“Mm-hmm. And what about the headaches?”
“They come and go.” The fluorescent lights in this damn doctor’s office definitely won’t do me any favors, though. I hate it in here. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.
“James.” Dr. Macky stares into my eyes, right through my soul.
“Yes?”
Her right eyebrow arches. “You are aware that I’m your doctor, right?”
“I figured. The white coat gave you away.”
“And you’re aware thatyouscheduled this appointment because you were concerned about your dizzy spells, headaches, sleeplessness, and fatigue? Right? I didn’t break into your house and abduct you, throw you into a van and force you to sit on the crinkle paper you’ve hated since you were ten years old while I examine you.”
I tip forward. “That statement taught me a lot about your TV viewing preferences.”
“James!”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”
“Are you ready to cooperate? Because this is serious and I need your honest answers. Based on your elevated blood pressure reading, something is going on, and I can’t get to the bottom of it if you don’t answer my questions honestly.”
I look toward the pamphlet rack, filled with terrifying information about how you might die one day, and let out a breath. “My dad had a heart attack.”
I don’t need to say this to her; she has been our family doctor for decades. Sometimes I wonder if she’s actually immortal, because for as long as I’ve known her she’s been in her fifties.
“I know,” she says softly. “And ashisdoctor, I can say withcertainty that if he had been seeing me regularly before the heart attack, it might not have happened at all. Which is why it’s good you’re here now.”
My dad always seemed so healthy to me. So strong and capable. Until a random Wednesday two years ago when he suddenly wasn’t. We almost lost him to that heart attack, but he pulled through. It was a wake-up call, one that came with a congestive heart failure diagnosis.
I really had no choice after that but to step up and take over the farm for him. My mom didn’t even have to beg him to release it—that was the wildest part. He had been partially “retired” for two years before that but couldn’t stay away from the farm. The heart attack shook him so badly that he said he was ready to sign the whole thing over to me. Said he’d trust me to keep the legacy alive while he and Mom embraced retirement in sunny Florida.
And now here I am, facing financial ruin and putting all my faith in a new restaurant to revive it. Without the investor deal that Tommy snagged, I wouldn’t have even been able to open the restaurant. Everything is hinging on it—a fact that I’ll continue to absorb the weight of so Madison doesn’t have to carry it.
“I don’t . . . I can’t have a heart attack right now. There are too many people relying on me.”
Dr. Macky’s head tilts empathetically. “James, if I can speak frankly, a heart attack doesn’t give a shit about your schedule or how many people depend on you. It’s time to take care of yourself and get your blood pressure under control before it becomes a long-term problem like it has for your dad.” She pauses, letting those words soak in. When she seems satisfied that she’s thoroughly shaken me, she adds, “Now. Let’s start from the top with my questions and then we’ll discuss next steps.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Madison
68 DAYS UNTIL I FAIL . . .
“That is not what happened,” says Noah.
“Yes it is! Oh my gosh!” Emily practically shouts. “Annie! You were there. Back me up.”
“Well . . . I mean . . .” Annie doesn’t want to get into it.
“This is not the time to be a sweetie pie!”
Is James avoiding me and that’s why it’s been so easy to not see him?
“I’m sorry, I just think that it’s not what you’re making it out to be, Emily,” says Annie.
Noah folds his arms. “Thank you.”
I haven’t seen James—not even a glimpse—in a few days. At first I thought it was because I was doing a really great job of dodging him. But now . . . I’m wondering if he’s the one dodgingme? I guess he could be trying to give me space after what he thinks was an exhaustion-induced panic attack in the kitchen. But what if it’s not? What if it has everything to do with me telling him I was attracted to him in a towel? What if he doesn’t want me to work withhim anymore because he assumes I’m going to be salivating over him every second? I should have kept my big mouth shut.
