Canon
“So let’ssave those scenes for later,” Jill says the next morning, “because the sun will be highest. I think that’ll be our best light.”
Kenneth and I nod. When it comes to cinematography, light, and composition, I defer to Jill. There aren’t many people I defer to on . . . well, anything, but Jill knows her craft in the way you’d be crazy not to trust her.
Evan walks into the cottage we’ve designated as our command station of sorts. Lines of strain bracket his mouth, which is not unusual when we’re in the final stretch of a movie, but he shoots me a wary look that makes me wonder what’s up.
“Hey, guys,” he says, pulling up a chair and joining us at the table. “We need to talk before the day starts.”
“Okay.” I lean back and link my hands over my stomach. “Shoot.”
“It’s about Neevah.”
The air tightens in the room instantly, for obvious reasons.
One.
She’s the star of this movie and in just about every scene. When something goes wrong with Neevah, it affects the entire production.
Two.
She’s my girl. And if there’s something going on with Neevah, shouldn’t I already know about it?
“What about Neevah?” Kenneth asks, as if number two is not a consideration.
“She texted me wanting to talk last night,” Evan says, leaning forward.
“What time?” I demand, because I talked to Neevah last night, if only for a few minutes.
“I don’t remember. Maybe nine? Does it matter?”
Hell, yeah, it does.
“No,” I say. “So what’s up?”
“You know a few days ago she had to get some bloodwork done for her dermatologist,” he continues. “Well, when she got back to her room last night, the doctor had left a message for her with the results.”
My teeth clamp together to the point of discomfort. My jaw must be about to shatter. This cannot be good, and I’m bracing myself not to explode all over my team when Evan says whatever the hell he’s taking forever to tell us.
“The skin condition Neevah has is discoid lupus,” Evan says, looking up when Jill gasps. “Discoid lupus isn’t life-threatening. You’re probably thinking of systemic lupus, like I did at first. Neevah had to explain the difference to me.”
“Oh.” Jill touches her chest, closing her eyes. “Thank God.”
“But,” Evan says, shifting his eyes to me, “they’re concerned that Neevah may be in the middle of or approaching a flare-up.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I demand, my voice sounding like it’s being strained by a cheese grater.
“Apparently her levels—don’t ask me for all the acronyms she gave me. ANA, WBC, all kinds of letters and tests—are all off. They’re especially concerned about her elevated creatinine levels.”
“And that indicates what?” Kenneth asks.
“Um, maybe not much. She starts a new prescription today, which they hope will level things out, but I guess the combination of what they saw across the panel has them concerned about her kidneys. They want to biopsy her kidney as soon as possible.”
Biopsy her kidney.
Lupus.
Life-threatening.