It rains for days here. The cold spray comes in through the open window, wetting the white curtains. I let it be for a few minutes before growing chilled. The smell of wet soil is very nostalgic. I don't care much for nostalgia. At least that's what I tell myself. As I close the window, I look down onto the empty and narrow street in front of the two-storey clinic. This building I work in is old. It used to be a home, but it had been redone into a rudimentary health center just over a decade ago. One doctor works here along with support staff, which is what I am. We see just about five cases every day. Slow. It took me a few months to get used to this monotony. After the hustle and bustle of school, it was definitely different.

The pay is awful.

That's fine.

No one knows me here.

That's even better.

I moved away from home about six years ago. Started community college after settling down in an obscure small town. Finished my diploma. I'm something like a nurse. It is not a glamorous job. I mostly do paperwork here and run errands in town. Sometimes I am required to assist with vaccinations or general physical checkups. I get regularly scheduled breaks. The management is generally pleasant to deal with. The clinic opens at eight and closes at six. There are three of us on duty at any given moment – the receptionist, one physician and a nurse.

When I first started work here in July, there were some awkward attempts to get better acquainted. However these attempts quickly sizzled away. Perhaps it is my fault for not being receptive. Make no mistake; I am by no means a recluse. But casual connections are trivial and mean nothing to me nowadays. I prefer to have silence rather than menial conversations about my past or the muggy weather. I spend my downtime reading some of the old medical journals lying around in the lounge. They don't teach hardly enough material in college.

It is on such a lazy, wet day that I hear the sound of tires slicing through the rainwater on the pothole-riddled road. I look over in time to see a rusty grey truck zoom along and then screech to a halt in front of the gate.

First a dark skinned man in a worn white tee and denim cutoffs jumps out of the one of the passenger doors. He doesn't think twice about the rain or the puddles he is splashing in as he rushed to the flatbed and picks up the folded wheelchair as though it were as light as a feather. He opens it with practiced ease, setting it on sure ground. Then he reaches in through the open door to help out an elderly man with long grey hair. That must be the patient.

I draw the curtains together before making my way downstairs where I hear commotion almost right away. As I walk into the front foyer, I realize that I had grossly misjudged the younger man's size. He is at least six foot five inches tall. That is massive. His breadth dwarves the old man in the wheelchair, making him appear even more frail than he must be.

"I am perfectly fine," the invalid insists with an imploring look directed at the doctor, Mike Westlake. "You know how Jake gets."

I assume the giant is Jake.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jake's bark definitely sounds as bad as his bite must feel. His voice is gruff and strained. His expression is even more so. He is obviously concerned. "This is the third time this week, Dr. Westlake," he bristles. "He feels dizzy and then doesn't say anything. I'm sure it's his blood sugar. You know something?"

"Jake," the old man interjects.

"He's been forgetting to take his morning dose," Jake continued on. "Do I have to keep reminding him or what? He's like a child. Honestly."

Dr. Westlake, to his credit, keeps his amusement in check, but I can see the way he is struggling to keep a straight face. "Now, Billy," he is addressing the old man. "You know that Jacob is making a valid point, don't you?" He tilted his head when Billy lowered his gaze guiltily. "Let's go into the examining room, shall we?"

He looks back, searching for me. When he sees that I am already there, he smiles kindly. "Could you prepare the glucometer?"

I nod in ascent and slink into the hallway towards the equipment room. In the background, I still heard loud words being exchanged. It isn't often that rambunctious conversation takes place in this clinic. It has been so quiet before. I wonder who that strange man is. He looks both young and old at the same time. He had carried himself with stern authority, yet the words he chose were loose and unguarded. His shirt had been stained with black grease, indicating his work in a garage. The truck he had arrived in looked worse for wear, though.

After setting out a few test strips and lancets, I take the metal tray to the examination room just across the hall. There I find the doctor examining Billy's heart rate while Jake steamed by the door. He barely spares me a glance. I set the tray on the table. Once Dr. Westlake had finished, I ask him if he needs anything else, but he says he will let me know. So I exit the room and shut the door to provide them with some privacy. Easy job.

I meander over to the foyer again where Amanda the receptionist is mopping up all the mud dragged in by the two men. "That was some entrance, huh?" she jokes mildly. She doesn't expect an answer from me, so I decide not to surprise her. She already knows I keep my thoughts to myself. As she cleans up, I glance at the dim computer screen on her desk. No appointments today. I get paid to do nothing at all.

The door bursts open, startling Amanda and me into jumping a foot in the air.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure it's nothing. Listen, I've got to go now. Jacob's being Jacob, you know that. Yeah, I'll call you when I'm done. Bye. Yeah, yeah. Sheesh. Bye."

The young man who has just waltzed looks very much like Jacob, just a bit shorter and thinner. His mannerism is entirely different, however. As he looks over at Amanda with a carefree grin, it is plain to see that he is not quite like his older brother. He dresses the same way and his hair is cut short in exactly the same style, as though he is trying very hard to be the same. But he greets the receptionist with friendly ease, even making a small jibe about all the mud he had brought in. "Good thing you've got the mop handy, huh?" he laughs. Amanda swipes at him with the wet end, prompting him to jump out of the way lightly. "Sorry, sorry," he says while holding his hands up in surrender. "So… Is Billy alright?"

Amanda tells him that Dr. Westlake had just taken them into the examination room. "Mike didn't seem worried," she added. "Jake's always the one to blow things out of proportion."

"I figured," he sighs and scratches the side of his head. "Well, I guess I'll wait in here. It's cold out in the truck." With that he walks over to the chairs, grabs a dog-eared magazine from the rack, and sits down. The chair creaks under him.

I glance down at the calendar again. We usually get drop-ins of this sort all the time. People rarely had appointments. As I flip through the days in the week, I see nothing chalked in. The reason for the lack of patients is that there is a large hospital about twenty minutes away, in the city. Serious cases were better off there than in this clinic. This is more of a family centre where children with the sniffles or geriatrics needing arthritis medication dropped by. For the time being, this sort of a quiet place is good for me. Maybe I will grow bored of this place soon. Then I will find a new job.

I feel growing unrest all of a sudden. It's an unpleasant stirring in my chest. I look up in puzzlement, trying to figure out what the matter is.

The boy is staring at me.

Now, this isn't a strange phenomenon. Ever since I have moved to La Push, people have stared at me. They aren't used to seeing pasty skin. I assume his reaction is much the same, so I pretend not to notice.

But a whole minute of staring is just too much, isn't it?

I hesitantly look at him again.

He suddenly seems to snap out of it because he drops his head so fast that even Amanda noticed the jerky movement. "Are you alright, dear?" she asks.

"Mhm," he squeaks with an almost violent nod. He pulls the magazine up to his face, plainly hiding behind it.

Before I can ponder any further, I'm called to the back. The doctor has finished with the blood test and general checkup. As I walk in, I hear him say, "Please remember to eat regularly and control your diet, Billy. You're going to give your son a few grays."

Billy smiles ruefully at Dr. Westlake, looks over to glare at Jacob, and then starts to wheel towards the door. Jacob springs into action, swatting his father's arms away and pushing the wheelchair out himself. I stand off to the side to let them pass. Dr. Westlake is talking to the hulking man about setting daily reminders. I wander after them, knowing that there was absolutely no rush to clean up. This family has caught my attention somehow.

Once they've gotten into the lobby, the loud talking subsided. "You're in here?" Jacob mutters gruffly, aiming his comment at his brother who was still hiding behind the magazine.

The boy jerks in fright, apparently not realizing that his family was ready. "Oh! That was quick!" He jolted up to his feet and practically threw the reading material onto the rack before bolting for the door. "I'll be in the car." Guess he couldn't wait to get home or something. I notice Jacob exchanging a questioning look with Amanda who shrugged in response.

"Well, rest up," Dr. Westlake told Billy. "I don't want to be seeing either of you until our next appointment in two months, okay?"

"Yes, Mike," Billy assures him. "Have a good day."

"You too. Stay dry."

The father and son were soon out the door, ready to be packed away in the running truck. Once the clinic is quiet again, I go back into the examination room to clean up. I throw the lancet and bloodied strip into the yellow biohazardous waste container. After packing away the glucometer and setting it in its place in the equipment room, I venture upstairs again to resume reading an article on the effect of antidepressants on kidneys. Fascinating read. Not really.

As I pass by the window, I draw the curtains open again. That is when I realize that the grey truck was still idling. Curiosity getting the better of me, I move closer to the pane to see what the matter is. Rain is pelting down now.

This was just supposed to another one of Jacob's routine 'my dad's gonna die' visits to the clinic. I never tag along. But my mom's truck was available and I had been over for lunch, so it was convenient. That's all.

Shit.

As I grip the steering wheel and try to focus on calming my straining muscles. I feel like phasing. Mom would kill me if I ended up destroying the car! There is this persistent buzzing in my ear and it's burrowing into my skull. My hands are crawling with pins and needles. My stomach is flipping over and over and over and over. My knees are shaking.

"Seth!"

I jerk in fright and whip my head back to find that Jacob and Billy had all of a sudden appeared in the back of the truck. "Wh-what?" I manage to stammer.

Jacob flicks his concerned eyes over me. "What's wrong?" he asks carefully.

I don't know. Everything's wrong? Nothing's wrong? "I don't know…" My heart. "I think I'm dying…" My heart's about to explode. How does that even happen? I clutch at my chest, trying to calm the frantic beating. It's gonna be so messy if my heart explodes. "I don't wanna die, man. I'm too young to die."

"Calm down."

Calm down? Can't he hear the rush of water or feel the bone chilling air conditioning that is threatening to drive me mad? I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't die. Not like this. Not yet.

The door is suddenly yanked open and I feel an iron grip wrap around my arm, only to drag me out into the rain. I stumble over my heavy feet into a pothole, ending up twisting an ankle and falling down jarringly. The pain helps. Everything shakes a little less now. I blink away the water from my eyes, trying to focus on Jacob who is crouched beside me, yelling. I hate it when he yells.

"SETH!"

"Ack…" I try to push him away, but my strength has been reduced to nothing. I only manage to reach out and hold onto his shirt. Anything to keep me grounded. "What's happening to me? P-please, Jake-"

"DO NOT PHASE, YOU HEAR ME!" Jacob shouted furiously. "SO HELP ME GOD, I WILL RIP YOUR TAIL OFF IF YOU CHANGE."

Usually threats would work on me. This time is different. "I can't. I can't. I can't-"

"Breathe! For Christ's sake, just breathe, damn it!"

Easy for him to say. I struggle to inhale. It's like my chest is collapsing inwards, crushing my lungs and squeezing my heart. I look up desperately, trying to open my throat.

"Ah," I exhale in wonder.

There he is.

Standing behind a closed window on the second floor, looking down at me. His face is obscured by the rain. But I know it's him. It has to be him.

I've finally caught the breath I had lost five minutes ago in the waiting room.

"I… I think I…" I can't stop my giddy laughter. "Oh my gosh." Everything makes sense.

I've just met the most wonderful person in the world.

"What an imbecile," I mutter under my breath as I quickly move away from the window to get away from the lanky boy's wonky grin. Whatever the matter was with him, it had been resolved by his older brother. I had been a bit concerned when I saw them struggle on the ground. But everything seemed to be alright now. So is the whole family full of melodramatic actors or something?