Rowan blanched. “I would’ve gone to an urgent care clinic if there was.”
“Good. And the other symptoms?”
He thought about it. “I’ve been a bit sniffly, I guess. No headaches, no fever.”
“And is it worse at night, during the day…?”
“Definitely at night. Today was an anomaly.”
“And you had the coughing attack while playing Ultimate Frisbee, right?”
“Right. But I don’t have asthma. Or at least I never have before.” Sure, he’d been a weedy kid, but he would’ve known if he’d had asthma.
Dr. Okoye leaned back in her chair and tapped her pen on her clipboard. “What about allergies? Dust, hay fever, pollen?”
He shook his head. “I mean, I’m not about to go sticking my head under the bed to get a deep whiff of dust bunnies or anything, but I’m no more reactive than any other person.”
She put down the pen and sat forward. “Well, whatever’s ailing you, I don’t think it’s acute. No sign of infection or pneumonia. Allergies is my best guess—they can develop at any time. I could send you for tests, but you’ll be back on the regular wait list, I’m afraid.”
Rowan shook his head. “No, that’s all right. I know it was a lot to ask to have you see me today. I’m a bit embarrassed Jordy dragged me in here, actually. I’m sorry this is so outside your usual duties.”
“That’s just Jordy for you.” She shook her head. “You should’ve seen him the first time Kaira had a fever. At least it’s not three in the morning this time.”
That made Rowan smile. “Good to know he’s not always perfect.”
She barked a sharp laugh. “I could tell you stories, but it’d violate patient confidentiality. Do keep an eye on that cough, though. And don’t cancel your other appointment. Your GP might want to send you for a chest X-ray if this hasn’t cleared up by then.”
Rowan left her with a promise to follow her advice, and then, after a not insignificant amount of haggling, left Jordy with a promise to take it easy and an acceptance of Jordy paying for his cab home. As though Rowan wasn’t perfectly fit to take the subway.
He was grateful for it when he got home, though, because the heat had picked up in the afternoon, and now he was uncomfortably aware of the way his skin felt, caked with dried sweat and dirt and grass. He probably didn’t smell great either, but the cab driver didn’t comment. Probably Jordy had given him a ridiculous tip.
He let himself into his flat and tossed his keys in the bowl. The shower was sounding better and better every second.
Finally he stood under the hot spray. The steam did help, at first. Breathing came easier. He washed away the grime and then just stood for a moment, leaning with his palms on the tile, letting the water cascade over him.
And then his hand went through the wall.
For a second Rowan just stared at it, wondering what just happened. There was the tile, and there was his arm, on the other side of a hole, the edges of which were soggy and covered in some kind of black… slimy…
Mold.
“Bugger,” Rowan said, and then he sneezed.
Gem was going to be so annoying about this.
“BLACK MOLD?”Taylor asked at the library two days later, when Rowan was trying to stretch the kink out of his back—a souvenir from the fashionable torture implement Gem called a couch. “Seriously?”
“Through the whole building,” Rowan confirmed glumly. “Everyone has to move out while they fix it. Could be months.”
“Jesus.”
He rubbed his hands over his face. He’d never been religious, but at this point he was willing to try prayer. It couldn’t make anything worse. “So basically, not only do I need to find a new job in a month, I also need to find a new apartment.”
Gem had already badgered him about going after the landlord—she was practically salivating to sue on Rowan’s behalf.
“Yikes,” Taylor said. “What’re you going to do?”
Rowan groaned and flopped back into the desk chair. “I don’t know, do you know anyone with a storage shed they’re not using? I don’t need much—”
