“What did you find?” April asks, and I take a seat on the stool that's against the wall. “Did they miss anything?”
“Not at all. In fact, the test was done by one of my mentors,” Dr. Banks says. “Still, I went line by line through the scan, and there's nothing there that says that you are genetically inclined toward early onset Alzheimer's.”
“Then what's with these mood swings? I'm bitchy half the time, crying another half, and just feeling off the rest of the time,” April protests, then takes a deep breath. “See what I mean?”
Dr. Banks taps at her clipboard, thinking. “Well, how about I run you through the cognitive tests, and we can take another blood sample? I won't get the genetic lab results back for a month or so, but the cognitive tests can at least give us a baseline.”
“Why a month?” I protest, suddenly upset. I've tried to be April's rock this whole time, but I can't hold back any more. I need to know as much as she does. “It can't be that hard, can it?”
“Actually, Mr. Paulson, it can,” Dr. Banks says, arching an eyebrow. “There's a lot of genetic material that makes up the human body, and while we can do chromosome typing in just a few hours, scanning for specific gene sequences takes time. I wish I could tell you it'd go faster, but even if we sent this to Johns Hopkins or Harvard, you'd be looking at a few weeks.”
I'm fuming, but there's no arguing. “Okay . . . okay. So what're these cognitive tests?”
“Something I have to do with just the doctor,” April says, trying to comfort me. “You'll need to leave the room, but it shouldn't take long, just an hour to an hour and a half or so. It's okay, I've done this before.”
I look into April's eyes and blink, trying not to let my fear show. “Okay. I'll go find some trouble to get into.”
“Stay away from the nurses,” April teases, then kisses me. “Or else you won't get any dessert tonight. I'll text you when I'm done.”
I leave the exam room and wander the hospital, leaving when I realize it's really not all that different from any other hospital I've been in, and that it's boring as hell. I walk out the front and look around, and decide to walk over to the government building that's only a block and a half away. It houses the Ontario Legislative Assembly, what I guess would best be called a State House in the USA, and as I stand in front of the dark brick building, I have to admit it's got a certain sense of old school charm to it. It's not overly grand like the California one, there's none of the pretentious use of marble or granite. Instead, there's a sense of somber gravity, like the men and women who work here know that they're not here for themselves, but instead for the people of Ontario.
After a while of walking around and shaking a few hands of the people that recognize me, I get back to the hospital and head upstairs. The exam room is still closed, with the little red tag on the outside that tells me that whatever it is Dr. Banks is having April do, she's still doing it. Instead, I sit down and let my hands dangle between my knees, looking up at the television on the wall.
“I wouldn't waste my time with that crap,” a voice says behind me, and I turn to see Vince coming into the waiting area. “Last time I was here, I sat through three hours of daytime television, and never once did I see anything worthwhile. My advice is next time, bring a book.”
“Advice noted,” I said, shaking hands with Vince. “So what brings you down here?”
“You and April,” Vince says with a smile. “My last regular season is nearly done, man. It's all about my transition, and part of that means checking on my quarterback . . . and my friend. At least, I hope.”
“Damn right,” I answer, patting the seat next to me. “It's going to be strange next year, breaking in a new guy underneath me. It'll be nice having you around to help with that. Although it's going to be strange calling you Coach.”
“Meh, I'll still be Vince, you know that,” Vince says. “So how long has she been in there?”
I look up at the clock, doing some quick checking. “One hour and . . . eleven minutes,” I say. “April said the checks could take up to an hour and a half, but after walking around the Legislature Building, I headed back here. Too damn cold, and even the politicians are wanting to say hi today.”
“Oh, who'd you run into?” Vince asks. “Last time I ran into a government worker who wanted my signature, it was the policeman who was giving me a parking ticket.”
I chuckle at the lame joke. It helps with the tension. “I don't know his job, but he said his name was . . . Wynne. Dalton Wynne, I think.”
“Really? Wow, you get around to high places,” Vince notes with an appreciative whistle and a raised eyebrow. When I return the look, he shakes his head. “You have no idea, do you?”
“Should I?” I ask. “No offense, Vince, but I'm just a football player.”
“Dalton Wynne is the Lieutenant Governor of Ontario. He's the highest appointed office in the province.”