Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
“Holy shit.” The air whooshes out of my lungs. I’m in a state of shock as my eyes scan each corner of the house. Everything is picked up. There isn’t a single thing out of place. The dishes are done, the counters are clean, my shoes are picked up and on the shoe rack. Even the blankets are picked up, draped over the corner of the couch. What shocks me the most is the folded piles of clothes in a laundry basket. Lawson did all of this? Why? I’m left with too many questions and not enough answers. I look for my phone, unsure of where I left it last. After promising Catherine I’d answer should she call or text, that’s the last I saw of it. I backtrack to my bedroom because I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere lost in the sheets, when a piece of paper catches my attention. There on the coffee table is a note. I pick it up and see it’s from Lawson. I’d recognize the capital block style with a slight slant to it anywhere.
Damn it, now I’m really going to cry. I bring the note to my chest, hugging it like it’s the big man himself. I’m a damn basket case, being sick last month with an infection and now this. I think this is a sign it’s time to take a vacation or at least quit working seven days. There’s nothing in my contract about the hours I choose to keep. It’s on me alone, and now I’m thinking about restructuring my hours. I walk back into my room, needing to find my phone. I’ve got a couple of people who I need to text. I've got a smile on my face, a pep in my step, and a semi-back-to-normal stomach.
I wonder where I should put Lawson’s letter, wanting to keep it safe. I could keep it in my nightstand drawer or in my panty drawer. Except I kind of want to show it off. A frame would work, but that’s a bit too much, and if I get sick again, I have a feeling he’d beat down my door like he did yesterday. I opt to place the letter in the mirror above my dresser, tucking the edge in the corner.
“Way to hold a grudge, Juniper Lynn.” One random act of kindness doesn’t negate all the other bullshit. My bed is a mess of blankets, the comforter, and sheets. Everything is tossed this way and that. I climb up my bed from the bottom, yanking and pulling at the mountains of fabric.
“There you are, you little stinker.” Figures it would be under a pillow. My hand meets the gold and white device, and I see the texts I’ve missed.
Catherine: Checking in. I hope Lawson didn’t pester you too much. Call me when you feel up to it.
Lawson: Stay home today. These damn fools can drive themselves into town to get stitched up.
Birdie: Hey, Catherine mentioned you were sick. Are you okay?
I smile as I see the second message from Birdie.
Birdie: Don’t answer my question. That was dumb. Of course you aren’t. Anyways, Tully and I are available if you need anything. Feel better <3
Laughter escapes me, and unfortunately in doing so, I realize I’m not nearly as better as I thought I’d be. And I may be stubborn, trying to do everything on my own, but I know for certain today’s the day I’ll be heading to the doctor. Hopefully, I can make it without taking a few pitstops. It also looks like Lawson is getting his wish. There’s no way I’ll make it into work today.
“Damn it.” I’m running to the bathroom once again. This really freaking sucks.
SIX
JUNIPER
“Well, I have some news for you,” Doctor Jimenez states as he walks in through the clinic door. True to my word, I called the doctor’s office once I was able to quit losing my crackers and Sprite. Twice in the last month I’ve been in his office. I may as well take up a permanent residence here. Dramatic, I know. Sue me.
“I’ve got the plague?” I ask. Sitting in a chair was impossible. Jimenez took one look at me and I scurried my tail to the table. Now I know how it feels when others come to get patched up and I make them sit up here. Though I can honestly say it’s because most of them are that much taller and it puts me on level playing ground.
“Not hardly. When was your last menstrual cycle?” I think back, trying to remember. Without my pill case here, there’s no way to calculate it either.
“I’m actually not sure. How pathetic is that?” Answering a question with a question. And why haven’t I been keeping up with my period tracker?
“It’s not. A lot of women don’t know. I went ahead and ran a urinalysis. The symptoms you presented aren’t that of a virus, especially after twenty-four hours. Now, here’s my next question.” Doctor Jimenez isn’t judging me. He’s kind, and his bedside manner is impeccable. He and his wife are amazing, and they even offered me a job here, except the Johnsons got to me first with an offer I couldn’t refuse.