Hourglass

My cheeks burned. I felt so stupid, for not having realized the situation we were in. Lucas’s pride must have tormented him every single day; he believed strongly in right and wrong. He did this job only because he thought he had to for us.

Gently I laid my hand on his. “I understand.”

“Wish I did, sometimes.” Lucas shook it off. “Listen, I know the rightful owner of that car deserves to have it back. But I’d bet a million bucks that he doesn’t need it back because he needs the cash to get medicine for someone he loves. If he knew that—if he knew how badly you need it—you think he might not be so angry?”

I nodded, blinking fast. I had become a burden, and we were becoming criminals. It hurt, but I had to face the consequences of our choices—and of my nature.

It turned out there was a free clinic at one of the local hospitals, so Lucas took a day off and went with me. The minute we walked in, we could see why it was free. Every chair in the waiting room was filled, some with old people who looked lonely and lost, others by entire families who seemed to have come together. Coughing echoed from every corner. Yellowed posters on the wall warned against various health risks and seemed way too focused on STDs.

I put my name at the end of a really long list, just some Xeroxed sheets on a battered old clipboard. The whole place smelled like Lysol.

“Sit down,” Lucas said. “Let’s get you off your feet.”

Although I would’ve liked to tell him not to be such a mother hen, I really did need to sit down. I felt weak, and my body kept flushing hot and cold at odd moments. Sometimes I wanted a blanket; other times, even my sundress seemed stifling.

Lucas sat next to me, and we leafed through some of the magazines lying around in the waiting room. They were mostly about being parents of little kids. The covers showed happy, healthy, beaming children who didn’t bear much resemblance to the wailing infants I saw around us. All the magazines were faded and dog-eared; the first one I picked up was nearly two years old.

“This place is creepy,” I whispered to Lucas.

“Doesn’t seem too bad,” he said with a shrug. I realized that Lucas probably had never been taken anywhere else for medical care; Black Cross wouldn’t pay for much, and they would never have been in one place long enough for him to have a regular doctor.

I remembered my pediatrician back in Arrowwood, Dr. Diamond. He’d been a kindly man with glasses who always let me pick out Band-Aids with my favorite cartoon characters on them before he gave me a shot. Mom said they’d taken me to him from the time I was a tiny baby, and I’d only just become too old for his practice when we moved to Evernight. In all that time, giving me vaccinations and checking my reflexes, he’d never noticed anything especially odd about me—though he did mention, once, how my mother seemed ageless.

My experiences with Dr. Diamond had convinced me that, if I were only sick with some normal virus, a physician would be able to help. If the problem was something vampiristic, well, I’d be out of luck—but the doctor would be none the wiser.

It took forever for them to call my name, but they finally did. Lucas gave me a wave as I headed inside.

A heavyset nurse whose nametag read SELMA walked into the exam room after me. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I’m having dizzy spells.” The paper atop the table crinkled as I sat upon it. “And I never want to eat anymore.”

Selma shot me a look. “Any chance you could be pregnant?”

“No!” My cheeks flamed. I knew doctors might ask you questions like that, but I wasn’t quite prepared for it. “I mean—I have—I do—I’m sexually active, I guess you’d say, but we’re careful. And I know I’m not pregnant. For sure. Really.”

“We’ll get you checked out.” Selma popped a thermometer in my mouth, and I obediently held it under my tongue as she reached for the blood pressure cuff. “How are you feeling today?”

I waggled my hand back and forth. So-so.

Selma nodded and began to put the cuff around my arm—but then she stopped. I glanced sideways and saw that she was staring at the readout screen for the thermometer. It read 91 degrees.

I’d always run a little cool—Dr. Diamond used to joke about my being 97 degrees—but that wasn’t so very unusual. Apparently 91 degrees was unusual.

“Give me that.” Selma took the thermometer out of my mouth and reset it, then popped it back in. She fastened the Velcro cuff around my upper arm and started inflating it; a tight band of pressure squeezed my bicep.

My eyes remained fixed on the temperature screen. Come on, I thought. Move up. At least to 97 degrees. She won’t think that’s too weird.

The temperature readout changed, slipping down to 90 degrees.

Selma’s eyes went wide. At first I thought she’d seen the readout, but then I realized that my blood pressure must be wrong, too. She ripped the cuff off my arm. “Lie down,” she ordered. “I’m getting the doctor in here this second.”

“It’s not an emergency,” I said weakly. “Really, I just feel sort of dizzy.”

“Lie down before you fall down.” Selma pushed my shoulders backward onto the table. Despite her forcefulness, there was something kindly in her manner; she must have been a good nurse. She hurried out, and I lay there, hands folded across my belly, trying to convince myself this wasn’t a huge problem.

Unfortunately, I knew better.