He enters the house, as he thumbs through the mail. He heads into the kitchen, and dumps the mail on the kitchen. As he moves towards the stairwell to the basement he notices that the light is on. He grabs his firearm, quickly, and quietly moving down the stairs. He finds an intruder sitting on a stool in front of his work bench. He lowers his weapon, and places it on the work bench. He furrows his brow.
"What are you doing here?" He asks her.
"That's a good question," she admits.
"Are you going to answer?" He wonders.
She shrugs, "I'm not sure."
"If you're going to answer?"
"What I'm doing here."
"Well, Mac, I certainly don't know. Are you okay?"
"I don't know," she answers, flatly.
"Is Izzy okay?"
"She's fine."
"What are you doing here?"
"I guess that I came to talk to you," she admits.
"I'm listening."
"I don't know where to start," she admits.
"The beginning is good."
She vacates her seat, "This was a mistake."
"Wait," he begs, as she steps past him, moving towards the stairs.
She spins towards him, "It was a mistake coming here. I should go."
"Tell me what's going on."
"Nothing," she lies as she climbs the stairs. He doesn't chase after her. He lets her go.
The following morning she finds herself in yet another doctor's office. The nurse does an extensive intake with numerous personal questions. After the nurse finishes obtaining answers to her questions, as well as a set of vital signs, the physician enters. She introduces herself. Dr. Whitley wears a pair of bright pink scrubs, and a white lab coat with her name embroidered above the pocket. She grins from ear to ear. Her bubbly personality overtakes the room. Sarah stares at the thirty something in disbelief. The smiling, bright eyed, chipper blonde appears to be young enough to still be in grad school. Some specialist. This is the expert? Sarah comments to herself.
"Are you ready?"
"Not really."
"Are you comfortable?" Dr. Whitley assesses her position.
"Not at all."
"Can I help you get more comfortable?"
"I think this is as good as it gets."
"I am ready whenever you are."
"That will be never, so I suggest that you start."
Dr. Whitley begins her exam. Sarah stares at the doctor's shiny, bright blue clogs. They are iridescent. In fact they are reminiscent of a bowling ball. They don't match her outfit in the slightest. She wears two different color socks. Sarah rolls her eyes, doubting the doctor's competence. The high pitch of the 'specialist's' voice brings her back to reality. Sarah's eyes shift her face. She listens to what she has to say, and follows her directions. She swallows hard, and eventually exhales. The physician mutters something in a cheerful tone.
"Shit," is all Mac can manage to get out.
After it's all over she exits the office as quickly as she can. She meets Harriet in the car. Harriet sits in the passenger's seat reading a magazine, listening to the radio waiting for Mac. Mac pulls open the passenger's side door. Harriet looks at Mac. She instantly picks up on her facial expression. Without a word she slides out of her seat, and exits the car. She heads to the other side of the vehicle, and once again climbs into the driver's seat. She hears Mac slam the car door. Harriet turns the radio off. She turns to face Mac.
"How was your appointment?"
"Terrible."
"Am I taking you to work?"
"I want to go home."
"Are you sure?"
"Do you think that I can just go home, and stay there?"
"For the rest of the day?"
"For the rest of my life?"
"No. At some point Izzy will get hungry, and you'll need to go to the grocery store."
"There is that."
"You told me that you didn't want me to come in."
"I didn't."
"What did she say?"
"She basically reiterated everything that I heard yesterday."
"Any new information?"
Mac hands her a stack of papers. Harriet goes through them one by one.
"That's it?"
She shakes her head, and reaches into her purse. She hands Harriet another stack. Harriet studies them one at a time.
"Are you okay?"
"No," Mac admits.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I would prefer to never discuss it."
"That is not an option."
"It's my preference."
"What are you going to do?"
"Currently I am freaking out," she admits.
"I know."
"I can't do this."
"Do you want to?" Harriet poses a better question.
The question sets her over the edge. The tears Mac has been holding back begin to flood from her eyes. The tears stream down her face as she loses all sense of composure. She begins sobbing. Her cheeks turn three shades of red. She ruminates on the question that has been posed. She deliberates on the situation at hand. She tries to evaluate the cost benefit analysis of the situation. She finds herself being sucked down the rabbit hole as her brain begins spouting off what if scenarios. She buries her head in her hands. She wipes the tears from her face, and tries to regain composure. She can't seem to maintain her composure for any length of time. She shifts, uncomfortably in her seat. She meets Harriet's glance. Harriet waits patiently for her to answer.
"I don't know," Mac finally responds.