When Reid calls to cancel his usual order at the nearby Chinese place owned by a Thai family, Mrs Jainukul inquires, “Do you need to talk to Mia?”
“No,” he answers.
“Are you sure? I can write her a note for school and drive her over.”
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he assures her. “I just need some adult time.”
“Be safe,” she answers. “Remember: You’re not allowed to torture my daughter if you bring home anyone I don’t approve of.”
He can’t help but laugh. “Got it. I’ll talk to you soon, Mrs Jainukul.”
Once they hang up, he sighs and puts the picture he’s been looking at since he got home into his bag.
His eighteen-year-old patient constantly talked about being a dad.
He wasn’t seriously involved with anyone, but he was determined he was going to be a dad once he got his bookshop up and running. He was aghast at Reid’s disdain for Shakespeare.
The tumours weren’t caught in time. If they had been, Reid could have saved him. As it was, Reid could only offer a slim possibility of him getting a year or two.
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