“Then you ought to take a sample to the private clinic on Oak Street,” Betty said, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me.

“Because something inside your body is pulling you down.”

“I don’t have a prescription to show them,” I said.

“You don’t need one if you bring them the liquid,” Betty said, leaning closer across the counter.

“A private lab test runs four hundred dollars in cash, but it’ll tell you what’s in your blood.”

“Four hundred dollars,” I repeated softly.

“It’s worth every penny if you’re worried,” Betty said, setting her glasses back on her nose.