Letting Go (Triple Eight Ranch) - By Mary Beth Lee Page 0,8

She’s fine. See,” he said turning to Mack.

Clarissa repeated his words, but he saw Mack’s tears were upsetting Clarissa as much as anything else.

Holding out her hand, Clarissa asked for help standing. Jed could tell asking for help wasn’t easy for her, but she had more color in her face, and at least she was acknowledging the fact that getting up on her own wasn’t going to be easy.

“I’ll go tell Pete he needs to call in someone to cover,” Bev said, but Clarissa shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a second.”

Only everyone in the room could tell that wasn’t true.

“You need to see a doctor,” he said, even though he could tell she wasn’t interested in his opinions.

“Doctors cost money, and...” she trailed off instead of finishing the thought when she looked up at him. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

“He’ll give you sticker if you’re good,” Mack said, inching closer to Clarissa and patting her knee, comforting her new friend.

Clarissa smiled down at his daughter then opened her arms for the hug Mackenzie so desperately wanted to give. His little girl was no dummy, and Clarissa’s body language screamed “keep off”. The minute her arms opened, though, Mack, dove in and hugged her tight, and Clarissa returned the hug, if somewhat awkwardly.

Warning alarms warred with concern.

“Look,” he said, “I’m no medical expert on fainting, but you need to go to the doctor sooner rather than later.”

“I think I just need some food,” Clarissa said as Mack wriggled back and plopped to the floor. “I forgot to eat lunch. I bet my blood sugar’s all messed up.”

Her shaking hands gave proof to that theory, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

“I’ll go get you a sandwich and be right back,” Bev said, stepping out the door and leaving them alone together again in the small, dark apartment that didn’t really tell him anything about this woman who might be sick, who had formed a bond with his daughter. A bond that could hurt Mack.

He made up his mind then. She was going to see Doc Anson now, and they’d stay with her to make sure she was okay. But tomorrow, his daughter was going to after-care.

Clarissa decided arguing with Jed about when to go to the doctor was pointless. He wasn’t budging. And he threatened to send Mackenzie to Bev’s while he stayed at her apartment all night to make sure she was okay, if that’s what it took.

The Stearns doctor didn’t have a problem when she showed up without an appointment. His house served as an office as well. His wife, the nurse. What once had been a living area had been turned into a waiting room with toys on one side and magazines on the other. Kleenex boxes sat strategically on tables around the room, and a wheelchair sat by the front door.

Literature on healthy living, depression and childhood immunizations sat on the tables placed for those who needed something to read.

“Clarissa,” the doctor’s wife called her name. The woman reminded Clarissa of Mrs. Clause. The twinkle in her eye spoke of a love of life. When Jed stood to go back with her, the woman shook her head and patted his arm. “You go ahead and stay out here, Jed. I’ll call you back if you’re needed.”

Clarissa wanted to laugh at the disgruntled look on Jed’s face, but laughing would make her head hurt worse.

The room she was shown to was homey and sweet with pictures of past patients, cross stitch patterns and positive messages on the wall. Nothing like the sterile rooms she associated with doctor’s offices.

With his white hair and beard Doc Anson looked like a cross between Willie Nelson and Dumbledore. Nothing like any doctor she’d ever met, and she’d seen plenty over the years.

Clarissa sat on the table and answered his normal doctor type questions as he felt the glands in her throat, listened to her heart and made her breathe deep.

Then he reached in the closet and pulled out a packet of peanut butter crackers and handed them over.

“You need to eat more, young lady, or you’re going to make yourself more than a little sick. I imagine you know about that.”

She didn’t like to remember, but he was right.

“I’ve been hypoglycemic my whole life,” she admitted, trying not to remember how the sickness had been used.

The rest of the visit went as she’d expected. She needed to eat right and get some rest. Doc Anson wanted her to try