Page 74 of Serving the Maestro

“Sorry, Jazz. You have a call on line two. It’s a nurse from your doctor’s office. They weren’t able to get through on your phone.”

Frowning, I looked at my phone, then sighed as I realized I’d never turned the do not disturb feature off from last night. I’d gone to bed early and set the app for a manual turn-off instead of auto.

“Thanks, CeCe.”

She smiled. “No problem. Want me to close the door on my way out?”

Muting the music on my phone, I nodded. Once she was gone, I sucked in a desperate breath, my lungs already squeezing shut on me.

There was only one doctor’s office that would be calling right now. It made perfect sense that my hand shook a little when I picked up the phone, just as it was normal that my throat felt tight, right?

“This is Jazz.”

“Hello, Jazz. This is Dr. Doucette.”

“Oh...I...well, I thought it would be a nurse calling.” I pushed my hair back, then crossed my free arm over my belly. I felt like I was about to come apart inside.

“I’m sorry. Several of your employees might recognize my name since I’ve been in the office before to thank you and Cam for your donations to the clinic. I wanted to protect your privacy.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

“I’m calling about your test results.” She paused, then asked softly, “Is this a good time to talk?”

I had the insane urge to yell no, toss the phone down and run out of the office. The saying ignorance is bliss had to come from somewhere.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Well, the first thing—your bloodwork and all the tests for any possible STI—sexually transmitted infection—came back clear. I know you mentioned seeing a condom, but it’s still good news that these tests came back clean. We’ll need to do follow-ups as discussed, and you need to continue the medication regimen—unless you think you want to find a way to have the man who assaulted you tested. If he’s clean, chances are you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll take the meds for now,” I said in a weak voice. Just thinking about seeing Roger made me want to hurl.

“Alright. Just keep in mind, we’ll have to rescreen.”

“Yes.” I licked my lips and found them painfully dry. “I know. About the...other stuff?”

“Yes, the drug screens.” She sighed, a world of weary resignation in the sound. “I’m afraid it’s as I’d suspected. Both bloodwork and the results from the urinalysis were clear. I’m afraid just too much time passed before we could take the labs.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Now, none of that,” she said, voice firm. “You are not to blame for any of this.”

“If I’d come in sooner...”

“Honey, some drugs are metabolized so fast, if you sleep even just a few hours, we can miss it. None of this is on you. The blame lies with him.”

“If he drugged me,” I muttered. How was I supposed to cope with not knowing? My mind tried to spiral away—that question circling through my thoughts, again and again. Focus! Listen to the doctor!

It helped, the soothing rhythm of her voice anchoring me to the here and now. It wouldn’t last. In the back of my mind, a storm was growing, and had been growing ever since waking in Roger’s bed. But I was scared of that storm, and the emotions, afraid to let myself feel all that misery and hurt and betrayal.

So I listened to Dr. Doucette.

“Whether you were drugged or simply inebriated doesn’t change the fact that he assaulted you. If you were so out of it that you couldn’t recall the night’s events the following morning, you weren’t in any condition to consent. And he likely knows it. I’m sorry we can’t give you the closure that comes with definitive answers, but there is nothing you did wrong.”

Tears burned my eyes, and her compassion made the knot in my throat even worse. “Thank you, Dr. Doucette. I’ll work on telling myself that.” With a tired, watery laugh, I said, “Logically, I get it. But logic and what I feel inside...”

“They don’t always see eye to eye, do they? Listen, I can’t tell you how to proceed from here, but talking to somebody, whether a group or a private counselor, does help. If you decide that’s what you want, call me, and I’ll recommend someone.”

After another minute or two of quiet conversation, I hung up. Once I no longer had the doctor’s voice as a distraction, I sucked in air and spun away from my desk, leaning forward as the pain inside threatened to double me over.

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