Page 103 of Beyond the Stroke

As I wait, I stare at the muscular system chart on the wall of the doctor’s exam room I’m sitting in. The human body sure has a lot of muscles. The chart makes me think of Rory and his sculpted physique. I scan over the laminated chart.Yep, he’s definitely got that muscle…and that one.

I’d felt them all the night he wrapped his arms around me on the couch.

This morning, I’d been thankful Rory was already gone to practice when I woke up to walk the dogs. I’ve been keeping a bit of distance since the storm last week—the night I buried my hands in his hair.

That moment’s been replaying in my mind more than I’d like to admit. I haven’t touched him like that since, not because I don’t want to, but because I want totoo much.

After the walk, I spent the rest of the morning painting. The memory of the thunderstorm, the wildness of the rainand the tension between us, still lingers in my mind and my brushstrokes.

The door opens, pulling me from my thoughts. The nurse pops her head into the exam room. “Mrs. Shields, your husband is here.”

“Rory?” I question as if I need to confirm which husband she’s referring to.

“Your husband,” she confirms.

“Right.”

“Would you like him to join you?” Her smile is pleasant and easygoing. I’m sure this is a regular occurrence, husbands supporting their wives at the doctor.

I glance down at the paper gown I’m wearing.

Absolutely not.

But I keep that answer to myself because I don’t think that’s a normal response.

“Did he say if he needs something?” I ask.

“Just a minute.” She closes the door. While I wait for her return, I swing my legs, my heels bouncing off the metal exam table below me.

A minute later, she’s back.

“He has some questions for the doctor.”

“What kind of questions?” I ask.

The nurse sighs. “Just a moment.”

Her pleasantry appears to be waning with each round of telephone, so I motion her back.

“You know what, never mind. Just send him back.”

A minute later, there’s a knock on the door, and it opens with Rory standing behind the nurse.

“Hey.”

I’ve seen him freshly showered nearly a dozen times now. That seems to be his typical state of being, but it never gets old. His thick tousled hair half damp while I can still see the lightimprint of goggle marks around his eyes. If I leaned into him, I’d get a whiff of his eucalyptus body wash and the faint hint of chlorine. Finding myself shifting in his direction, I pull back until my spine is stick straight.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Moral support.” He grins. “And I realized I don’t know much about your asthma, so I thought it would be best to educate myself. You know, since we’re married now.”

“That’s why you’re here?” I ask, annoyed he came all this way for something I could easily explain. “I can tell you anything you need to know.”

“That’s true, but you are the person who didn’t think filling your inhaler was important, so forgive me if I want to hear the answers from a professional.” He combs a hand over the top of his hair, and I watch in amazement how the bicep in his arm flexes so fluidly.

That one is especially well developed.

Refusing to be distracted, my brain refocuses on his words.

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