Page 3 of Capricorn Blessed

“Long day, huh?” asked Dennis, heading straight to the coffeepot and filling a large styrofoam cup.

“What makes you say that?” I ask. “And you really should bring a mug to leave up here. You get coffee every shift. It would be better for the planet if you bring in something reusable.”

He chuckles and moves to the couch to sit.

“Join me? Or do you have to race off to another patient?”

“I’ve got time,” I say, carrying my mug over and settling onto the couch. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“And what would that be?” he asked with a smirk.

“What made you say it was a long day?” I ask again.

“Your mug,” he nods toward it as I take a sip and feel my muscles relaxing. “You only ever pull that one out when you need an extra lift in the day. You are too worried about people seeing it and complaining about it to be an everyday mug. You are also already making tea before lunch. Most days, you wait until the afternoon to have a cup while you’re finishing your charts.”

I stare at him for a few seconds, shocked at how many details he’s noticed about me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

I take another sip while debating the best thing to say.

“It was just a bad dream,” I shrug. “It shouldn’t be affecting me, but I woke up early, and I’m struggling to keep my eyes when I’m not with a patient.” I take a deep pull from the mug, draining half its contents.

“What did you dream about that kept you from going back to sleep? It had to be something pretty awful to shake you up.”

“It was just...” I trail off. “I can’t really remember anymore. It was more of a feeling than anything else. Like something was after me. Was chasing me and was going to turn my life upside down.” I shake my head. “But now I’m sounding like I’m losing it, and I have my next appointment arriving in a few minutes.” I empty my mug, rinse it out, and put it back in my locker before heading to the door.

“Sierra,” Dennis calls softly, “You don’t sound like you’re losing anything. We can’t control our dreams or what happened to us when we were children. I know I’m a work friend, but if you ever need an ear to listen, I’m here. We could grab dinner or drinks after work or just go for a walk around the city. Just know you don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to.”

I swallow hard and rein my emotions in. I nod slightly in acknowledgment and push my way out the door.

I walk to the waiting room and look around, forcing a smile to my face as my eyes land on a familiar woman sitting in the corner.

“Mrs. Simmons, how are you today?” I walk closer as she uses her cane to stand up.

“I’m hanging in there like a hair in a biscuit, Dr. Lopez,” Mrs. Simmons answers as we slowly start to shuffle toward the treatment room.

I stifle a laugh as I look at the old lady who I wish could have been my grandmother. “I have no idea what that means,” I tell her.

“Mrs. Simmons, you know we are here to help you. Despite the surgery, you’ll still keep all your commitments, even during the week you’re supposed to rest.”

She smiles and shrugs. “Your life distracts me from all the torture you put me through.”

“It’s not torture,” I say, pushing open the door to the treatment room. “It’s physical therapy. Now, let’s start over there.” I point to where a foam pad is sitting in the corner. “Climb up and try to balance. I’ll toss some balls for you to catch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” huffs Mrs. Simmons. “You explain it like we haven’t been doing the same thing for weeks now.”

“Well, prove you can do it and we will work on getting rid of the cane. How does that sound?” I ask sitting on a rolling chair and picking up a foam ball. “Ready?”

“Of course, put her here,” calls Mrs. Simmons.

I toss the ball, and she easily catches it, lobbing it back at me.

“Is that the best you’ve got, Doctor? You know I played college softball. I can take more than that!”

“Please be careful,” I say, moving closer as she starts trying to pick up the left. “College was a while ago for both of us. But we can move on to the rails if you would prefer.”

“I would prefer,” she says, stepping off the block and stumbling slightly.

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