𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. XIII pt. II

oOo

With her bow put away and medkit in hand, Diana headed to the RV, where Dale had helped her set up an improvised medical office.

She said hello to the older man, who sat on a foldable chair up on the roof of the vehicle, and he raised his fisherman's hat in greeting. They exchanged simple pleasantries and each continued about their business. For Dale, that meant watching over the camp, its boundaries, and habitants. As for Diana, she set her medkit on the foldable table lent to her, opened the wide parasol, which Dale had informed had belonged to his late wife, Irma, and stuck it on its holder.

She plopped herself down onto her precariously unsteady chair and propped her feet on the one designated for her patients. She sighed at the contrasting coolness in the shade and opened the kit. She had emptied it, updated her inventory, rearranged everything and checked on her patients' records that she had handwritten herself before her first patient came. It was an older woman whose list of complaints indicated towards hypoglycemia. An easy one to decipher.

Diana gave the woman a dextrose candy from her stash and suggested she eat something more substantial after that, like a piece of fruit and some crackers. Then she wrote everything down on that woman's sheet, from the symptoms to the solution.

She was the breaking of the dam. Many more people came to her after that. Diana helped them to the extent of her abilities and excused herself when she found her knowledge or resources to be lacking. She was low-key glad about the work; it kept her mind busy.

Many of them came by only to chat, let out frustrations and unburden themselves from whatever went through their mind and troubled their soul. With those, Diana felt more than a little overwhelmed, unsure of how to respond or react. It left her flustered and helpless. She was a good listener, that much was true, but advice and comfort were less her thing.

All in a day's work, as it was. It turned boring soon, more administrative work to be done than anything else. Not only that, but both Diana's stomach and uterus complained and called for attention.

She informed Dale of her absence for a quick snack and went into their bathroom area, feeling the tampon she kept inside the cup of her bra press against her flesh. She didn't want to use the RV's toilet, paranoid that Dale could see her from above.

Diana returned to her station, relieved and chewing on a crunchy and juicy red apple she'd been offered on her route back.

Inside the closed medkit she'd undoubtedly left open, she found a bundle of flowers meant for her eyes only.

It was only a handful, everything tied together with twine into an aesthetically pleasing bouquet of wildflowers. She recognized some of the plants. Red poppies, white daisies, some fern leaves, and pretty small blue flowers that Diana couldn't identify.

Diana felt herself flush until sweat broke out near her hairline, sticking her baby hairs to her skin. She put down her apple and raised the bouquet for Dale to see. "Hey, Dale, sorry to interrupt your guarding and all, but d'you see who put this here?"

Can you tell me what the hell this nonsense's about? She wanted to ask. Her mind replayed Lori's 'he's a good man' and her stomach revolted against it. Please no.

Dale used a hand to cover his eyes from the sun and looked down at her and the flowers. He pursed his beard-covered lips and shook his head slowly. "Sorry, sweetheart, whoever did it must've caught me during one of my longer blinks." He gave a breath of laughter. "Those are very nice, by the way. Looks like you might have an admirer."

"Don't even joke about something like that, Dale." Diana shook her head but thanked him.

"But I might've happened to catch someone sneaking around away from everyone's sight with such a similar assembly of flowers in his possession. And I might've thought my old eyes must surely be playing tricks on me. That or my brain isn't taking well to the heat."