Chapters (62)
- Cover
- Half Title Page
- Books by Katie Powner
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
We were just here for a test or a scan or whatever. Why did we have to drive all the way back to talk about the test? Or scan. Or whatever. Our telephone is perfectly functional.
I peek over at Rand from the corner of my eye as we wait in a quiet, sterile room for someone to call us back. He looks tired. He looks like an old man. I reach over and tuck my hand in his. He turns his head to me in surprise. Like he doesn’t know who I am. But I’m the one losing my mind, not him.
I find the penny in my pocket with my other hand and rub a finger over it. Will I stick my hand in my pocket one day—and will it be soon?—and wonder why there’s a penny in there? Will I pull it out and toss it in the cupholder of Rand’s truck with all the other change? I can’t imagine that. Can’t fathom not knowing what this penny means to me. But Rand’s face when he looks at me makes me afraid.
A young woman in green scrubs appears. “Juniper Jensen?”
Mitch raises his hand. “That’s us.”
Rand helps me to my feet, and we follow the woman to a small room that looks more like an office than an exam room. The woman tells us to sit, and we shuffle around each other like chickens settling in to roost.
I used to have chickens. I raised them so they would recognize my voice and come eat out of my palm. I used to have a lot of things.
The woman in green stands in the doorway. “Dr. Wilson will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Mitch says.
She closes the door behind her, and I turn to my son. “Why are we here?”
He puts on his patient face. “I told you, Mom. The doctor wants to talk to us about the results of your CT scan.”
I know this already. “But why are we here?”
It seems like a reasonable question to me, but Mitch’s face twists like he bit into a sour apple. Doesn’t it bother him to have to drive all the way back here just to talk? Doesn’t he wonder about Dr. Wilson’s aversion to using the telephone?
He works his mouth as though he’s searching for the right words. Rand says nothing, but when I start shifting in my seat and wringing my hands, he pats my shoulder.
A crisp knock and the door opens.
Dr. Wilson comes straight to me. “Good morning, June. It’s good to see you again.”
I shake the hand he offers me. “I suppose that’s probably true.”