Down at the ER nurses’ station, Jasher caught up with Patricia. “Can you please admit Mr. Powell Barlow?”
“His tests are set for five o’clock. Won’t watching him until then be long enough?”
No, it wouldn’t. Jasher needed to observe the man some more. Diagnosis wasn’t like knee surgery. Diagnosis took a different type of energy. Mental, as well as emotional. Spiritual, even, if he were honest with himself.
Jasher put himself in Mr. Barlow’s place, pictured how he would feel with all those symptoms. What could be causing them? Genetics? Something environmental?
He had it—for a fleeting second. And then it was gone.
Jasher couldn’t think. He needed to clear his head. It was swirling with Sage and mysterious symptoms and cheese quesadillas and a lot more Sage.
She was in his system. If she was nearby, fine. That aided his work. If she wasn’t there, she was still there. It was hard to explain, even to himself. Like those spirits or ghosts they’d talked about the other day.
She believes in the unseen world, too.
So many people he met were skeptics to such a high degree that Jasher had stopped mentioning it to colleagues in the medical field.
Until Sage.
Gah! He couldn’t have her, but he had to have her soon. He needed that kiss again, like, now!