“A little of this, a little of that, and I’ll be back to working in no time flat,” Virgil sings to me.
“You’re lucky your exposure wasn’t worse, Mr. Troutwine,” the nurse clucks from behind me.
He waves her off with his free arm but blushes.Oh, my.I do believe Virgil has a crush on the no-nonsense nurse.
“I’m glad you’re getting treatment, Virgil. I don’t know how you survived all this time without getting sick,” I peer at the floor, trying not to think about all of the colleagues we lost.
“Luck. Puck. Duck, duck, goose,” Virgil answers.
I’m sure it makes sense to him, but I’m only more confused as I walk out of the department and down to Radiology for my MRI. It might very well have been luck that kept Virgil from developing radiation sickness.
The same luck that saved Rip.
How he managed to evade exposure, we still don’t know. Rip was part of the Flame Jumpers squad that responded to Virgil’s side of the wildfire. Every one of his teammates is dead, except him. And he showed no signs of ever being exposed to radiation.
HAZMAT teams from the CDC went through extensive interrogations with him and found nothing amiss. They’re now studying his blood because his DNA might hold the secret to protecting people from radiation.
When asked about it, Rip claimed “clean living,” took a shot of whiskey, and laughed like a hyena.
I shake my head and wander down to Radiology for my MRI. No alarms go off when I walk through the door, and I consider that a win.
???
“I’d say this is a win-win,” Dr. Binford tells us.
Camellia bounces in the chair next to me in the doctor’s office. It’s neat as a pin in here, with only our test results taking space on her desk. “We’re clear?”
“You’re both clear. The medicine did its job. There’s no hint of long-term problems,” Dr. Binford closes the files and quirks a brow at us. “You’ll both need to come in for check-ups every three months to be sure, but I have a good feeling about you.”
“I have a good feeling about us too,” I stare at Camellia.
She blushes, bringing more color back into her cheeks. That deathly-gray pallor she had four weeks ago is long gone. We’ve spent hours outside in the fresh air, walking and talking about everything under the sun. It’s been good for our relationship, and apparently, our health.
“What about sex, doc,” Camellia winks. “We’ve spent a lot of time outside, but I’m ready for a different kind of Vitamin-D - if you know what I mean.”
Dr. Binford clears her throat. “Ah, yes. That. I am releasing the restrictions on you.”
Camellia stands up so quickly the chair falls backward behind her. “Okay, then. See ya around, doc. Come on, Sparky. We’ve got some catch-up to do.”
I’m about to apologize for our enthusiasm when Camellia grabs my hand and yanks me out of my chair. The doctor simply waves us out the door.
Camellia means business. Her take-charge attitude might be calledbossyby men who should then prepare to have their nuts handed to them on a silver platter. But I wouldn’t dream of calling her that.
I only dream of calling her mine.
Forever.
