Page 35 of The Shape of Night

“And I’m very lucky he makes house calls,” I say, handing her my insurance card. “I didn’t think any doctors still did.”

Miss Hutchins looks up at me with a frown. “He made a house call?”

“Last week. After I fainted.”

“Did he, now?” is all she says before she discreetly looks down again at the appointment book. In this age of electronic medical charts, it’s quaint to see patients’ names handwritten in ink. “Please have a seat, Ms. Collette.”

I settle into a chair to fill out the patient information sheet. Name, address, health history. When I come to the blank forEmergency Contact,I hesitate. For a moment I stare at the blank where I have always before written Lucy’s name. Instead I write Simon’s name and phone number. He’s not a blood relation, but at least he’s still my friend. That’s one bridge I haven’t burned. Yet.

“Ava?” Ben Gordon stands in the doorway, smiling at me. “Let’s go back and take a look at that arm, shall we?”

I leave the clipboard with the receptionist and follow him down the hallway to the exam room, where all the equipment looks reassuringly modern, unlike the ancient Miss Hutchins. As I climb up onto the exam table, he goes to the sink and washes his hands, like any good medical professional.

“How’s the fever?” he asks.

“It’s gone.”

“Finished the antibiotics?”

“Every pill. Just as you instructed.”

“Appetite? Energy?”

“I’m feeling pretty good, actually.”

“Ah, a medical miracle! Every so often, Idoget it right.”

“And I really want to thank you.”

“For doing what I’m trained to do?”

“For going out of your way to help me. I got the feeling, talking to your receptionist, that house calls aren’t something you usually do.”

“Well, it’s what my grandfather and my dad did all the time. Brodie’s Watch isn’t that far out of town, so it was easy enough for me to pop by. I wanted to save you a very expensive trip to the ER.” He dries his hands and turns to face me. “Now let’s take a look at the arm.”

I unbutton my shirtsleeve cuff. “It looks a lot better, I think.”

“No more scratches from that ferocious cat?”

“He’s really not as vicious as he seems. The day he scratched me, he was just startled.” Startled by something I will not tell Dr. Gordon about, because it might make him question my sanity. I roll the sleeve above my elbow. “You can hardly see the scratches anymore.”

He examines the healed claw marks. “The papules are definitely clearing up. No fatigue, no headache?”

“No.”

He extends my arm and probes my elbow. “Let’s see if those lymph nodes have gotten any smaller.” He pauses, frowning at the bruise encircling my wrist. Although it has faded, it is still apparent.

I tug my arm away from him and yank down the sleeve. “I’m fine. Really.”

“How did you get that bruise?”

“I probably bumped into something. I don’t even remember.”

“Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything at all?”

His question is asked quietly, gently. What safer place to confess the truth than here, to this man whose job it is to hear his patients’ most embarrassing secrets? But I don’t say a word as I button the cuff of my shirt.

“Is someone hurting you, Ava?”