Stepping off the elevator onto Fern's floor, Kason switched his cell phone from one ear to the other as his sister carried on about her military husband expected to be home later that month. "Hey, Karen-Karen... Karen, listen, I'm here at a client's house, so I have to go. I'll be back later when I'm done, and I'll see what I can do."
He shook his head and hung up the phone, approaching Fern's apartment door and the now all-too-familiar box sitting atop a small table beside it. He twisted the numbers on the lock to open it and went for the Lysol wipes first, wiping down his phone. Next was the hand sanitizer - running low, he noticed, at just above a quarter of the way full, probably the lowest he'd ever seen it. He wiped the surface of the thermometer with another Lysol wipe and took his temp - 98.7. He snapped a photo. He took a spray bottle with some type of solution in it that he used to spray down his clothes and the small duffel bag he carried with him with his fresh set of clothes.
Last, he grabbed the mask from the box and installed it over his nose and mouth, elastic behind the ears before he texted Fern.
Temp: 98.7 (photo attached)
No cough, no sore throat, no fever, no known exposure.
He waited for the text to go through and then waited a few seconds more before he heard the metal locks click and the door cautiously open. Fern's big brown eyes peered watchful out the crack.
"Happy Tuesday, Fern," he greeted.
When he saw her smile light up her face as the crack widened to let him in, he was reminded why he looked forward to these weekly appointments despite the extra hoops he had to jump through to do them.
"Hey, Mr. Ash. Please, come in." She gestured in what looked almost like a curtsy as she moved back to give him a wider berth to enter.
"How many times must I insist you call me Kason, Miss Fern?" he enunciated through the mask with a smile.
Her eyes sunk to the floor as her cheeks reddened ever so slightly. "At least one more," she admitted.
He knew it was no use to ask, but it didn't stop him from trying. She was so proper and always so firm with her boundaries, a trait he knew was both a curse and, for his part, a blessing. It was never a good idea to work with clients anyone as a professional was attracted to. She may have been a quirky little woman, but there was just something endearing about her he couldn't help but like. Her strict adherence to the boundaries she'd created for herself and the world around her made it easy to give in to some innocent flirtation with her now and again, knowing it would never go anywhere.
"Looking good today. Did you do something different with your hair?" he asked, shrugging his jacket off and hanging it on a hook next to her door.
Her hands reached up to touch her dark, silky-soft strands. "Same as always, but thank you."
"I'll go get changed into my scrubs and we can get started," he told her and saw his way to her only restroom in the apartment to slip out of his street clothes - ones she surely thought were germ-infested - and into his freshly cleaned baby blues.