BEAU (original version)| ✓

15

• CHAPTER FIFTEEN •
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The first thing I did in the morning was quit my job.

The second was accompanying mom and Marc to the doctor's office.

Now we indulge in silence.

The room is small and white, clean and pristine with sparse furniture. The only window is open to allow the flow of air, though it does nothing to mask the scent of bleach and antiseptics. The crisp sheets on the hospital bed crinkle underneath my weight as I take a seat on my own. Mom places herself on the single chair in the room with Marc on her lap, listening attentively to his rambling about whatever's causing the smile on his face.

She couldn't take his strange sleeping habits anymore, especially after receiving another call from his teacher about dozing off in her class. Ms. Coleman recommended she see a pediatrician about it. Of course, mom couldn't even tell Ethan about it because the last thing she wanted was for him to incite an unnecessary argument or worse, use the tiniest fault in Marc as an excuse to bully us all into submission.

None of my convincing put her at ease, and before it struck noon, she forced him into his clothes and out the front door to the nearest medical center she could find. I'm still inclined to believe that he's just a lazy eleven-year-old with bad habits. Most of which is a result of Ethan and mom's bickering, but she might be right about this one.

Marc's nodding off into sleep again.

"Marc, honey, wake up. You can't fall asleep here." She gently shakes his shoulders and tucks aside the stray hairs falling over his furrowed brows. "Tired, baby?"

He shrugs and answers in a low voice. "Just a little bit. But I'm better now."

"Why don't you go on a walk with Beau?"

My spine straightens at the mention of my name. I glimpse mom's pleading eyes and Marc's drowsy form slumped alongside her. It bothers me to see him this way; out of sync with the rest of us and without a doubt, sick. "Let's go get a snack from the vending machine, freckles. Come on."

At the same time a lanky, dark-skinned man strolls into the room and closes the door behind him. He adjusts the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and offers us a brief, professional smile. "You must be Ms. McCauley. I'm Dr. Wallace."

"Oh." Mom gets to her feet and returns his tight-lipped smile. "That's me. I'm here for Marc's checkup."

He nods and tilts his head down to read something on his clipboard. "Right, Marceau Butler. I'm sorry for the wait; some patients need more attention than others," Wallace chuckles to himself. "And it can be a drag. But here I am, finally. Now, where's Marceau?"

My brother kicks his feet out in front of him as his mouth curves into a grimace and blue eyes glower at the doctor. "It's Marc," he chides. "Not Marceau."

"Ah, forgive me, Marc. My mistake."

He gives him a curt nod and crosses his arms over his chest, exchanging an afflicted glance with me. I nudge his side with my elbow and smile in an attempt to loosen him up. The room is strained, tense, and neither mom nor myself know what to do. I mean, being a good mother has never been a strong suit of hers, to begin with. I'm surprised she's even gotten him this far.

"Ms. McCauley – "

"Sarah," she corrects and salvages a smile. "I'm not a fan of formalities."

He smiles. "Sarah, what can I help you with?"

Dr. Wallace pulls out a pen from the pocket of his white coat and starts scribbling on the sheet. Unlike us, he blends in perfectly with our surroundings. White and clean and pristine. It's obvious how different we all are – broken and abused compared to prim and proper. I bet he has a family waiting for him at home. Maybe a few kids and a loving wife who he'll spend the rest of his life with.