Free The Secret of the Nightingale Palace by Dana Sachs Page A

depressed. When she did finally get in bed with him, Ford was sleeping so soundly that her own movements on the mattress never woke him.
    â€œI think you might have mono,” she told him. On weekends he would sleep for fifteen or sixteen hours at a stretch, and simply climbing the stairs to their porch seemed to wear him out. “You should go see Dr. Snider.”
    â€œI get a checkup every year,” he told her. “I’m fine.”
    They had not been getting along for months, and sniping had become their natural way of interacting with each other. “Whatever,” Anna replied.
    So they waited, but in March the nosebleeds started. Usually they happened at the end of the day, when he was especially tired. Then he got one during a staff meeting at the library. He was giving a presentation about reorganizing the archive on the King assassination. The provost, who had a particular interest in Dr. King, was at the meeting, which made the silence especially awkward while Ford fished in his pocket for Kleenex. Eventually he had to leave the room, and though he managed to stop the bleeding and get back to his presentation within a few minutes, he had lost his concentration, and the bloodstains on his shirt embarrassed him. That afternoon he made an appointment with their doctor. “Can I come?” Anna asked.
    â€œI’m not a kid, Anna.”
    â€œI have to know that you’ll ask the right questions.”
    â€œFine. Then come.”
    They visited their general practitioner, Susan Snider, on the day that their first daffodil bloomed that spring. “Hey, Ford,” Dr. Snider said, barreling through the door of the examining room. She was a tall, solid woman whom Anna had known in high school and who had gone on to play volleyball for the U.S. Olympic Team. Today it took Dr. Snider a second to notice Anna in a corner of the room. Once she did, Anna saw in her face the quick deduction that the “fatigue” Ford had described to the nurse on the phone might be something more complicated. “Hey there, Anna,” she said gently.
    Anna managed a cheerful “Hey,” but both she and the doctor were looking at Ford.
    He sat on the examining table, a patient’s smock pulled around his naked body. Eventually Anna would grow used to the look of exasperation on his face. Now, he sighed and cocked his head toward Anna. “She’s worrying,” he said. “She wanted to be here.” Though the words sounded annoyed, his tone was so full of unexpected affection that it took Anna a moment to come up with a reply.
    When she did, she tried to sound relaxed and easy. “I know. I’m a pain.” She stared at her husband, suddenly awash in love for him.
    The doctor sat down on a wheeled stool, opened her laptop, and held it on her knees, scanning the screen. “Looks to me like you’re due for a regular checkup in about a month,” she said, absently rolling her stool back and forth across the floor. “What’s up?”
    Ford shrugged. “It’s really nothing. I’m just tired a lot.”
    â€œA lot of stress at work?”
    â€œIt’s terrible,” Ford said emphatically, as if to convince them of the cause for his malaise. “I’m at the University Libraries. Cutbacks. You know.”
    The doctor stood up and set her computer on the counter. “Just let me check a few things.” She did the usual examination, half talking to them, half concentrating on what she was doing. Ears, throat, heart, and lungs. Then she held Ford’s arm to check his pulse. “What’s that bruise?” she asked.
    They all looked at the inside of Ford’s arm. “I don’t know,” he said, turning to Anna. “Do you know how I got that?”
    It was a large bruise, the kind of thing that could only come from a fairly painful injury, but she, too, had to shake her head. She hadn’t even noticed it. “Is