Page 113 of The Lies I've Told
“You’re only thirty-three.” Jake blurted out. “ Age related macular degeneration doesn’t usually start until mid-forties, if not later.”
I nodded. “Pretty shitty luck, huh?”
The nurse had already begun typing.
“Can you give us a minute?” Jake asked.
“Sure,” she replied. “I can finish typing this at the nurses’ station. The doctor should be around shortly.”
“Great.” Jake waited for her to leave, before he turned his attention back toward me.
“How long have you known? Does Millie know?”
I sat up in the uncomfortable ER bed, doing my best to hold my arm against my chest. “My vision started to change a few years ago. I just chalked it up to getting older,” I said. “That, or Karma.”
“Karma?”
“My brother is a ophthalmologist,” I explained. “A bloody good one, too. He would constantly badger me to come into his practice and get my eyes checked—preventative eye health and all that—but I always told him I was fine and ignored him. Finally, when it got bad enough—”
“How bad?” he asked, his arms folded across his chest. I wasn’t sure if he was asking as a friend or a doctor.
“Blurry spots in my vision,” I explained, “Sometimes, what I’d see as wavy lines were actually straight. Stuff like that. I went in to see James, asking if I might need a pair of readers—you know, those silly little things you pick up in a drugstore?”
He nodded, looking slightly put out. “I know what readers are. Half of my patients wear them.”
“Right, of course. Well, apparently, what he saw he didn’t like. He ran me through a bunch of tests, none of which turned out good. He said my parents must have had it too—which probably contributed to why I got it so early on—the bastards.”
“And my other question?” he pressed.
“No, she doesn’t know.”
“Know what?” Millie’s voice caused me to jump.
Both of us turned to see her stepping into the small room as I felt a bit of panic come on.
Not like this.
Not yet.
“That Aiden wants you to call his brother,” Jake intervened.
I let out a sigh of relief. Not quite the lie I would have chosen, but it was good enough.
“Oh!” Her spirits seemed to perk up.
Jake gave me a look that said I owed him and also one that said he wanted to kill me simultaneously.
I got it. Really, I did.
“Well, why didn’t you just say so? Of course I can call him. Hand over your cell,” she suggested.
“Actually,” I said, “if you could just dial, I think I’d like to tell him. Maybe you could get me some ice chips.”
“Absolutely.” She seemed to like being useful, a common symptom of guilt.
Not that she had anything to feel guilty about, but I knew it helped soothe the ache in her chest.
Taking my phone from my shorts pocket, she found my brother’s phone number and tapped the screen, the phone ringing almost immediately.
