Page 60 of Loved By Tandy

“Dr. Drake wants me to call and get you scheduled for those, so when you’re here, you can let me know what days will work.”

“I’ll make anything work. The first available is best for me.”

“Okay. I’ll start scheduling. See you soon.”

I tuck the phone in my pocket and rub my face. If I’m going to make the appointment, I need to leave now. Without bothering to plaster on a smile, I step inside. “Sorry about that. Would you mind if I took my sandwich to go? I need to be somewhere.”

Tandy wraps the sandwich in parchment paper, then tucks it in a baggie. “Here you go. I’ll have my phone on me if you need anything.”

After pressing a kiss to her forehead, I hurry out the door. Maybe after the appointment, I’ll have a better idea of what I’m facing.

The last thingBernie said as he walked out of the exam room was “Don’t go looking up your symptoms on the internet. Let’s run the tests. Then we’ll know what’s going on.”

I’m currently sitting on my couch ignoring his advice. And I don’t like what I’m seeing. Tandy isn’t here, which I have mixed feelings about. She must be over at Matchmaker Ranch. I should probably be there too, but I just can’t.

I text the crew leaders to make sure work is progressing. Then I send Tandy a message, letting her know that I’m not feeling well and won’t be having dinner with her. We’d planned to grab barbecue tonight. Hopefully, she understands.

Then for the first time in decades—maybe ever—I crawl in bed before the sun goes down. If I’m going to research my symptoms on the internet, doing it in bed is much more comfortable.

Tandy makes more noise than a raccoon in a sack when she returns home, her not-so-subtle way of letting me know she’s here. It takes immense willpower to stay in bed when I really just want to hold her. More accurately, I want her to hold me.

Pans clank in the kitchen, and I give up my research to listen. What’s she making? Is she upset with me? When I finally come clean, will she understand why I’ve withdrawn?

An hour later, my internet research is interrupted by a tap on my door.

“Come in.” I’m not wearing a shirt, but she never seems to mind when I walk around the house without one.

She pushes open the door with a hip and carries a tray to the bed. “Dinner. I made that meatloaf you liked so much. And mashed potatoes. And sautéed green beans. There is a bottle of water for a drink. Napkins and silverware are on the tray as well. Is there anything else you want?”

“This looks amazing. Thank you.” I shift to a sitting position. “And an even bigger thank-you for not asking me what’s going on.”

She sets the tray in my lap, then moves the water to the bedside table. “You know where to find me most of the time. If you don’t, call me. I’ll be there when you want to talk.”

I nod, watching as she walks to the door. Just before she slips out, I say, “I love you, Tandy.”

The words tumble straight out of my heart and bypass my filter completely.

She stops in the doorway and waits a couple of heartbeats before looking back over her shoulder. “You must really like that meatloaf.” And then she leaves.

I pop in my earbuds and listen to a fishing podcast while I eat. But tonight, I’m barely listening. It’s like there is a huge countdown on the wall, and it feels dangerously close to zero.

After I finish eating, Tandy brings me another bottle of water, picks up my tray, and stands beside the bed. “Want tea?”

“Not tonight. I’m sorry about?—”

“None of that.”

“Let me talk. I’m sorry for my moodiness. I appreciate the meal, but you don’t have to do all this, Tandy.”

She sets the tray at the foot of the bed and rests her fists on her hips. “I know I don’t have to. I’m at a stage of my life where I mostly do only what I want. I avoid have-tos.” She lifts the tray and leaves.

I’ve been in bed for hours, but I haven’t slept. So I roll over and try to fall asleep on my other side.

But my brain has never been more awake. The worst scenarios play out in my head, and if this keeps up, I’ll never sleep again. I toss and turn, trying to block out all that I read. Maybe I should’ve followed Bernie’s advice. But I didn’t.

The light in the hallway goes off, which means Tandy is going to bed. I no longer want to sit in the dark alone, so I throw back my covers and tromp into her room.

She’s sitting up in bed, her readers resting on her nose as she reads a book. “Yes?”

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