That he’s not ready for a relationship because he’s too fucking stupid to realize that nobody’s ever ready for a relationship,came the response.
I happened to agree, but it felt too weird to reply with something like that.He said the same to me, was what I sent back to him.
He’s a dumbass,Hart sent back.
I wasn’t sure what to say to that.
It’s none of my damn business,he sent before I figured out what to actually send back to him.But if you really care about him, don’t give up on him yet.
I sighed. I wasn’t sure that it was healthy for me to hold out for Elliot to decide that he was going to bereadyfor a relationship. Both because Hart was right that one wasn’t ever really ready for relationships, but also because I wanted to be wanted—not settled for.
Hart didn’t seem to be preparing to send me any more messages, so I sighed and called the number he’d given me for Henry Lamotte.
“Hello.” He didn’t say it like a question the way most people did.
“Mr. Lamotte, it’s Seth Mays. I—was staying with Elliot for a little while earlier this summer.”
“I remember, Seth. And it’s Henry, if you’ll recall.” He sounded slightly amused, but also curious.
“Yes, sir. Henry.” Southern manners had been bred into me—it was a hard habit to break. “I’m calling because I just spoke to Elliot.”
“Yes?”
“He mentioned something about compounding herbal medicines.”
“Yes?” he said again.
“He was asking about using digitalis—foxglove—for someone.”
“Lonnie Redcreek,” Henry said.
“Yes, sir. Henry.” I swallowed. “I’m calling because I don’t think it’s a good idea to be making potentially lethal compounds. At least not without the proper pharmaceutical training.”
I heard what might have been a snort. “I’ve no intention of doing so,” he replied, his voice even, if slightly amused.
“Elliot seemed to think it was a good idea.”
The next sound was a sigh. “He wants to help,” Henry said quietly. “He thought you might be able to tell him how.”
“I don’t know anything about dosing digitalis,” I told him.
“So I gathered,” Henry replied. “Although I expect he found that answer disappointing.”
“Yes, sir. Henry.”
“And you want to make sure that I don’t let him try to do it anyway.”
“Yes, sir.” I didn’t bother correcting myself again.
“I promise not to attempt to do anything with potentially deadly consequences,” Henry told me. “And I will do my best to make sure Elliot doesn’t, either.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I ended the conversation, still annoyed with Elliot, but at least reassured that he and Henry weren’t going to set up some sort of illicit pharmacy that would end with me being called out to a scene at which one of their patients ended up dead.
I was also annoyed that I was now thinking about Lonnie Redcreek and the fact that she wasn’t getting the medical care she needed—and deserved. It made me wonder what sort of heart condition she had and how much whatever Elliot’s dad had been giving her helped. What she’d been doing since he died. Had she been suffering? Or had she had a stock of it and only now just run out? What would happen to her without it?
I was annoyed because Elliot had made me feel responsible for the health and wellbeing of a woman I’d never met. It made me wonder if there was a way I could get the answers Elliot wanted—who I could talk to.
