Chapter 17
Elina
Clara hands me a steaming cup of coffee. "What do you think of having it outside?" she suggests.
I accept the cup with a grateful nod and glance out the window. The sky actually looks inviting, and when I ran to the doctor's office this morning, it was warmer than the previous days. "Hopefully, the cold weather is finally behind us," I remark.
Her amused laughter reaches my ears. "This is Semmtal, have you forgotten?"
How could I? Every single morning, the cheerful chirping of birds outside my cottage reminds me that there's nothing but nature here. "Then let's at least enjoy the warmth now."
We walk together to the back exit and settle into the folding chairs. I tilt my face toward the sun. It's just warm enough that I don't feel cold even though I'm only wearing my doctor's coat over my clothes.
"Tell me"—Clara's voice holds a hint of curiosity—"why did you dress up today?"
"I didn't," I hastily reply, perhaps a bit too quickly. I pretend everything is normal and take a sip of my coffee. I've already grown accustomed to its bland taste.
In the corner of my eye, I notice Clara studying me. "Right. Those glittery earrings I see on you every daymatch the color of your eyes exactly. And you always have your hair styled in the Jennifer Aniston look."
I raise my hand to stop her. I don't need her to point out that I chose shoes with heels and a particularly form-fitting pair of pants. I've been berating myself about it all day long. I should have refrained, but this morning, I just couldn't resist. "I just felt like a change."
Internally, I pray she accepts my answer. Even without her probing questions, I'm nervous enough. My pulse has been racing all day, my hands feel sweaty, and I could hardly concentrate on the last patient with the worryingly large mole.
"Mm-hmm." Clara makes a sound and finally averts her gaze from me. She calmly sips her coffee. "And it surely has nothing to do with your upcoming appointment?" she asks.
"Which appointment?" I manage a good shrug, but my tone leaves much to be desired. It's way too squeaky. I need to get that under control.
A diabolical grin spreads across her face, but at least she doesn't say anything.
Hastily, I finish my cup and stand from the chair. "We should get back to work."
With wobbly knees, I walk back into the practice. As I open the door to the examination room, my heart gallops as if I've just raced against Mr. Bold himself.
"Your behavior is so inappropriate," I scold myself with a sharp tone as I take a seat at the desk and turn my attention to the computer. "Think about the firefighter."
To refocus on what truly matters, I pull up Noah's blood test results, which arrived this morning from the laboratory in Innsbruck. The inflammation markers,cholesterol, and red blood cells are within the normal range, but the white blood cell count is significantly elevated. This could have various causes, which we will investigate further. The low platelet count also concerns me.
I took his blood sample immediately after his accident. The most obvious explanation is the blood loss from the wound, but it could also indicate cancer, rheumatism, or a simple vitamin deficiency. Last, the low lymphocyte count puzzles me. It suggests a severely weakened immune system. Several illnesses could be behind it, but it could also be a stress reaction to the accident.
Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to take his blood during the treatment of his injury, but he left me no choice.
With a frustrated sigh, I turn to the intercom. Before pressing the button, I clear my throat and do a little vocal test. I can't afford to sound like I did earlier when I explained to Clara that nothing special was happening today.
"Noah, please come to treatment room two," I attempt a neutral tone, yet my words come out softer than usual. And as I release the button, my fingers tremble. Quickly, I intertwine them together.
Just a few more seconds until he steps through that door over there. Hastily, I position myself in a pose that looks completely natural. Hopefully.
Seconds pass without any movement. Then I hear footsteps in the hallway.
He's coming.
Once again, I check my voice. "Hi, Noah. Nice to see you've come," I say for practice.
No croaking. Very good.
I'm totally cool. Nothing can shake me.
The footsteps get closer, only to immediately become quieter again.
