Three Appointments I Never Canceled
Chapter 03 - Three Appointments I Never Canceled
"What are you doing?" Daniel asked.
"Nothing."
His eyes dropped toward my feet.
For one long second, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled.
"You should sleep."
I waited until his breathing became steady before reaching for my phone.
I searched for the neurological clinic that had treated me after the accident.
The next morning, while Daniel was at the office, I called.
A receptionist answered.
I gave her my name.
There was a pause.
"Ms. Whitmore?"
"Yes."
"We haven't heard from you in almost a year."
That confused me.
"I thought Dr. Vale said there was no reason to continue neurological evaluations."
Another pause.
"Dr. Vale?"
"Yes."
"Ms. Whitmore, according to your file, you were referred to Dr. Lena Ortiz at Northwestern Mobility Institute."
I stopped breathing.
"When?"
"Fourteen months ago."
"I never received a referral."
The receptionist sounded uncomfortable.
"Actually... there were three appointments scheduled."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Three?"
"All canceled."
"By whom?"
"I can't disclose—"
"I'm the patient."
Keyboard clicks.
Then silence.
"Your authorized medical representative."
Daniel.
I hung up without saying goodbye.
For eighteen months, Daniel had attended every appointment.
He managed my medications.
He spoke to my therapists.
He told me which treatments insurance rejected and which specialists believed further rehabilitation would be useless.
I had trusted him because loving someone was supposed to mean trusting them.
But trust suddenly felt like a locked door.
I called Dr. Ortiz's office myself.
The earliest appointment was six weeks away.
"Please," I said. "Someone canceled appointments under my name. I need to know why I was referred."
The woman placed me on hold.
When she returned, her voice had changed.
"Dr. Ortiz can see you Thursday."
Two days.
I told no one.
Not even Daniel.
That afternoon, I searched for Eli Carter.
I didn't know why.
Maybe because he had noticed something every expensive doctor had stopped looking for.
Maybe because Daniel had recognized his name.
I returned to Café Bellmont.
The waiter remembered him.
"He comes around sometimes," the man said. "His grandmother works at the laundromat three blocks east."
I found the place before sunset.
And through the glass window, I saw Eli folding towels beside an elderly woman.
When he noticed me, his face lit up.
Then his grandmother turned around.
She looked at me.
The towel slipped from her hands.
May you like
"Oh, my God," she whispered.
"You're Claire Whitmore."
