Scarlett Rose's Arc

Chapter 46 of 57

Scarlett woke before the sun. Clayton's arm lay across her waist. For a second she felt only the quiet of the cottage and the weight of the ring on her finger. Then she remembered the day. Thursday. Infusion day. Her chart said nine in the morning at the clinic in town. Her supplies, her paperwork, her port cleaning kit — all of it sat on the counter at home, ten minutes away by truck. She had not packed a single thing for a Thursday because she had planned to be home by Thursday. She sat up too fast. Clayton woke. "What is it?" "My infusion. I forgot the day. I don't have my kit." He was already reaching for his jeans. "What time?" "Nine. If I miss it the levels drop. The doctor said not one dose." He pulled the belt through the loops. The buckle caught the lamp again, her name and his. He did not waste a word. "I'll drive home. Get the kit. Meet you at the clinic." "It's an hour round trip from here to the cottage to town. You won't make nine." He stopped. He thought. "Then you come with me to the cottage. We grab it on the way. Clinic by nine." She did the math out loud. Ten minutes to her place. Five to load the kit. Twenty to town. "Tight. But yes." She pulled the lace nightgown off and reached for the dress she had worn out of the reception. It was the only clothing in the bag. She stepped into it while Clayton carried the small bag to the truck. He came back for her. "Rose has a key," she said. "Call her. Tell her to pull the kit and the folder from the kitchen counter and meet us at the end of the drive. We don't even stop." He was already dialing. Rose picked up on the second ring. He told her in six sentences. He hung up. "Done. She'll be at the mailbox." He drove fast but even. Scarlett held the door handle and counted the fence posts. At her drive Rose stood at the mailbox in a robe, the cooler bag and the folder in her arms. She passed them through the window. "Go," Rose said. "I'll call the clinic and tell them you're coming." Clayton drove. Scarlett opened the folder in her lap and checked the vial count. Four. Enough. She closed her eyes for the last miles. They pulled up to the clinic at eight fifty-two. The nurse was waiting at the door. Scarlett walked in on Clayton's arm, still in her reception dress, and sat down in the infusion chair. The needle went in at nine on the dot. Clayton sat beside her for the full hour. When it was done the nurse handed Scarlett a slip. Next Thursday. Same time. And a note: her hemoglobin had dropped again. The doctor wanted to see her Friday.