Brenda stood up, grabbing her coat as the inner office door finally clicked open.
“She wants to know exactly when you are not looking,” Brenda said.
Before I could answer her, Dr. George stepped into the waiting area, his gold pen tapping against the clipboard in his hand. He looked at us over the top of his glasses, his face serious.
“Daniel, Brenda,” he said, nodding to each of us in turn. “Let us step into my office for a moment.”
We followed him down the narrow hallway, the smell of rubbing alcohol and clean paper thick in the air. The clinic always made me feel small, but today the quietness of the corridor felt heavier than usual.
The desk in his office was covered in neat stacks of medical charts, and a single black stethoscope lay coiled near the telephone.
“I reviewed Clara’s blood pressure log from last week,” Dr. George said, tapping his gold pen on the desk. “The numbers are fluctuating in a way that doesn’t make sense for someone on her current dosage.”
