Page 60 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
The fill-in nurse practitioner was kind of a bitch. I miss Josie, but she’s still out on maternity leave.
“Lottie?”
I close my eyes and count to ten. Walking into the Briar Patch in my pjs and slippers was a terrible idea, but I was hoping, just once, that Lady Luck would be on my side.
Hearing Winona Sharkton behind me is basically Lady Luck laughing in my face.
Winona and Herald have owned the Briar Patch for longer than I’ve been alive, and Winona’s family owned it before that. As the only store in town, they hold a monopoly.
“What in the heavens?” She gasps, then places a cool hand on my forehead. “Have you been to the clinic, dear?”
I try to step back but bump into a row of Band-Aids. “Yes, Mrs. Sharkton. Don’t get too close. I’m lucky enough to have strep and the flu.” The words are muffled through my medical mask. I’m so exhausted, I could cry.
“Herald, grab me a chair,” Mrs. Sharkton shouts across the store to her husband. Not a minute later, he shuffles down the narrow aisle with a chair. He would do anything for his wife, including dragging a chair into the middle of a walkway without questioning why.
Setting it down, he turns to me.
“Oh, Ms. Sinclair. You look dreadful.” Herald is a transplant from London with an affinity for tweed, which is why I’m certain they keep the air at an arctic sixty degrees in here.
Mrs. Sharkton gently guides me to the chair as Mrs. Perez rounds the corner.
“Lottie, dear, what’s happened?” She scurries toward me.
“Flu and strep, can you believe it?” Mrs. Sharkton says on my behalf.
The two women begin to squabble over the best way to nurse me back to health, and knowing it’ll take a while, I drop my chin and close my eyes.
“You rest. I’ll start a basket for you while the ladies…discuss.” Mr. Sharkton pats my shoulder, then shuffles away.
“Well, she can’t drive herself home in this condition.” Mrs. Perez clucks.
“I agree. Why these young folk refuse to ask for help is beyond me. It took a village before me, and it’ll take a village after me. One of these days, they’ll understand that.” Mrs. Sharkton tuts.
“I’ll be fine,” I mutter. No matter what I say, my immediate future is out of my hands, and I’m in no shape to fight it.
“Where’s that boyfriend of hers? Thought for sure he’d be out here doing her errands. He may need to work on his tone, but he was in here buying one of every feminine product we own in case Kara becomes a woman under his watch. Seems like this is something he’d take care of too.”
He what?Freaking Thane. How is it possible for someone to worm their way further into your heart with tampons?
“He doesn’t know.” I don’t bother lifting my head. Their disapproval coasts over me from a mile away.
“Now, why not?”
“Because I’m not a child, Mrs. Perez.” Shit. “Okay, I admit that sounded like a sulky teenager, but I assure you, I’m a grown woman capable of taking care of myself, sick or not.”
It might have more of an impact if I had opened my eyes during my little speech, but that seems like unnecessary effort right now.
“Pfft. Even grown-ups need their mamas once in a while.” Mrs. Sharkton pats my hair away from my face. It sticks in places, possibly from dried drool or sweat, but it doesn’t deter her from poking at me.
“I don’t remember much about my mom.” That’s the fever talking, and I snap my lips shut.
“Don’t you worry, Lottie. You’ve got lots of mamas now.” Mrs. Perez’s voice comes from a row or two over.
“What’s going on, Lottie?” Mr. Abboud shouts. “You in need of a mama?” His voice nears, and I rest my head against the pile of Band-Aids I knocked over. I’ll come back tomorrow and fix them.
“No, Mr. Abboud. I’m not feeling well.”
“Oh, I know just the thing. Just the thing. Hang tight, I’ll get you a basket. I’ll slip your mail into the basket too, so you don’t need to worry about anything.”
