“I know.” He pauses. “I’ve tried to imagine the shoe being on the other foot, and I can’t. I’ll keep you posted.”
* * *
Mariska
Slayde is punctual in picking me up for our appointment. I’ve been at the gym all day, cleaning up, making smoothies, and being completely distracted by what’s coming.
“I had a great time last night.” Pete stops in front of me at the juice bar, spreading his arms and flexing his muscles for my benefit.
I smile and turn to my notebook. “I’m sorry I pooped out early. I don’t seem to have as much energy as I used to.”
“No worries.” He gives me a wink. “We can give it another try. Maybe Friday?”
Poor Pete. I’ve had this thought so many times. As much as I try to make myself fall for him, like wet kindling, my feelings never seem to ignite. “I don’t know. Let’s just play it by ear.”
His optimism fades a notch, but in classic Pete fashion, he rallies. “I’ll put it on the calendar in pencil.”
“Okay,” I say, looking up to see Slayde entering the gym.
He’s dressed as always in dark jeans and a black tee. The ink on his arms makes him look like a badass, but nowhere near as much as those pale blue eyes combined with his dark hair. Slayde’s not very tall, but he’s ripped from his boxing days.
Kenny looks up from where she’s working with a client and gives him a little wave. The only time I ever see that boy soften is when he looks at my best friend. It’s enough to make the dreamy romantic in me come racing back to the surface. I stuff her right back down.
“Are we ready?” A tremor is in my voice. I don’t want to be nervous, but I feel like everything is hanging on this meeting today.
“Ready when you are.” He smiles, and I duck under the counter to leave.
Dr. Endicott’s home is one town over from Bayville. Seaside Park is a tiny beachfront community badly damaged by Hurricane Sandy but making a comeback. The doctor lives in a two-story beige structure on stilts with a nice view of the ocean.
Slayde rings the doorbell, and I stand outside waiting, doing my best not to wring my hands. I wore my khaki pants and a white short-sleeve blouse today under my black cardigan. I wanted to look businesslike but not confrontational.
When the old man comes to the door, he’s not what I expected. He’s stooped slightly, and his grey hair is short all over his head. A pair of John Lennon wire-rimmed glasses is perched on his nose and he evaluates us sternly.
“You’re the Heron girl?” he says, looking me up and down.
“Yes, sir,” I say, infusing my voice with as much confidence as I can manage. It’s not much.
“And you are?” His voice is more forceful when he addresses Slayde.
Slayde answers in a quiet, but controlled tone. “Backup.”
The doctor nods, and makes a humming sound under his breath as he steps aside, allowing us to enter. “Come this way.”
We follow him down a narrow hall into an open living area. The sun is shining brightly through sliding glass doors, and white blinds are on all the windows. It’s too bright. It hurts my eyes, and scenes from my nightmare make my stomach clutch.
A woman is in the kitchen. She has short grey hair, and she’s wearing polyester capri pants and a lavender sweater.
“Would either of you like something to drink? I’ve got soda, tea, lemonade…”
The mention of lemonade makes my breath stutter. Slayde’s eyes fly to me, and I shake my head.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
“I’ll just have some water,” he says, and the woman nods, hustling around to fetch a tall glass with bright yellow flowers on the outside.
It all seems so boring and normal. I don’t know why I feel such a sinister vibe. I suppose because this otherwise unassuming man holds so much power over my life.
“You’re here about a diagnosis I rendered twenty years ago?” His voice is controlled irritation, and Dr. Endicott’s thick grey brows clutch together like two caterpillars over his glasses. He sits in a recliner on the edge of the room.