me, “He has turned into such a handsome man.”
I will not sit idly by while she compliments the uncomplimentable.
For half a moment we fight for control of the power window on my side. Up-down, up-down. I focus all the muscles in my body on the tiny button, but she thwarts me with a mother’s most powerful tool: child lock. She pops them into place and slides the window down with ease.
“Evening, Mrs. Bell,” Lucas says from somewhere on my right. I stare out the front window with a rigid focus. “For a second I thought one of Daisy’s friends was picking her up. Is that a new haircut?”
My mom titters and touches her ends. “Oh stop it, you. It’s nothing. Just a fresh trim.”