Page 20 of Keeping It Professional

Sophie knocked, and Katrina opened the door. She looked fine, same as always, good color. Clear eyes. Sophie smiled, wide and bland.

“So, you’re experiencing some dizziness?”

Katrina swayed, though till now she’d been standing steady. She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Could I sit down?”

“Yeah, of course. On the couch over there?”

Katrina went to the kitchen instead of the couch, and sat herself down at the dining table. She put her head in her hands, then sat up straight.

“I was just in the shower,” she said. “I got really dizzy. And my vision was blurry when I got out. I heard that could be a sign of MS?”

I choked back a snort. MS was a new one. And who called an ambulance for signs of MS?

“That could be a lot of things.” Sophie pulled out her blood pressure cuff. “Have you eaten today? Been staying hydrated?”

“I ate,” said Katrina. “Cold pasta salad. Could this be food poisoning? Or carbon monoxide?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out.” Sophie slipped the cuff on and pumped it up. Katrina watched, nervous, bouncing her knee. She peered up at me and her thin lips went tight. Sophie checked the readout and flashed her a smile.

“Pressure looks good. Hey, I love your fridge magnets.”

Katrina’s knee stilled. “My magnets?”

“Those cute little bumblebees. Did you make those yourself?”

I fought the impulse to roll my eyes — again with the small talk? But I’d promised myself I’d be more patient with Sophie. Let her feel her own way, when it was safe to do so. And Katrina’s kitchen was safe enough, no other calls waiting. No need to rush.

“I did make them,” said Katrina. “And the cookie jar, too. I used to sell them, but…”

“But not anymore?” Sophie pulled out her stethoscope. “Would you mind leaning forward?”

Katrina leaned forward. Sophie listened to her breathing. When she leaned back again, her smile was gone.

“I can’t do this,” she said.

Sophie smiled. “You did great. Are you still feeling dizzy, or?—”

“No, not that.” Katrina pushed her chair back. She got to her feet. “This is wrong. I can’t do this. I need… I need…”

“It’s all right,” said Sophie. She reached for her arm. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll finish?—”

“No!”

I started forward as Katrina slapped Sophie’s hand away, but she fell back immediately and hid her face in her hands.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. But I don’t need… I’m fine.”

“Did I do something to upset you?” Sophie took a step back. “You can tell me. It’s fine. I won’t get offended.”

“It’s not you,” said Katrina. “Just, please, please…”

“What’s wrong?”

I’d seen this before. I waved Sophie back. What we were witnessing was a sea change, Katrina hitting her breaking point and fighting through. She had something to tell us, something hard, something true, but if we spooked her, she’d lose her nerve.

“John made me stop,” she said. “John — that’s my husband. He saw me selling my magnets and my jars and my bowls, and saving up money, and he smashed all my stock. I don’t need an ambulance. I need the police.”

I pulled out my radio to alert dispatch. Sophie guided Katrina back to her seat. She seemed calmer now she’d got the words out, still breathing hard, but she sat without protest.

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