Page 51 of First Love, Second Draft

“Oh, hey.” Matt snapped his finger as if just remembering, even though it was all he’d been thinking about. “Maybe you can help me out with a situation. One of the dialysis nurses and I have been playing phone tag.” Kind of true. “About a, um, question.” Not quite astrue. “Regarding my grandpa’s dialysis.” Not true at all. “Could you by chance find out if she’s working today?”

The phone rang and the clerk held up a finger so she could answer first.

Matt hadn’t seen Rachel since they’d eaten pizza and painted her living room walls three nights ago like a couple of good friends. He’d offered to help again the past two nights, since she mentioned wanting to redo the popcorn-style ceilings, but she brushed him off. Said she had other plans.

Which was fine. Good friends are certainly allowed to have other plans, even if those plans are vague, and the good friend sees no need to elaborate on said vague plans.

But it was kind of weird she hadn’t responded to any of his texts lately. The particularly hilarious meme he sent earlier this afternoon deserved anlolresponse at the very least.

The unit clerk finished her call and returned her attention to Matt. “If it’s Rachel you’re asking about, I can tell you right now that she’s not here. Buck already asked me to request her for his dialysis session this afternoon, but she called in. Sick, I guess.”

“Mono.” Nurse Ratched-slash-Wanda popped her head out from behind a computer. “Heard it’s going around bad on the fourth floor. At least that’s what the X-ray tech told our dietician the other day. If that’s the case, she won’t be back for a while. Took me a month to get over it when I had it in high school. Of course that was back in the Middle Ages. People probably bounce back quicker these days without all the bloodletting.”

“Nah,” another nurse carrying a pile of linens on her way past said. “When I ran down to grab a drink from the cafeteria earlier, I’m pretty sure I overheard one of the dialysis nurses at the salad bar say something about being short-staffed today because one of their nurses was having real bad neck pain. I just hope it’s not meningitis.”

Meningitis? That sounded worse than the mono. Matt dug out his phone. “Has anyone checked on her?”

“She’s okay.” One of the techs, a young woman with pink-streakedhair and a tattoo sleeve on her right arm took the linens from the nurse. “She probably just got a little roughed up is all.”

“What?” Matt whipped to face the tech, knocking a pen holder off the counter with his elbow. He scrambled to pick up the scattered pens.

“Yeah, one of the night shift phlebotomists who’s good friends with the dialysis unit manager’s daughter knows the guy who used to date Rachel’s sister and works at that bar up in Rock Island.”

Matt was going to need a corkboard with pictures and strings like they used on old detective shows to keep following this conversation. “Wait, are you talking about Ace?”

As he recalled, Rachel had never been impressed with any of her sister’s boyfriends, but she seemed to especially detest Ace. Or rather, Stupid Face Ace, as she liked to call him.

The tech nodded. “That’s the one. Guess he showed up out of the blue in Florida, begging Rachel’s sister to take him back. She did. Then of course he started sweet-talking her for money. Before Rachel knew it, her sister somehow dipped into her account too. Ace pretty much wiped them both out, then hit the road. That’s the whole reason Rachel moved back to this area. She’s been wanting to track him down. Heard she finally did a few nights ago.”

“What happened?” Matt was almost afraid to ask.

“Nothing happened,” Wanda said. “That’s one hundred percent gossip and all hearsay. Now stop spreading rumors and get back to work.”

The tech offered a shrug on her way past Matt. “Just saying what I heard, that’s all.”

“I still vote it’s meningitis,” the other nurse muttered, heading the opposite direction.

“Well, I’m telling you it’s mono,” Wanda said from behind her computer. “Heard it straight from the on-call chaplain that the kissing disease was wreaking havoc once again. But whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll bounce back. Nothing to worry about.”

Too late for that. Matt shot Rachel a text.Hey, sort of worried you’redead again. Can you please respond with proof of life before I knock your door off its hinges?

A cafeteria worker pushing a dining cart rumbled past. Matt took that as his cue to go find his grandpa. He’d been making it a habit lately to visit him around suppertime in hopes of encouraging him to do more than just push food around on his plate.

“What’s got you down in the dumps?” his grandpa asked a few minutes later in between bites.

“I’m not down in the dumps.”

“You’re definitely down in the dumps,” Shorty said from the other side of the curtain. “Could hear it the moment your feet hit the tiles.”

Matt’s grandpa lifted his fork in a “there you have it” motion.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Matt shrugged and opened his grandpa’s milk carton for him. “I’m totally fine.”

“Oh boy,” his grandpa said, dropping his fork on the plate.

“Three ‘fines’ in three seconds.” Shorty clucked his tongue. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“What happened? The animal shelter go belly-up or something?” This from his grandpa.

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