Shayna: YOU WILL BE DISOWNED
India: Please ignore them, Steven. We will all be on our best behavior <3
India’s text opens a can of worms loaded with savage accusations and a barrage of ridiculous emojis tossed back and forth like insults. Each clown face adds a spike to my rising blood pressure. It ends with all of them asking how Emma is, how the kids are, to send pics, all leading me back to not hearing from Emma yet.
Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe her new responsibilities are overwhelming, and she doesn’t have time to text back. Maybe I should text her again.
“No, don’t do that,” I mutter to myself. “Don’t be desperate.”
I shift in my seat, and my fingers tap erratically against my phone, the desk, the edge of my computer screen. I can’t stay still.
“Stop it.” My hands fly up, exasperated with myself, which startles an elderly patient now picking up speed as they shuffle past. I force myself to look away from my phone. My thumb twitches with temptation, but I resist.
I blow out a breath and grab my next patient’s chart—hypertension.“You and me both, brother.”
With one last pitiful, hopeful glance at my phone, I accept there are no messages from my wife coming in and swallow the sting of rejection it brings.
We’re going to be fine.
Chapter five
Emma
“You’renotfine.”
Malcolm, my grumpiest, broodiest colleague, mumbles the words under his breath as he watches me teeter on the edge of a stool, one wrong move away from certain death.
Somewhere between steps seven and eight of the chair assembly, I realized I didn’t have everything I needed. This realization also came when Malcolm Geer, Glendale’s best math teacher, showed up in my doorway with a basket of squash as a welcome-back gift.
“I am,” I grit out, wobbling as my pantyhose slide against the cold metal of the seat.
“Why didn’t you just ask Bill?” I hear him step closer.
“Why don’t you ask Bill?” I counter, stretching my arm as far as it’ll go. I keep a spare tool kit in the top of my art closet. Though, it’s not my closet anymore, but I’m positive there’s a socket wrench buried in there somewhere.
“Someone’s feisty.”
I whip around to glare at him, slipping on my heels and pitching backward. He lunges forward, bracing a foot on the bottom rung of the stool to steady it. I plant my hand on his head for momentum and desperation, shoving off enough to finally snag the bag off the shelf.
“You’re welcome.”
That’s all he says as I hop down and brush off my skirt. He’s already out the door before I have my shoes back on.
Ellie and Benny, who are hovering over a ginormous flower arrangement that was definitely not on the premises earlier, flick their gazes to us as Malcolm asks, “Any other plans to nearly kill yourself today?”
This is not the kind of question you ask around my sister. This topic, and anything regarding mental health in general, is serious to her. So of course her eyes go wide, like blaring spotlights now pinned on me.
Malcolm clocks the reaction and takes the opportunity to put me on trial. “This woman is scaling walls her first week back.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I’m telling you,” he continues. “She’ll be on the roof tomorrow if we’re not careful.”
“Malcolm, could you…” I swat at him, but he just towers over me. His gruff beard bristles as he twists his mouth, deciding whether to listen to me or go against authority.
I shouldn’t be surprised when he chooses the latter.
“I think we should put her in one of those bubble things,” he says, and I can’t tell if it’s a genuine suggestion or sarcasm. I’ve never been able to read this guy.
