Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
It was as if Kent sensed Palmer watched him. He glanced over toward her bed and smiled. She expected him to leave the room and return to work, but instead, he came over to her. “You look much better,” he said when he stopped at the end of her bed. “Any prognosis?”
“They haven’t said, but I don’t believe they’re treating me for a stroke or anything. They’re definitely not rushing around like my life’s in danger, for what it’s worth.”
“That’s great,” he said and then motioned toward her IV. “Anything good?”
She looked at the bag for a brief second and then said, “Saline for dehydration.”
“That’s good.”
“Thank you, for earlier.”
“I’m just doing my job, Palmer.”
“It’s more than that,” she told him. “I should’ve listened to you yesterday. Maybe I’d have some answers already.”
“Most people don’t want to believe anything is wrong, until it’s too late. You’re in the best place now. The staff here is amazing.”
“I’m sure you have to say that.”
Kent laughed. “I don’t, but I do like the people here.”
“They seem very nice.” Palmer trailed off and let her eyes wander a bit before looking back at Kent. “Thank you again, especially for the lift. I suppose if I had to take a ride in the back of an ambulance, I’m happy it was with you.” Her cheeks flared instantly as Kent blushed. She had no idea why she said what she had and wished she could take it back.
He laughed at her humor, which she appreciated, and told her he’d see her at the bank the next time he went in.
Not long after he left, a nurse came in to shut off her IV and helped her into the wheelchair with the waiting orderly. His name was Victor, and he liked to sing, according to the nurse. He asked Palmer what her favorite song was.
“‘Ride’ is my favorite song.”
“Lana Del Rey?” he asked, and she nodded.
Victor started humming her favorite song as he pushed her down the hall. She felt woozy and closed her eyes for the duration of the ride. She also wanted to be in the moment with the melody coming from Victor. Palmer took deep breaths to ward off the feeling in her stomach and was thankful when they arrived at the room for her CT scan. The orderly helped her onto the table, while the radiology tech prepared her for what was going to happen inside the tube. She had to lie still, and it was best if she kept her eyes closed. The technician showed her where the emergency stop button was, if Palmer felt claustrophobic.
The table moved into the tube before the machine turned on. It was loud, and it clicked every couple of seconds. The sound of Lana Del Rey’s voice played from the speaker, and it took everything for Palmer not to smile or to sing along. Victor, a man she didn’t know at all, had brought her comfort in such a brief span of time. Palmer concentrated on her breathing and listened to the music. She thought about the places she liked to spend her time: the coffee shop by her apartment, the park overlooking the bay, and somehow work popped into her mind. She enjoyed her job and the people she worked with, but she wouldn’t call it her happy place. She hadn’t forged any genuine connections. Palmer tried not to let the lack of togetherness bother her. If she wanted to change the way they perceived her at work, she would.
The scan took thirty minutes, and by the time it was over, Palmer had fallen asleep. Victor was there when she came out of the tube, and she smiled at him. He helped her back into the wheelchair, and once again, she kept her eyes closed until they got back to her room. Victor helped Palmer into bed and made sure the call button was accessible.
“Normally they take about thirty minutes to read the scan, so the doc should be back in forty-five minutes to an hour.”
“Thank you, Victor, and thank you for the music.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Sinclair.”
Palmer wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, lowered the top part of her bed a bit, and turned onto her side. Her head hurt, and she knew it was a matter of time before a full-on migraine would appear. She covered her face, brought her knees up to her chest, and prayed the scan would show them something . . . anything, because she desperately wanted to be free of the pain.
When she heard the metal clank from her partition, she didn’t move. “Are you feeling okay, Palmer?” Dr. Molina asked.
“Not really.”
“Okay, I’m going to get you hooked back up to your IV and give you fentanyl for the pain.”
Palmer unearthed herself from the cocoon she had made and gave Dr. Molina her hand. She felt a slight tug on the IV, and then Dr. Molina pressed some buttons, and the saline drip began again.