Cynda and the City Doctor - Theodora Taylor Page 0,32

official doctor in workout clothes.

If anything Rhys has glowed up. He’s The Even Finer Prince now. And sure, he’s dressed completely inappropriate for a home visit, but I can already tell Mavis won’t mind.

But, ugh. Not the right thoughts to be having about the bitter ex-lover who clearly still hates me.

I speed my steps to go up the porch ahead of him. That’s better. I appreciate no longer having to look upon his Fine Prince radiance as I knock on the door.

I frown when no one answers my knock.

“Perhaps she isn’t home.”

Logical guess, but no. Her truck is sitting in front of the farm. There’s also an RV, and other than a light film of dust, it looks brand new.

“She might be around back, working.” I jog down the steps, trusting him to follow me.

“Mavis! Mavis, you out here?” I call as I come around the edge of the farm….

Only to stop cold at the sight of Mavis’s body, collapsed by a double set of storm cellar doors on the ground.

I’m three years removed from Raines-Jewish, but I guess there’s still an ER Nurse embedded inside of me. I rush over and I have the vinyl gloves pulled on by the time I drop down beside her.

“Mavis! It’s Cynda,” I say, pressing my fingers into her neck.

Her pulse is weaker than I’d want it to be, but it’s there.

Her eyes come open. Also good. But she’s disoriented and audibly wheezing. Not good. I do and old-fashioned hand test on her forehead and inwardly curse. She’s burning up.

Still, she looks over my shoulder and manages to ask, “Is that the handsome doctor everybody’s talking about? I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t have on my wig.”

I’d laugh if her voice didn’t sound so wheezy and frail. “It’s okay, Mavis, we just want to get you taken care of. Lie still.”

“Can you at least go inside and fetch my wig?” Mavis asks, pitifully trying and failing to rise up.

“There’s no need for a wig, Mavis.” Rhys drops to his knees on the other side with a pair of vinyl gloves also on his hands. He must have gotten them out of dad’s bag. “I much prefer women without them. And you’re beautiful either way. Now can you tell me what happened?”

He holds a hand out and I pass him Dad’s stethoscope, then wipe down the infrared thermometer to do a real temperature check.

104. Dammit!

“Oh, I got this fever real bad and it just wouldn’t shake. But I didn’t have a cough so it ain’t that Rona!” Mavis is telling Rhys. She’s gasping between every other word. “Last thing I remember is deciding to come down to the storm cellar. That’s what my ma used to do for us when we got sick as children to cool us off.”

I quickly relay Mavis’s temperature to Rhys, along with her history of COPD.

Rhys nods toward the car, and I nod back in full agreement. “Okay, Mavis,” I say, helping her to her feet. “We’re going to drive you to the hospital now.”

“No, just get me a glass of cold water—,” Mavis cut off when she gets a good look at Rhys as he takes a hold of her on her other side. “Lord, he fine. Cynda, girl, get my wig! I don’t want him…”

She’s so breathless, she can’t even finish that sentence.

“How long have you had this fever, Mavis?” Rhys asks.

“Don’t know…day or two, maybe. Felt off during the Sunday sermon… but it’s not the Rona, I’m tellin’ ya.”

Rhys and I exchange a look. Sunday was seven days ago.

She’d had the fever for nearly a week straight.

It was almost most definitely the Rona.

“All right, then, Mavis, we’re going to drive you to the hospital now,” Rhys tells the little old lady.

So no other Saturday rounds like I’d imagined.

Instead, I end up driving as fast as I can back to the hospital in Guadalajara while Rhys monitored Mavis in the back seat.

“So handsome,” Mavis says. She’s now wheezing between every word. “I…kissed…a…White…boy…once. He…wasn’t…as…good-locking…as…you.”

She sounds so bad and we still have over half an hour until we get there.

“Mavis stop talking,” I call over my shoulder. “You need to conserve your energy.”

I press down even further on the gas, hating that I can’t get it to go any faster.

“What a coincidence,” Rhys answers. “I kissed a Black girl once and she wasn’t nearly as good-looking as you.”

Mavis’s laugh is a weak bird that can’t quite fly. But she manages to say, “You…funny…and…fine.”

“Mavis!” I