“I will have to go back to the maintenance shop to get the high-grade adhesive if we want any chance of it holding,” he said, setting the brass joint on the linoleum.
He left the heavy iron wrench on the floor and stood up slowly, his knees popping in the quiet room. He did not look at his phone when it vibrated twice on the table near the breadbox.
“Who is calling this early?” I asked, looking at the screen as it dimmed.
“Just the leasing office,” Tony said, but he slid the phone into his pocket without checking the display.
The parking meter outside the pediatric clinic swallowed my last two single-dollar bills for an hour of time.
Inside, the constant hum of the ceiling vents filled the sterile corridor, a dry draft that smelled faintly of lemon bleach and old vinyl chairs. Lily was in the small exam room with the nurse, practicing her deep breaths and getting her weight recorded, while I walked down the hall to the water cooler to fill a small paper cup.
Dr. Patel stood near the corner of the nurses’ station, holding a thick blue manila folder with Lily’s name printed on a white label. He was speaking to a pediatric nurse in a hushed tone, his head tilted down as he pointed to a sheet of fresh lab results.
“We cannot wait until the spring results to adjust the dosage,” Dr. Patel said, his voice carrying over the low hum of the air conditioner. “The inflammatory markers are climbing much too fast.”
The nurse made a quick note on her digital tablet. “Should we schedule the next round of imaging for Monday morning?”
“We need to see if she can handle the flight first,” Dr. Patel said, looking up as his rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the grey tile.
