Page 65 of Devious Secrets

“Hi. You have an appointment?” The receptionist smiles warmly when I step up to the desk. Most doctor’s offices I’ve been in have glass surrounding the reception area, but not here. Everything here is so inviting and warm.

“Hey, Julie.” Elana leans her elbow on the desk. “I called about an hour ago and Dr. Simons said he’d squeeze my friend in real quick?”

Julie’s eyes warm when she sees Elana.

“Oh, hi. Didn’t see you. Sure. I’ll let them know you’re here.”

I pull my purse up onto the desk and grab my wallet.

“I’m a new patient; you’ll need my insurance card, right?” I try to hand it to her, but she glances at Elana, then shakes her head.

“No, hun. No need.”

“Oh. Forms?” I try.

She smiles again. “Nope. Just have a seat. They’ll call you back in a sec.”

“C’mon.” Elana tugs on my arm and we find two chairs near the clinic door.

“I don’t want your brother paying for this,” I tell her as soon as we’re seated.

“He won’t even know he’s paying. This is my doctor. Don’t worry so much.” She pats my arm and pulls out her phone again.

The door to the clinic opens. “Megan Reed?”

I glance up at the other patients in the room who have been waiting and heat rushes to my cheeks as I get to my feet. There’s no need to rush me in; it’s not an emergency.

“I’ll wait here. Don’t worry, he’s a good guy. Just tell him what you need.” Elana pushes my hip when I’m still standing there with guilt pouring through me. I don’t need special treatment, and these women have been waiting.

“It’ll just be a few minutes. Go on.” Elana pushes me again and I finally move.

The clinic feels more like someone’s home than a doctor’s office. Instead of the white storage cabinets I’ve seen in medical offices, there are soft chestnut-stained wood cabinets like you’d see in someone’s home. Even the exam room is more like a bedroom. The bed is the same as I’m used to in a gynecologist office, but instead of the crisp white paper drawn across it, there’s a fitted sheet.

“Dr. Simons will be in shortly; he’s just finishing next door.” The nurse points to the magenta robe folded neatly at the end of the exam table. “If you’d like him to do a full exam, go ahead and put on the robe, it ties in front.”

“Oh, do I need that in order to get birth control?”

“Not necessarily. Have you had an exam in the last three years?”

I nod. “In February.” It’s a horrible birthday present to myself, but it’s the easiest way to keep from forgetting.

“Then you can probably skip it. Can I get you anything while you wait? Water? Coffee?”

Water or coffee? At the doctor’s office?

I slowly shake my head.

“No. Thanks, though.”

She smiles and steps out, closing the door behind her.

I’m barely seated in the chair beside the desk before there’s a knock on the door and it swings open. The doctor, a middle-aged man with thick black-rimmed glasses, saunters in, grinning.

“Megan Reed. It’s nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand and I’m back to my feet, shaking it. “Sit. Sit.” He waves me back into the chair, then takes a seat at the desk, swinging the computer screen in front of him, and starts typing away.

“Have you ever been on birth control before?” he asks as he continues to type. “I don’t see anything here in your history.”

My history? How can he have my medical records already? I haven’t told anyone how to get them.

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