I laughed, took the phone, and flipped onto my stomach. As I dialed, Ricky hopped back in bed, sending crumbs and plates jumping. He settled in, his head resting on the small of my back as he checked messages on his own phone.

After we talked, Larry said, “Doc Webster would like to speak to you, as well. She came by asking if I’d seen you. I know the Clarks said you’d been having fevers. Not to pry, but I’m guessing that’s related to why you needed some time off?”

“In a way.”

“You should call Doc Webster. I think she’s concerned, but she probably doesn’t want to seem pushy and follow up if you’re seeing a doctor in the city.”

“I’ll call her.” We talked for another minute before I hung up.

“Better get that call to the doc over with, too,” Ricky said. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but Larry’s one of those guys who thinks he’s talking on a tin can instead of a shining example of modern technology.”

I chuckled. “True.”

“Call the doctor. Tell her you’re fine so she doesn’t worry.”

He was right. I also had a niggling feeling I shouldn’t put it off. Just to get it over with, I suppose. So I phoned and I told her I was doing all right, no ill effects after the fever.

“Are you seeing someone in Chicago?” she asked. “A doctor, I mean.”

“No, I’m not sure what my plans are right now, but if I decide to stay in Cainsville, I’ll be transferring to you, if that’s all right.”

“It is. I’ll just need your medical files.” When I hesitated, she said, “No rush, of course. If you decide to transfer, you can provide me with your doctor’s information and I’ll arrange everything. We’ll need your express permission, but I can handle the rest.”

I said yes, that would be fine, thanked her, and hung up. Then I lay there, staring at the phone, deep in thought.

After my first “breakup” with Gabriel, he’d apologized by obtaining my pre-adoption medical files for me. Except there had been a mix-up, and the files my former doctor sent had belonged to a girl with spina bifida. His office was still hunting for my proper records.

“Everything okay?” Ricky asked.

As he sat up, he set his phone on the bed. On the screen, I saw what looked like an artist’s rendition of the sun and moon from my boar’s tusk.

I reached for his phone. “Is that the tattoo—?”

He plucked it from my hand and turned the screen off. “Later. What happened with the doctor?”

“It’s not important. Let’s see that art.”