A long look confirmed that Ms. Lloyd was serious.
Great, she thought while driving to the skin clinic. As if this outing weren’t nerve-wracking enough, she had the threat of being locked out hanging over her head.
When she entered Clear Skin Blackwood, the waiting room was empty. It was comfortable, an oasis done in tones of blue and green. Calming colors. The decor was doctor’s office chic, the receptionist friendly and eager to help.
“Hi there. Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat, unexpectedly emotional now that she had reached her final destination. “I mean, I called, and I was told I didn’t need to make an appointment. You, or someone, said I should walk in. I heard Dr. Hadley on the radio. Her interview about the free care for people who’ve suffered from…” Uma didn’t even know how to describe what had been done to her. She’d only ever spoken of it in euphemisms. She’d never said it aloud. Not to anyone. “I called, and you confirmed that you’d see me. Or someone did. Said I could come in and ask for, um, Dr. Hadley. That she would help me.”
“Oh. Oh, of course.” The receptionist’s eyes got huge. They clearly didn’t get a lot of people like Uma in here. “Please, have a seat, ma’am. I’ll go speak with the doctor. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you.”
Uma sat, overwhelmed by exhaustion. She’d made it to the end of her voyage. Then why did this feel like the beginning? She waited, at once too tired and too jacked up to distract herself with a magazine.Ma’am, she thought.She called me ma’am.It made her feel old.
The receptionist returned to the sitting room. She looked flustered, excited curiosity brightening her eyes. Mixed with pity, maybe?Am I the reason she looks so keyed up?The thought made Uma feel like a freak.
“Here you are, ma’am.” She pressed a warm cup into Uma’s hand. “Ginger tea. It’s what we drink here.”
Here? Like in the offices? Or like in Blackwood?
The receptionist hesitated for a moment, fiddling with magazines and flapping around, looking like she wanted to sit down, maybe have a chat.
“Hear about the cold snap down from the north?” the receptionist asked.
“Uh, no,” Uma said, and with no more conversation forthcoming, the woman headed back to her cubby, disappearing behind the desk. While she waited, Uma imagined eyes on her, the woman wondering.
A couple of people entered, signed in, were called to the back. About fifty times, she thought about leaving, and fifty times, she talked herself down. This was it, why she’d risked coming back to Virginia, so close to Joey, why she’d agreed to wait hand and foot on Ms. Lloyd.
After an anxious half hour in the waiting room, watching the sun set outside, the inner door opened, and a woman in scrubs came out. She glanced around before her eyes settled on Uma.
“Would you like to come on back?”
She concentrated on the woman’s narrow back and dark hair as they walked. Self-imposed tunnel vision.
So much hinged on this visit, possibly on this initial conversation. Again, she felt the urge to leave, to rush back to Ms. Lloyd’s and hide. Never come back.
Too late for that. She followed the woman’s scrub-clad form into the back, adrenaline making her buzzy and strange. Scared of what they’d say but floating on a weak surge of hope. If this worked, Uma might become a normal person again. She couldn’t imagine the possibility.
“Come on in and have a seat, Miss…” The woman looked at Uma expectantly.
“Smith,” she lied.
The woman’s nod confirmed she’d accept whatever she was told. There was no appointment on the books, and they’d ask few questions. Curiosity, but no pressure. These women, this place, they were trying to help people like Uma. Shehatedthat she needed their help.
“I’m Purnima.”
Sanskrit name, Uma thought, unsurprised. The woman was beautiful, gentle looking. She’d known a Purnima growing up—a good friend of her mother’s once upon a time. What had become of her?
“The doctor will be right in,” she said. “Can I get you anything while you wait?”
Uma shook her head and tried to smile.
Another short wait. Uma tried to distract herself by studying the room. In a half-assed effort at camouflaging the medical feel, the walls showed photos of the earth from space. There was a basket of sunblock samples, and she was tempted to take one, even though she couldn’t imagine baring herself enough to need it. She couldn’t even look at herself. How could she possibly ask anyone else to do so?
Oh, shut up.
She grabbed a couple anyway. Might as well protect her face. It was her only remaining commodity, after all.
On the wall behind her was a poster comparing different types of melanoma. Uma turned away from that. No need to see more blemishes.
