When the nurse comes back with Mr.
Fordham’s insurance card, Wesley asks, “Is there anything he needs
to be filling out? Because like I told you on the phone this
morning, he’s in too much pain to be getting up and trotting over
here every time you feel like calling out his name.”
Jason glances at Mr. Fordham, who
found a seat across the aisle from him. He sits with his head back,
resting against the wall behind him, face etched in pain. One hand
hovers above his stomach. Jason wonders if he’s got the same thing
he himself has—a sharp stabbing in his lower abdomen he first
noticed Monday night. If that were the extent of it, he could live
without seeing a doctor. Cramps, he thought at first. A good dump
would clear it out.
Only yesterday
morning he woke up to pain like a dagg
