I’m not so sure. Especially given that we don’t know how much longer this will go on for.
And Willow, who hasn’t just been dealing with her diabetes for over a decade, but is a trained paramedic and nurse turned doula, knows it.
“I always carry an extra patch,” she adds quietly. “In my purse. Plus fast acting insulin, just in case. But—” Her gaze slides to the pile of purses and phones and smartwatches all piled on the counter.
I get why she hasn’t asked yet. With Daniel’s behavior as erratic as it’s been, the last thing anyone wants is to draw attention to themselves. And she’s probably been hoping things would have been resolved already. But four hours going with no insulin and her blood sugar levels getting more and more out of whack…
We could keep waiting. Hoping.
I could reassure myself with facts I learned about in pharmacy school, and later, in training to be a paramedic.
I could tell myself Willow has time. That diabetic ketoacidosis shouldn’t kick in until much later than this.
But do I want to bank Willow’s health on it?
No. I don’t.
I touch her leg again, this time not just with my fingers, but my entire hand. “I’ll take care of it,” I murmur.
“No,” she whispers back. “I’ll be fine. It’s?—”
“Daniel.” I raise my voice to be heard above his current rant, this time about how Greta kept emasculating him and should have understood that he needed to hit on other women to feel good about himself.
Which,what?
If I were married, I’d never even look at another woman. Willow would be more than enough.
Not that I’m marrying Willow. But I did, she’d be the only woman I looked at.
Although. If we get through this, and I ask her out, and things go well…
“What?” Daniel barks. His gun drifts in my direction.
Willow makes a small, scared sound.
“I’m not trying to cause trouble,” I tell him, using my most placating tone—the one I use when a patient is acting particularly belligerent. “But my friend here, she’s diabetic. And she’s out of insulin.”
“So?” he fires back.
“Can you just get her purse? So she can get her insulin? It’s the—” I glance at Willow with my eyebrows raised.
“The green one,” she answers timidly. “With the red bow on the strap.”
I can see it, sitting right there on the counter. Not twenty feet away, but no better than twenty miles, at the moment. “Can you just give her the purse?” I ask. “Just so she can get the insulin. Then she’ll give it right back to you.”
Daniel looks between me and Willow for a few seconds. His expression is unreadable.
Then he shakes his head. “No. She might have a weapon in there. Or a phone.”
“I don’t,” Willow protests. “No weapons. And my phone is on the counter.”
“I don’t care,” Daniel retorts. “How do I know you’re even telling the truth? It could all be a ruse to distract me.”
Willow shakes her head this time. “No. I’m not lying. I can show you the patch I’m wearing now.” She starts to tug up her sleeve.
“NO!” he roars. The barrel of the gun trains on Willow. “Don’t move. Or Iwillshoot you.”
Willow freezes. She makes another of those scared sounds that flays my heart open. Then she slowly moves her hand away from her sleeve. “Okay,” she whispers. “Okay.”
