Stranded in Paradise by Lori Copeland Page B

saying. He tore the prescription off the pad. “You call the office tomorrow and my nurse will give you the results of the x-ray. Meanwhile,” he smiled, “enjoy our beautiful island.”
    She nodded, numb now. “The . . . mole. Should I see . . .?”
    â€œThe mole?” He flapped the air. “Perfectly normal. You’ve probably had it all your life.” He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.
    Weakly lowering herself flat on her back, she stared at the ceiling, trying to still her racing heart.
    An hour later and two blocks away, Tess walked through the door of an optical service whose flashing red sign promised, “ready in one hour.” Now to get rid of these glasses.
    For the next hour and a half, she read magazines and filed her nails. One whole morning in paradise shot on medical emergencies plus the visits cost twice what she’d have paid on the Mainland.
    â€œMs. Nelson?”
    Tess tossed the magazine aside and for the second time that morning hobbled into a small cubicle—this one filled with strange looking apparatus for a preliminary exam. She read numbers, pointed right and left, and pushed a button each time a flash occurred.
    She jumped when a blast of air hit her right eye: glaucoma test. Moments later she was ushered into the optician’s chair. When the man entered, she did a double take at his bottle-thick lenses, which he repeatedly shoved to the bridge of his nose with his forefinger.
    â€œLost a contact?”
    â€œIn the airport.”
    â€œShame.” Up went the glasses. After a series of tests— ptosis, exophthalmos, lesions, deformities or asymmetry problems—he got down to the business at hand.
    She heard a flipping sound. “Is A better, or B?” the doctor asked.
    â€œB.”
    She heard a click. “B or A?” Up went the glasses.
    â€œA.”
    Click. “A or B?”
    â€œUh . . . A—no wait. Let me see B again.”
    Click.
    â€œWhat was the question?”
    â€œA or B.” Up went the glasses.
    â€œB. No, A.”
    â€œA or B?”
    â€œA.”
    She was getting dizzy.
    Click. “B or A?”
    â€œB—A—I don’t know. They both look the same.”
    Twenty minutes later she walked out, after paying for the examination and ordering one contact, which she now had to kill an hour before she could get. She settled on lunch and a brief excursion through a trendy dress shop where she purchased a silk blouse for an outlandish price. All in all, she considered the morning had cost her close to three hundred dollars, and it was barely noon.
    Breezing out of the optometrist shop, she smiled, relieved to be free of the annoying glasses. Her foot hit something sticky on the sidewalk and she paused and lifted her heel, groaning when she saw a wad of pink bubble gum stuck to the leather sole. Lowering the good foot, she scraped back and forth, keeping an eye out for curious bystanders. Her sandaled foot moved back and forth, back and forth, each rub producing nothing more than a long, stringy, sticky piece of gum-based latex.
    Sun glared down on her and she felt perspiration running down her neck. Her wrapped ankle throbbed. Gum was stuck tight as an eight - day clock. She could remove the shoe, but walking barefoot on the warm pavement didn’t interest her—not when she had to shuffle anyway. She’d have to make it back to the car and get rid of the sandal.
    With a goal fixed in mind, she limped down the concrete, trailing a long gooey slick of pink bubble gum on the hot pavement.
    This vacation was going nowhere but to the dogs.

    With her health care needs dealt with, Tess decided to walk to Beeg’s gallery near the historical Baldwin Missionary Home. She crossed the street and stopped to gawk at the Banyon tree in the middle of a small park where craft vendors peddled their wares. The tree branches spread for blocks.
    â€œSomething, isn’t