Page 39 of A Guardian for Christmas

I tell her, “I always travel during the summer. I typically come home in September. This year, I had planned an extended stay in Switzerland, through Christmas. But I was asked to leave the spa because I was scaring the other guests.”

The doctor doesn’t seem fazed. Sagan is on high alert next to me. Dr. Allen shines the light in my ear and then the other. “Scaring them how?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I would walk the halls, walk the grounds. At one point, I was so desperately out of it from lack of sleep that I walked out of a formal group dinner in nothing but a strapless gown. They found me shivering in the woods about twenty minutes later, lost and cold and disoriented.”

My eyes cut over to Sagan, who says nothing but squeezes my hand.

“Told you. I’m a handful.”

“What kind of medication is Dr. White giving you?” Dr. Allen asks.

To my surprise, Sagan produces three green prescription bottles from his pocket and hands them to Dr. Allen.

“Beta blockers… You should stay on these and we’ll do some tests,” she says. “If you don’t actually have heart disease, we’ll taper you off the blockers. In the meantime, get rid of all these herbal medications. Some of these are super contra-indicated and whoever gave them to you should know better. All of these, combined with the beta blockers, are causing you to see hallucinations.”

She asks for Dr. White’s contact information, and I provide her with everything I know, which is basically just his name and cell number.

Just then, Sagan’s phone lights up. I glance at the screen where he’s received a text from someone with a bunch of numbers for a name.

It reads, “Costco. One hour.”

I gasp. “There it is again. Dammit, what is Costco?”

This, of all things, gives Dr. Allen pause. “Really?’

Sagan laughs and kisses me on the forehead.

“That’s where we’re going to get some new Christmas ornaments for my tree, baby.”

I clap my hands. “Yay!”

Dr. Allen promises to be in touch, but I’m too excited for our next adventure.

Chapter Eighteen

Sagan

Esme’s eyes widen as we enter the busy parking lot full of Christmastime shoppers.

“My happy place,” I tell her as I find a spot far away from the worst of the traffic.

She smiles up at me as I let her out of the truck. “I like parking far away, too.”

Inside the store, she watches wide-eyed as I show the greeter my membership card.

“What is this place?” Esme says, touching everything, from cheap sweatpants to giant tubs of pickle relish.

“Oh my god, who needs this much toilet paper?”

“Schools. Offices. You’d be surprised.”

“This is amazing! Look at this! Can we get some?”

I laugh as Esme picks up a mammoth tub of cheese balls that could feed an army.

“Put it in the buggy, baby.”

“Yay!”

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