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Adrienne stared in disbelief. “Are you insane, Clarinda?!”
“Well, you’re perfectly sane and so strong. You handle it.”
Clarinda got back in the car and drove off without another
word.
Adrienne stood there, completely stunned.
“What is she plotting?” she wondered.
“Playing hard to get?”
The next morning over breakfast, the thought hit her.
And it was working.
Corbin was acting differently.
“Where’s Clara? Wesley said she picked me up last night.”
Corbin came downstairs and sat across from her. He looked
tired from the hangover, but still handsome.
Adrienne had her story ready. “Yeah, she left for the clinic
already!‘
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“This early?” He was surprised.
“Mhm.”
She nodded calmly.
She’d keep the move a secret as long as possible. She wasn’t
about to let Clarinda get what she wanted.
“Playing hard to get? In your dreams!” Adrienne thought.
His stomach was still upset from the night before. Corbin
turned to Sarah. “Can I get that healing chicken broth Clara
usually makes?”
Clarinda usually just left instructions. She rarely cooked.
But ever since she found out about his stomach issues, she’d
always have a fresh pot waiting the morning after he drank.
One bowl always made him feel better.
Sarah hesitated. “The healing chicken broth? Mrs. Alden didn’t
make any today… She usually tweaks the recipe depending on
what seems to be bothering you. I wouldn’t even know where
to start.
Not only had she not made it, she hadn’t even come home.
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Corbin pressed a hand to his stomach, frowning. “Has she been
this busy lately?”
He hadn’t seen her in days.
And now she wasn’t even looking after him.
Back then, whenever he felt even slightly under the weather,
she would prepare that broth and stay close, moving between
the kitchen and his study.
She liked to call herself his on–duty caregiver.
“Uh, yes,” the cleaner said nervously.
Adrienne cut in with a smile, studying his expression. “You
know, Corby, I studied traditional medicine too. I can’t just stay
home with Leon all day. Any chance you could help me find a
job?”
Corbin sipped his chowder absently. “You could work at
Everhart Hospital. It’s close.”
“No,” she said sweetly, pretending to be humble.
“I’m too rusty to see patients on my own. Never worked after
graduation. Maybe I could start at a clinic? Learn from someone
experienced?
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“It’d be perfect if there were a real expert there, someone who
could teach me.”
Traditional medicine was all about mentorship.
But taking on an apprentice wasn’t like hunting for a job. Corbin
couldn’t just force it.
And the only real master in Veyton, even in Western Aurivalia,
was Clifton.
Still, Corbin didn’t say no. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”
***
The clinic was packed that morning.
A steady stream of patients kept coming. Clarinda hadn’t moved
from her chair for hours until a nurse popped in cheerfully.
“Long day, Clarinda! That’s the last appointment.
“But there were a couple of walk–ins earlier. I told them we
were full, but they’re still waiting.”
Clarinda took a sip of water. “Send them in.”
The first had a quick visit.
She wrote a prescription and motioned for the last patient.
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It was a woman nearing eighty, accompanied by someone.
She was thin and dressed simply but elegantly, with a natural
grace that couldn’t be hidden. As she entered, she closed the
door firmly behind her, leaving her companion outside.
Clarinda finished checking her temperature and withdrew her
hand gently. “What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “You’re a doctor. Can’t you tell?”
“Usually, yes.”
Clarinda was known for her exceptional patience with patients.
She smiled. “But all your vitals look perfectly normal. You really
shouldn’t be feeling unwell. You might just be a bit stressed. No
need for any medication. Some rest and good nutrition should
be all you need.”
Though the patient wore light makeup that made it hard to
judge her complexion, her voice was clear and energetic.
Nearing eighty, she was in remarkably good health.
“Who says I’m well?”
The woman glanced anxiously at the door, ensuring it was still
shut tight, then raised her voice. “I’m not well at all! I’m
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miserable everywhere!”
“My grandson is nearly forty, still a bachelor. How could I
possibly feel well?”
Clarinda checked her file. “Forty?”
The woman was seventy–eight.
Even by the earliest marriageable age, her grandson couldn’t be
much over thirty.
“He’s thirty. That’s basically pushing forty, isn’t it? At this rate, if
he doesn’t find a wife soon, I’ll be worried to death. Come on, just
prescribe me something. I need medicine!” the lady insisted.
Her words reminded Clarinda that both Corbin and Ambrose
were the same age.
Clarinda played along with a nod. “You’re absolutely right.
“How about a soothing herbal blend to ease your restlessness?”
Fall and winter were peak seasons for illness. Clarinda had been seeing patients for three straight days before the number of
walk–ins finally began to slow down.
“Thank you, Dr. Whitaker. You always say yes when I ask for
an extra appointment.”
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That afternoon, Clarinda wasn’t on duty for consultations but
was providing special treatment in the outpatient department.
As she guided the patient through gentle stretches, the woman
lying on the mat thanked her.
She was nearly fifty, a long–term patient with severe kidney
disease.
Her family situation was difficult. She’d lost her son in middle
age, and her husband was good for nothing.
Every time she came to the clinic, she had to leave before dawn
taking two buses and three subway trains from the outskirts of
the city.
Lateefa Khanam is a spirited writer who finds freedom in horse riding. She cherishes her mare and the newborn foal, calling them her little happy family.
