Mary Wilson - Home To The Doctor

“Damn it all,” he muttered and turned abruptly to get up, forgetting momentarily about his leg. His foot lurched and a sharp pain shot up into his hip. He waited for the ache to subside to a dull throb before he carefully got to his feet and made his way back to the couch.

When he sank down onto the cushions, there was no brilliant-haired doctor facing him across the low coffee table. So he reached for the brandy, filled his snifter and took a long swallow. The next thing he did was pick up the phone and punch in Natalie’s cell number. It rang four times before the call was transferred to her voice mail. “It’s Ethan. Just wondering how you’re doing.” Then he hung up, drained his brandy and poured more.

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