Page 45

“I’m sure she did her best.” Jennie’s mouth curved with a soft smile. “Fresh vegetables are expensive and not always easy to come by.”
A delicate flush crept up Gia’s neck.
Caleb kept quiet, silently approving of Jennie’s tactful reminder.
Gia was still adjusting to a lifestyle and culture far removed from her own. The Navajo Nation was a vast, open territory with few population centers. More accessible trading posts and convenience stores often carried cheaper, highly processed, less perishable foods.
He followed her down the hall to a small office. Inside were a dark laminated desk, a black faux leather high-backed swivel chair, and two metal-framed chairs. Wedged into the corner was a set of tan filing cabinets. A black computer monitor and keyboard sat on the desk.
No diplomas. No framed family photos. Nothing that gave away personal information.
“The doctors on staff share this office.”
Gia must have noticed him staring at the bare walls.
She set down her mug and slung a stethoscope around her neck. “This way.”
The scared woman he knew disappeared, replaced by the calm, focused professional.
She led him to exam room one. “Wait out here. We need Galina’s permission for you to be in the room.”
Through the open door, Caleb glimpsed a tiny, wrinkled elder perched on a chair. Pain grooved her face and shadowed faded brown eyes.
She greeted Gia with a nod, her gaze latching onto Caleb.
“Hello, Grandmother,” he greeted her in the manner of the Diné.
“Hello, Grandson. You look like your mother.”
He quelled a sigh. Before he could even introduce himself, everyone already knew who he was.
Gia explained his role.
Galina nodded her permission and waved gnarled fingers toward the exam table. “I can’t get up there.”
Caleb stepped into the room and offered his hand. When she took it, he lifted her with gentle strength onto the table.
A small whimper escaped her.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, grimacing.
She patted his cheek with a wrinkled palm, and for a moment, memory blindsided him.
Sweet, grainy blue corn cakes. The smell of sheep’s wool and dung. His grandmother’s kiss.
He stepped back, breaking the connection to his past, and watched Gia work from the corner.
“Galina.” Gia had stooped to examine her patient’s feet. “How long have you had this dark streak on your toenail?”
Galina peered down and shrugged.
“I’d like to get you an appointment with a dermatologist, if you don’t mind.” Gia’s lips pursed. “It could be nothing, but it could also be a sign of melanoma.”
Caleb waited until Gia finished her exam, and they’d left the room to speak. “Good catch, Doc.”
He still wasn’t sure how she’d spotted the small streak beneath Galina’s pinky toenail—something anyone else might’ve passed off as a bruise unless they were looking closely.
A hint of color touched Gia’s cheeks, but her eyes lit with quiet pride. “I did some reading on signs of skin cancer in the NativeAmerican population. Did you know Native Americans have the second-highest rate behind the White population?”