Wes visited with the doctor before being escorted to the phlebotomy lab, where the physician assistant led him to a waiting area. A few other people were there—residents or, like him, future residents of Heathrow Estates. Wes smiled politely as he sat in the corner, next to a man reading apaperback.
“Good morning,” Wes said, trying to befriendly.
“Morning,” the other man saidcurtly.
He didn’t seem interested in making small talk, or interested in looking up from his book, for thatmatter.
Wes thought he’d been rather hospitable and didn’t deserve such a short response, so he pressed on, if only to inconvenience this guy for being rude. “Good reading?” heasked.
The man glanced to Wes and then back down at his book, as though it was taking him a moment to process thequestion.
“The Fugitive,” the manreplied.
“Ah, like the movie with HarrisonFord?”
“It’sProust.”
Wes was familiar with the author’s name but had never read anything by him. “I’m more of a Koontz and Connelly kind ofguy.”
“I read my share of them as well.” The man’s tone was much friendlier, Wes supposed since he’d broken through whatever defensive barrier he had been putting up initially, but Wes was pleased that he was being far morecordial.
The man offered a warm smile before returning to reading, but Wes didn’t see a reason not to take advantage of the progress he’d made, so he said, “How long have you been living at HeathrowEstates?”
“Just over five yearsnow.”
“You enjoyit?”
“It suits me very well. Are you having your first appointment before movingin?”
“Yes, that’sright.”
“I think you’ll fit right in here. It doesn’t seem like you’ve ever met astranger.”
Wes laughed. He’d heard that one before. He’d been that way since he was a kid, and it only amplified with age. He didn’t see a reason not to be. All that seemed to do was waste precious time. He was about to go on when he heard, “WesBrenner.”
He turned to see a woman standing in the entryway to the waiting area, paperwork and plastic bottle in hand. When his gaze shifted back to the gentleman he’d been speaking with, he noticed the man seemed startled by the woman’sannouncement.
“Jumpy today, are you?” Wes asked, which made the man laugh. Wes pushed to his feet. “Here I come,” Wesannounced.
He looked back to the man readingThe Fugitiveand said, “Maybe I’ll see youaround.”
“You certainly will, Wes,” the man replied with a smile so warm, so pleasant, considering how short he’d been with him since he’d first satdown.
Wes followed the woman’s instructions to fill his sample before meeting her at a chair beside the restroom, where she would drawblood.
He took a deep breath as he reflected on how many times he’d been poked and prodded, not just in his lifetime, but particularly since his heart attack. Oh, how the world had changed since he was a careless kid who could hardly stand going to the doctor’s office. He still hated it, but he understood how important it was for him to keep up on if he wanted to live any sort oflife.
