He handed off the paperwork Jane was supposed to be doing, and Lois snatched it from his hand.
“I love you, Lois.”
She grumpily waggled her head back and forth at him. “I tolerate you better than most, George. How’s that for honesty?”
“Sounds about right,” he said with a smile.
His next patient was waiting for him, and he went in to see Arthur, a barrel of a man in his eighties who still enjoyed a good game of tennis every morning. In addition to his regular checkup, they always looked him over for skin cancer because of his history of it, and his love for being out in the sun.
“How are we today, Arthur?”
Arthur tugged at the gown he was wearing. “I’ve been better. There’s a spot on the side of my forehead, and I know you’re going to send me to the dermatologist, and they’ll send me somewhere else. Never get old, George.”
“It’s a trap,” they said together.
Arthur laughed. “You’ve heard this advice before, then?”
“My brother was talking about marriage, but that’s exactly the phrase he used.”
Arthur shook his head. “That’s a shame. Marriage shouldn’t be a trap. My Betsy was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“He was joking. His wife is the best thing that ever happened to him, and he’s the first to admit it when he’s in a serious mood.”
“Ahh. I understand.”
George tipped Arthur’s bald head forward a little and examined the skin there before looking at the side of his forehead where there was, indeed, the beginnings of a new skin cancer spot.
“To the dermatologist you go. Sorry, Arthur.”
Thankfully, there was nothing else wrong with him, except the dreaded news that it was time, once again, to go get a colonoscopy.
“You’re just full of good news, aren’t you?” Arthur teased as George handed him the forms to take with him.
“It’s all part of the job,” George said with a shrug.
“And we appreciate that. We really do.” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and left the office. Hopefully, Lois would be nicer to Arthur than the last patient who dared approach her desk.
George’s phone began vibrating with a call, which at this time of day usually meant either John or a telemarketer.
It was John.
“George, how would you feel about taking a few vacation days and going somewhere nice? And by nice, I mean to my house to watch my kids.”
“I love your kids, but even I wouldn’t consider that a vacation. Are you and Isabella trying to slip away for a few days before the baby comes?”
“Boy, I wish. Isabella’s been having contractions, and I’m getting worried. Mom planned to fly out a few days before the baby’s due date, but she can only take a week off work so I’m not sure yet whether to have her change her flight.”
“Well, in that case, I’d love a vacation with your kids.”
John laughed. “Sorry, I’m just trying to be prepared. This could be a false alarm, and if I need you and Mom’s not here, I’m sure you and Emma can coordinate schedules and make it work. Isabella’s calling Emma as we speak.”
That was not reassuring. He and Emma had watched Emmy when Johnny was born, but that was back when there were no weird feelings between them, and Emmy had been a model toddler. Johnny was a poster child for why moms were always tired.
Sharing babysitting duty meant they absolutely had to get things back to normal or at least get better at faking it. He thought about calling Emma, but like John said, this was probably worried planning that would not pan out. Isabella was only at thirty-two weeks if he was remembering correctly.
“Whatever you need, John. Just keep me posted.”
“Thank you, brother.”
