Page 26 of Puck Struck
Ethan chuckles. “You’re so old. An edit is like a spliced video set to music. The ones I saw were really cool. You looked like a beast on those skates, going for that goal.”
“He was so proud of you,” Tessa murmurs.
I nod. “It was a good night.”
All because of Cam. But I don’t say that.
We walk into the pediatric wing of the hospital about twenty minutes later and I’m instantly overcome by the strong scent of antiseptic cleaner. It’s so powerful, it burns my nasal passages. Hospitals always smell like something sterile and over-sanitized, like they’re trying to scrub out bad news and even worse memories. But you can’t disinfect fear. You can’t Lysol away the image of your nephew seizing in the back seat of your car while you scream his name and your hands won’t stop shaking because you don’t know if he’ll make it through the episode alive.
I pace the length of the exam room while Tessa sits in a chair next to Ethan and reviews her notes about his condition since the last appointment. A nurse comes in and draws his blood. The kid barely winces, he’s so used to being a pin cushion.
After she leaves, Ethan swings his legs off the edge of the exam table, tablet propped on his knees, dinosaur cartoonsplaying on the screen. He looks fine, sharp-eyed and talkative as always, but I’ve learned not to trust that. Looks can be deceiving. It’s the bloodwork that tells the truth, however bad it may be.
The longer it takes for someone to come in, the harder my heart thumps and the faster I pace. I can’t stop myself.
“They said it’s just a routine appointment,” she says, glancing up at me.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Routine. I know.”
Ethan doesn’t look up from his tablet. “Uncle Lo?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“Did you ever want to be a paleontologist?”
I stop mid-step. “A what?”
“You know. A dinosaur scientist.”
I laugh. “No, I was always more into slapshots than stegosauruses.”
He grins. “You’d be a cool dinosaur. Maybe a Logan-osaurus.”
“Ferocious, like a beast, right?” I say, smiling even though my heart feels like it’s being crushed in a vise.
“Definitely,” he says.
I sit down across from him, elbows on my knees, and let out a deep sigh. The silence stretches just like the minutes that feel like hours.
When the doctor finally walks in, my stomach free falls.
“Vitals look steady,” she says after doing his exam. She makes some updates to her iPad and then looks up with a smile. “We’ll send out his bloodwork and call with results in a few days.”
A few days.
That’s code forkeep holding your breath.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Tessa asks the right questions. She always does. The doctor says she has a validconcern about Ethan’s fatigue, but until the bloodwork comes back, they won’t know for sure if there’s an underlying issue. I stand against the wall and listen, knuckles white, shoulder screaming, heart somewhere between hope and a panic attack.
“Are you helping Mom at home? Cleaning your room? Doing your homework?” the doctor asks.
Ethan nods solemnly. “I do it all.”
We all share a chuckle over that. He might have gotten a little bit of the OCD thing from his uncle.
“Great job. I’m happy to hear that. You keep being good, okay?” The doctor tousles Ethan’s hair before stepping out. The door clicks shut and for a second, it’s just me and the sound of raptors screeching from a tablet.
On the way home, my phone pings with a text. I pull it out, furrow my brow at the message from Jack.
