“It’s been on the calendar. For two weeks. I scheduled yours when I went.”

“I don’t look at the calendar. Why should I?”

“The calendar, I believe, was your idea.”

Louise made a face, ignoring this. Harry, practical Harry, was right, as usual. He was the responsible one in this marriage—making all the appointments, changing the oil, managing the bills. She was the eccentric one, who planned vacations to fun or exotic locales and made Mexican food Wednesday nights.

“It’s just a checkup, Louise. Just a physical.” Left unsaid, the rest was still clear as if he’d shouted it. It’s not one of those myriad of doctors to whom we’ve had to see, now that we’ve gotten older.

Louise pulled a simple turtleneck sweater from the closet. “I had plans this afternoon. Ginny and I were maybe going to the library. Talk about the next Garden Club Expo.”

“You won’t be having one until the spring, Louise. Besides, the library’s open all day.”

“Might snow, Harry.” Louise fixed an enamel snowman to her sweater. It pulled down a little on the thin fabric, and rested leadenly against her collarbone. She paused, looked into the mirror. Maybe it would snow. Harry wouldn’t want her driving in the snow.

“I’ll take you, if it comes to that. But we aren’t supposed to get any this week, not till maybe Thursday night.” He stood, heaving himself stiffly off the edge of the bed. There was a crease in the comforter where he’d sat. Automatically, he reached to pull it taut again. Practical. “Louise, I’m not sure why you’re so against this visit. It won’t hurt. Nothing invasive. And it won’t take long. Just get weighed, answer a few questions.”

“I don’t like questions,” Louise muttered. She applied her cosmetics carefully, leaning close to the mirror. Her eye pencil rimmed her crêpey eyelid. “I’m not like you, Harry. I don’t go jogging at the gym and pedal a bike. I don’t eat oatmeal in the mornings and take a calcium supplement. The doctor’s only going to tell me what you would.”

“What? That you don’t take care of yourself?” He stood behind her, put his arms around her waist. “You still want to be thirty or forty and eat what you want. You don’t want to admit you need special exercises for your back and your knee, so you won’t do any at all.”

Louise set her brushes down and leaned back against him. “I don’t want to be old, Harry. Why are you so accepting of it?”

Harry gave her a squeeze and moved back. “Come downstairs, when you’re finished with that. I’ll heat you up some Cream of Wheat.”


The waiting room was cluttered with retired dining room chairs, stiff backed and uncomfortable. The walls were lined with Kodak shots of small children and animals—Doctor Blausten, she knew, had several children and grandchildren. At least, Louise conceded, the magazine selection was good. She’d been in enough waiting rooms to know.

When, she wondered, had it happened? Mammogram at forty? Those increased visits during her pregnancies, of course, didn’t count. When did Blausten first suggest seeing a chiropractor? When had Harry suddenly needed a cardiologist? When did her visits to the optometrist become more frequent? Louise had fought them all. Harry had welcomed them, like friends. “Louise. It’s just one consultation with the dietician. The cardiologist thinks maybe she could help me find a healthier way of eating. Keep the old ticker running a little longer. Maybe she’ll give me new recipes to try out.” He’d slapped his chest jocularly.

New recipes. When they were younger, Harry’d loved spicy food, had encouraged her to try new kinds of cuisine. Spicy Indian curries, Indonesian foods. Mexican dishes from that summer in Mexico. And then her refrigerator had become covered in photocopied diets, bland ones, with egg whites and no potatoes.

“Mrs. Faukner?” The nurse popped her head out, gesturing to Louise.. Her scrubs were dotted with snowmen. “Follow me, please.”



Doctor Blausten was a paunchy, balding man, a wedding ring biting into his finger, the white coat of course unbuttoned over a substantial paunch. He peered down through glasses at her chart.

“Not bad, Louise, not bad. I must say, I really am surprised.”

“Surprised, Doctor?” Not bad news. She couldn’t bear bad news. Another doctor, it would mean, at best, and at worst…..

“Frankly, yes. I mean, based on your own admission of your lifestyle—your activity level, your diet, emotional factors…..you’re in excellent health.”

“What are you saying?”

“Well….I’m at a loss.” Blausten folded the chart closed, picked up a pen, and began to twirl it in his thick fingers. “I think that there are some simple dietary modifications you should be making—try, perhaps, a more healthful preparation of certain foods. Less frying and heavy oils, more baking. And I’d, of course, suggest increased calcium intake and, as I suggested the last time, a vitamin supplement, one especially designed for…for—“ He broke off, awkwardly.

Louise arched an eyebrow. “For?”

“For women, Louise.” He said, too quickly. “One especially for women. I can recommend several cookbooks I think outline the kind of food preparation I’d like you to consider, and a specific vitamin I’d like you to start taking.” Blausten pulled a pad over to him and clicked the pen open. “I just—I can’t get over it. I just had your husband in here the other week, and….well…I’m sure he told you about his new diet and everything.”

“New diet?” Louise’s mind had raced. Harry had mentioned nothing of it. He’d said he was fine. More of the same, Blausten says.

“Yes, Louise. I’m adding a few things on this list for Harry—a couple books he should maybe read to help him understand it. Heart disease at his age is something that cannot be taken lightly, especially after what happened a few years ago with him.”

“It’s worse?”

Blausten looked up. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

Louise shook her head.

“I—Louise.” Blausten looked at her, awkwardly fumbling for a way. “I don’t understand. He does everything right, and yet—his heart—it’s gotten worse. I’ve told him to see Kaufman again. We don’t want another heart attack. He might need to have some tests….” He broke off, seeing the look on her face. “It’s not that bad. Really.”

He was lying a little, trying to comfort her. Louise reached and took the proffered paper from Blausten’s hand. He stood up, the stool creaking in protest. “Louise. Just keep in mind what we talked about—and—well, keep doing more of the same.”

Avoiding her eyes, he picked up her chart and left the room

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