Chapter 14: The Clinic

Floyd's POV

I texted Brinley from the bus: I'm going to the clinic to get proof you were never there. Back by two.

She wrote back: Good. Tell them the truth.

It was the first time in months she had answered me in under a minute.

I held the phone in my hand for three stops.

The Ohio State eye clinic had a waiting room with grey chairs, a fish tank and a television nobody watched.

I had sat in those chairs for four years with my cane between my knees, listening to the room.

Now I could see the fish.

There were six, and one of them was orange.

The receptionist behind the glass was the same woman who had called my name for every appointment.

She looked up, and her whole face changed.

"Mr. Brasher," she said. "Your eyes."

"I know. I'm sorry I never came in to say thank you."

"You're not supposed to apologize for seeing." She laughed and put her hand over her mouth. "What can I do for you?"

"I need the sign-in sheets for my February and April surgeries. And whatever you have on who signed my consent forms."

She frowned.

"Is it legal trouble?"

"It's my girlfriend's job," I said. "Someone forged her name, and I think the same someone wrote down who was here."

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she turned to her screen and printed three pages.

She slid them through the slot in the glass.

I read them standing at the counter.

February, pre-op check-in. Accompanied by: K. Huber, spouse.

April, post-op. Accompanied by: K. Huber, spouse.

At the bottom of the second page, in the line for emergency contact, someone had written Kelsey's phone number.

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