On the phone, Dr. Andrews had tried to sound calm. Most patients wouldn’t have been able to decipher such anxiety in the physician’s voice, but after being a patient of Dr. Andrews for nearly fifteen years, Tony could tell something was wrong.
The door opened. A small figured nurse called to a Ms. Ashland. Tony saw a young mother holding a child, asleep, in her arms. The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty-five Tony was sure. She reminded him of his own daughter. Small framed, high cheekbones, and dark brown hair; she was beautiful. He felt queasy all of a sudden.
As he waited for his name to be called from the tiny nurse, he tried to remember the last time he had seen his daughter. Surely it wasn’t two winters ago. He thought back. Yes, it must have been; this past Christmas she only sent a card which read: Dad, I can’t make it this year but I hope you have a great one. Gabe says hello. Love -Jackie.
He had been so happy to receive anything at all from her that he had totally negated the fact that she hadn’t mentioned the gifts he sent weeks in advance, just to be sure she received them in time for the holidays.
“Mr. Bingham, the doctor will see you now.”
© 2008 Lauren Dickerson