Page 75 of The Art of Ruin

“She’s in pain,” I say, keeping my voice low, controlled. “Significant enough that she didn’t travel. This is not a cold.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

When Isabella speaks again, her tone has shifted. “Did she tell you what it is?”

“Yes.”

“That’s surprising. She doesn’t tell many people.”

That thought shouldn’t please me as much as it does. “That’s not relevant,” I reply evenly. “What is relevant is that she’s currently in a state that requires management, and I don’t have the necessary information.”

“You’re calling me for medical advice now?” Isabella asks lightly, but there’s something careful under it.

“I’m calling you because you know her better than I do,” I say. “Which means you’re more likely to have context or have seen this happen to her before.”

Silence settles briefly at the other end of the line.

Then I hear Izz sigh. “It’s not the flu. It’s an endometriosis flare,” she says quietly.

“I’m aware.”

“It’s something she deals with,” Isabella continues, choosing her words carefully. “She doesn’t make a big thing out of it, but when it hits, it hits hard.”

“That’s not specific.”

“No,” she agrees.

I let that sit for a moment, not because I agree, but because pushing further isn’t going to get me what I need. “What helps?” I ask instead.

Another pause.

“Heat,” Isabella says. “Rest. Pain relief if she’ll take it properly. And space—unless she asks for something. Oh, and bland food because she can get nauseous from the pain.”

I glance back toward the door.

She’s silent. “Space isn’t the same as isolation,” I say. “She needs someone to take care of her.”

“I know,” Isabella replies. “But she’s used to handling it on her own.”

That aligns with what I’m seeing. It doesn’t make it acceptable.

“She shouldn’t be alone,” I say.

“I don’t think she will be,” Isabella answers softly.

The implication lands because she’s right.

I end the call shortly after, the information limited but sufficient enough to establish a framework. But I put in a call to my own doctor and get through immediately. He gives me a little more information on what endometriosis is and what to expect.Which isn’t a whole lot more information than I have right now. Basically, I’m pretty useless in this situation, apart from doing what I’m already doing.

When I walk back through her door, Casey hasn’t shifted much from where I left her, but there’s a slight tension in her shoulders now that wasn’t there before. As if she’s aware of the fact that I’ve involved someone else.

“Who did you call?”

“Izzy.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” she says.