A Curve in the Road(42)

I get out of the car and watch him slide Winston out of the van on a gurney. He hands me the keys to the clinic. “Would you mind unlocking the door?”

“Sure.” I lead the way while he wheels Winston across the paved lot.

A moment later, we enter the treatment area at the back. Dr. Payne switches on the lights and computers. He rolls Winston on the gurney toward a bank of white cabinets and locates what he needs to take a blood sample. Next, he takes Winston into a small digital-imaging room and turns on the x-ray machine.

“Can I do anything to help?” I ask at the door.

“No, I’ve got this,” he replies. “But if you’d like a cup of coffee, feel free to help yourself.” His hands are busy, so he tosses his head to gesture toward a door beyond the row of computers. “There’s a small staff room right through there.”

“Great. Would you like a cup too?”

“That would be great.”

Happy to feel useful, I remove my coat, set my purse down on a chair, and head into a small, newly renovated lunchroom with a stainless-steel fridge, a stove, contemporary white cupboards, and an antique pine table with four chairs. The coffee maker is one of those Keurig machines, so it’s easy to find everything and make two cups.

I peek my head out the door and see that Dr. Payne has already finished in the x-ray room. Winston is resting quietly on the gurney beside him while he sits on a stool and works with the blood samples he just took.

“Dr. Payne, do you take cream or sugar?”

“Black is fine,” he replies. “And call me Nathan.”

“Nathan.”

I return to the coffee maker and brew a second cup, and then I carry both mugs out to the main treatment area and set his down beside him.

“Thanks.” Seeming intensely focused, he takes a quick sip, then wheels his stool to a computer workstation and begins typing. “Would you like to see the x-rays?”

“I’d love to.”

I move closer to stand over his shoulder.

“Everything looks good to me,” I say, bending forward to look more closely. “What do you think?”

Nathan sips his coffee. “I don’t see any issues. But I still want to monitor that infection and see how he responds to the antibiotics. I’d like to keep him overnight.”

“Sure,” I reply. “But . . . should I stay as well?”

“You don’t have to.”

I glance over at Winston on the gurney. “I know, but I’d rather not leave him, and to tell you the truth, I’d prefer not to go home just yet.”

Nathan swivels around on his chair and looks up at me. “Is everything okay at home?”

I don’t know how to answer the question—how to tell him that I’m afraid to face my son because I’m keeping a secret from him and I’m a terrible liar. I’m afraid he’ll know that I’m hiding something.

Nathan stares at me for a few seconds, then bows his head and shakes it. “I’m sorry. That was a dumb question. Of course everything’s not okay. You just lost your husband.”

In more ways than one.

Still not sure how to respond, I turn and approach Winston. I stroke his head and rub behind his ears. “It wasn’t a dumb question.”

I hear Nathan rise from his chair. He circles around the gurney to stand on the opposite side, with Winston between us.

“I know what it’s like,” he says, “when everyone keeps telling you that they’re sorry for your loss or that it’ll get easier in time. There’s nothing anyone can say, really.”

I glance up. “Have you lost someone?”

“My wife,” he replies. “Three years ago.”

My head draws back slightly. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I shake my head at myself. “There it is again. That word. Sorry.”

“If I only had a dime . . . ,” he says.

“For every time you heard it.” I let out a sigh. “Me too, and it’s been less than a week since . . .”

I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence, so I don’t. I just leave it there, hanging in the air between us.

“And you have children?” I remember Ruby mentioning something about him needing to pick up one of his daughters at school the last time I was here.

“I have two girls,” he explains. “Twelve and nine.”

“Who’s taking care of them now?”

“My parents,” he replies. “This is their house.” He gives me a playful, sheepish grin. “Yes, I’m a grown man who lives with his parents.”

I return the smile. “Well, there are worse places you could be. Did you grow up in Lunenburg?”

“Yes.”

“Did we know each other?” I ask. “Because I grew up here too. What year did you graduate from high school?”

“Ninety-seven.”

“Ah. I was there before your time. I graduated in 1991.”

He nods and pats Winston.

“Was your wife from here as well?” I ask.

“No, we met at vet school in Toronto. We opened a clinic there together, and that’s where we were living when she got sick.”

I glance up at him, wondering . . .

“Breast cancer,” he tells me.