Chapter 10: The Clinic

"A doctor's appointment," Elias had said that night in the kitchen, buttoning his shirt with his back to me. "On Friday. It's routine."

"What kind of doctor?"

"The kind who signs forms."

He had kissed my forehead and gone to bed in the study.

I had let him.

I told myself it was none of my business.

I had told myself that so many times already.

On Friday morning, he left at eight.

At eight-ten I called in a personal day to the school and put on my coat.

I'm not proud of what I did next.

I took a cab, and I told the driver to stay four cars behind the black sedan.

I felt ridiculous, and I kept doing it anyway.

The sedan stopped in front of a glass building on Michigan Avenue.

Elias got out, checked his phone, and went inside.

I paid the driver and followed him through the revolving door.

The directory on the wall listed eleven practices.

I read the fourth floor twice.

LAKESHORE UROLOGY AND MEN'S REPRODUCTIVE HEALTH.

My first thought was that he was sick.

My second thought was that I had never asked him a single question about his body, because he had told me where I couldn't touch.

I took the elevator up and walked into a waiting room full of leather chairs and soft jazz.

A woman at the front desk was typing.

Behind a tall potted fig sat a row of empty seats.

I took the one nearest the desk and picked up a magazine.

I held it upside down for a full minute before I noticed.

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