Читать книгу Her Great Expectations - Joan Kilby - Страница 10

SIENNA APPLIED a sizzling drop of liquid nitrogen to the plantar wart on the sole of her forty-three-year-old female patient’s right foot. “This shouldn’t hurt…”

Penelope Brown reclined on the examining table with her pant leg rolled up over her calf. Her long dark bangs fell over eyes scrunched tightly shut. “Will this get rid of it? I’m on my feet for long hours in the classroom.”

“The wart will turn black and die within a few days. If it doesn’t, or if it gets hot and swollen, come back and see me.” Sienna returned the applicator to the stainless steel container and closed the lid on the clouds of vapor. “Keep your feet clean and dry,” she added, taping a bandage over the wart. “Don’t go barefoot in public swimming pools or showers.”

“Okay.” Penelope pushed herself to a sitting position and put her stocking back on. She slid off the examining table and reached for her purse.

When Sienna handed her an information sheet on foot hygiene, Penelope passed her a notice in return. “If you feel like a fun evening for a good cause, come to our Trivia Night.”

“Is this to raise funds for the high school?” Sienna asked, scanning the notice. “My son, Oliver, hasn’t brought home any information about this.”

“It’s in the school newsletter going out today. The sporting facilities need upgrading, but the budget has blown out for this year,” Penelope said. “We’re trying to encourage the kids to get active instead of sitting in front of the computer all day.”

“That is a good cause. I’ll be there.”

“Oh, and we’re looking for items to raffle off if you’ve got anything to donate.”

“A free flu vaccination or tonsillectomy?” Sienna joked. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“I’d better scoot,” Penelope said, chuckling. “Thanks a lot.” She slipped on her shoes and went out the door, closing it behind her.

Sienna tacked the Trivia Night notice to the cork-board beside her desk and went out to greet her next patient, Steve Thatcher. Jack hadn’t said anything overt the other evening, but Sienna sensed he was worried about his dad.

In the waiting room, a teenage girl in a school uniform thumbed through a fashion magazine. A harried mother tried to stop her toddler from pulling all the magazines off the coffee table. The portly older man with gray hair and glasses had to be Steve.

In a calm, cheerful voice, Sienna said, “Mr. Thatcher? Come with me, please.”

Sienna led the way to her office and waited outside the door while Steve slowly followed. She used the time to make a preliminary medical assessment. His file stated he was sixty-three, although he moved more slowly than some men a decade older. Steve’s arms and legs were thin, but his bloated barrel-shaped torso set alarm bells ringing. She already had a suspicion what might be wrong with him.

Sienna gestured for him to take a seat. Balancing on the Swiss exercise ball that served as her desk chair, she brought up his details on the computer.

“I met your son,” she said as she typed in the date. To her discomfort her cheeks grew warm. It was a reasonable comment under the circumstances, but she was starting to feel like a schoolgirl who wanted to repeat the name of the guy she had a crush on to everyone she met.

“Whole damn town knows Jack,” Steve said gruffly but with a hint of pride.

“Oh, and I met Renita and Lexie, too,” she added belatedly. Sienna swiveled to face him, taking in his pale skin and pouchy brown eyes behind the old-fashioned steel-framed glasses. “What can I do for you, Mr. Thatcher?”

“I’m here for a checkup. The missus made me come.”

“How are you feeling?” Sienna asked, taking his wrist to check his pulse. A bit fast.

“Well, not that good. I’m tired all the time even though I don’t do what you’d call exercise.” Steve rubbed a sausage-fingered hand over his stubbly gray jaw. “Sometimes my feet go all tingly. Hurts to walk, like.”

“Hop up on the exam table. Undo the top buttons of your shirt so I can check your heart.” Sienna got up and nudged her exercise ball under the desk. Plugging her stethoscope into her ears, she slipped the chest piece inside Steve’s shirt and pressed it against his chest. His heartbeat was also erratic, but that could be due to any one of several things. “Are you hungry a lot? Excessively thirsty?”

“Yes.” He seemed surprised she’d know. “I’m guzzling water day and night. Must be why I’m always going to the toilet. Do you think it could be my prostate?”

“It’s possible, but there could be other reasons.” Sienna moved the stethoscope to the center of his chest. “Cough for me.” Steve forced air out in a bark, repeating it as she moved the stethoscope around. “Your lungs are fine. Do you have a sweet tooth, Mr. Thatcher?”

“Afraid so.” Steve grinned, somewhat shamefaced. “My wife loves to bake—cookies, cakes, pies. She gives me heck, but her cakes are that good.” His smile faded and a troubled frown deepened the creases on his forehead. “She used to bake, that is, when we were living on the farm. Now that we’re retired she’s into yoga or Eastern mysticism or some such rubbish. She’s never home.”

“So you’re not eating sweets now?” Sienna asked, letting the stethoscope dangle around her neck.

“Oh, yeah, I still do. She made brownies the other day. First time in ages.” He rubbed a hand through his sparse gray hair. “But usually I make do with store-bought cakes. They aren’t as good, but I eat them anyway.”

Sienna sensed that despite Steve Thatcher’s gruff demeanor he was feeling lost and lonely. If so, he wouldn’t be the first person to turn to food for comfort. Especially if he had too much time on his hands. “Do you have hobbies?”

“I’ve never had time for hobbies. Wouldn’t know where to start now.”

Sienna strapped the blood pressure cuff to his upper arm. “Have you thought about joining a seniors’ activity group?”

“I’m not gonna knit lace doilies,” Steve grumbled.

“Gardening?” she asked, pumping up the cuff.

“Too much work,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I spent my whole life running a dairy farm. I’ve earned a rest.”

“Some people find it therapeutic to grow their own flowers and vegetables,” Sienna suggested. “You can meet people through gardening clubs—”

“Hell, no! Pardon my language,” Steve replied. “Hetty used to belong to a gardening club. You wouldn’t believe the backbiting that went on. Whose roses smell the sweetest, whose compost don’t stink.”

“Okay, no gardening,” Sienna said, chuckling as she slowly allowed the pressure to bleed off. “At least you’ve got family. Do you have grandchildren? I know Jack doesn’t, but Renita and Lexie didn’t mention if they had children.”

“None of them are married or have children,” Steve replied. “I see the kids a fair bit, but they all have busy lives. Smedley’s ’bout the only one who’s got time for me.”