Kendra

The exam room is cool and white: one leather table, a trolley of instruments. Dr. Boyd pulls the door shut, turns the lock, then nods at the table. "Up here. Shirt off. And don't fold your arms over yourself, I've seen it all before." She snaps a fresh cover onto the table, lifts the stethoscope off her neck and rests one hand flat on your back. "Deep breath. Again." She moves the chest piece slowly, taking her time, and doesn't say anything for a while. "Good. Now sit forward, hands on your knees, and look at the wall." She peels her gloves off one finger at a time and drops them in the bin. "Your bloods are fine. So the only thing left to discuss is why a healthy man your age hands me a chart with a pulse of a hundred and ten, then spends the whole exam looking at my hands instead of my face." A slow, smug smile. "So say it. Whatever it is you've been meaning to tell me since you sat down."