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1028 Words
f**k. This isn’t how I wanted this interrogation to go.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhale hard, and close my eyes. When I open them, Stavros is staring at me like he’s been washed overboard in a raging storm, and I’m the lifejacket someone’s about to throw him.
Which I am.
Trying not to sound as depressed as I feel, I say, “All right, boyo. It’s your lucky day. Let’s make a deal.”
20
Sloane
“W
ait, Nancy. Start over. What is it called again?”
“Immunoglobulin A deficiency. IgA for short. It’s a genetic condition passed down from your parents.”
Breathe in for a count of four. Hold for a count of four. Exhale for a count of four. “But I don’t feel sick. Other than this stupid brain clot, I feel fine. I’m in perfect health. I have no symptoms of illness.”
“Most people with the condition have no symptoms.”
“Is there a cure?”
“No.”
Great. I have an incurable disease. At least a pregnancy would be over in nine months. “So what is it, exactly? What am I dealing with?”
“IgA is an antibody that’s part of your immune system. When you’re lacking it, you’re more prone to getting infections. The condition also seems to play a role in asthma, allergies, and autoimmune disorders.”
Confused, I frown at her. “I don’t get infections. And I don’t have asthma, allergies, or an autoimmune disorder. Or any other disorder that I’m aware of, except an unusual affinity for kale.”
She says casually, “Oh, only one in four people who have an IgA deficiency develop any health issues. It’s a silent condition that doesn’t cause any problems for most.”
I can’t be hearing this right. Didn’t she just tell me I had an incurable disease? “It doesn’t cause problems for most people?”
“Correct.”
“But if it does cause problems, I’m looking at stuff like…allergies?”
“Possibly, yes. Or more frequent colds, things like that. And, as in the case of your false-positive pregnancy test, it can interfere with certain blood tests.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
My voice rises. “So it’s not going to kill me?”
Nancy is shocked. “Goodness, no.”
Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “Do you think you could’ve started with that?”
“I’m sorry, I thought I did.”
“No, Nancy. No, you did not. You were all ‘incurable’ this and ‘genetic condition’ that. I thought I had cancer!”
“You don’t have cancer.” She pauses. “At least at the moment.”
“Okay, we really need to work on your bedside manner.”
“I’m simply trying to be medically accurate. At this moment, you don’t have cancer.”
“But if I did, it wouldn’t be caused by the IgA thing, right?”
“Right.”
When I don’t respond and only sit staring at her, she turns and quietly leaves the room.
I lie down on the bed, my central nervous system in overdrive. Between the brain bleed, the pregnancy scare, and Nancy’s inept delivery of the news about the IgA, I’ve got an excess of adrenaline flooding my system. Still, I somehow manage to fall asleep.
When I wake hours later, sunshine is streaming through the windows, and Declan is sitting in the chair beside my bed.
Staring at me with a strange, unwavering intensity.
Yawning, I prop myself up against the pillows and squint at him. “You okay?”
He makes a noise of disbelief and shakes his head.
“What?”
“You’re the one in the hospital bed, and you’re asking me if I’m okay.”
“Because you’re the one with a face like someone just told you your grandma died. What’s up?”
“It’s almost time for your next CT scan.”
“Nice try. What’s wrong, Declan?”
He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chair. “Nothing’s wrong, lass.”
“Then why are you hiding from me?”
“I’m not hiding from you. I’m sitting three feet away.”
“Don’t be a jackass. You know what I’m saying.”
He sighs heavily. “I never know what you’re saying. All I hear is an awful noise that does my head in.”
Worried, I stare at him. Though he won’t admit it, I know something’s wrong. He seems different. Depressed. Not his usual hair-trigger-temper, rigged-to-explode self.
“How long have you been sitting there?”
“Dunno. A few hours.”
“Were you able to sleep at all?”
“No.”
“Do you want to switch?” When he cracks open an eye to look at me questioningly, I point to the bed. “I can take the chair for a while if you’d like to get some rest.”
He opens the other eye and lifts his head. Now I’ve got two icy blue orbs glaring at me with piercing animosity.
Bizarrely, that makes me feel better. I smile. “Ah, look. The charmer has returned. Is it hard, living with all those different mean personalities in one body? Must get tense in there. Like an overcrowded prison.”
“Why the bloody hell are you worried about me? I’m your kidnapper.”
He seems really invested in the answer, so I think about it for a moment while he busies himself with trying to burn my face off with his stare. “Hmm. It’s not because I like you, because we’ve already established I don’t.”
He reminds me scathingly, “The feeling is mutual.”
“Exactly. How could you like someone who looks like a camel and smells like regurgitated grass? Unless you’re one of those weirdos who are into animals. You know. Sexually.”
I send him a look that implies I wouldn’t put b********y past him. He sends me a look back that could liquefy steel.
- Writer
