Lisa Jackson - Born To Die

“I fell! And… and I put my hands out like this. .” He extended his arms, winced, and sucked in his breath. His left arm fell back to his side as he turned ashen again.

“Okay, so you broke your fall by stretching out your arms.” She was nodding. “When?” She glanced at the dad.

“Don’t know exactly,” Eli’s father said. He was staring at her hard, as if trying to figure her out. “I got the call about forty minutes ago, so I assume it was right after it happened.”

“Okay.” She said gently to Eli, “Now, I’m gonna need to take a look at your arm a little more closely. Okay?”

From beneath his beetled eyebrows, the boy glared up at her suspiciously.

“It’s okay,” his father said, placing a big hand over the kid’s, but his expression was as concerned as his son’s.

“ ’Kay,” Eli finally said.

Gently she examined the boy. Testing his movements, running her fingers along the muscles and joints, watching his reaction. All the while, Trace hovered.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” she said finally, “but we can’t be sure without X-rays. There’s always the chance of a stress fracture.”

A muscle in Trace’s jaw worked. “That’s what the nurse at the school said, and she also said he was running a fever. He’s had a cold he hasn’t been able to shake.”

“Since you’re here,” she said to Eli, “let’s double-check that temp, then take a look at your throat and maybe your ears.”

Reluctantly, Eli agreed. His temperature was 100.1, his lymph nodes were slightly swollen, his eardrums were red, and his throat was so inflamed, she swabbed it to check for strep. “Looks like you probably need some antibiotics,” she said. “I’m betting your throat is pretty sore.”

“Really sore.” Eli bobbed his head emphatically.

Trace frowned. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t hurt before,” his son said.

“It can come on fast. Looks like a double ear infection, and I’m betting on strep throat,” Kacey said to Trace before moving her gaze to his son. “But you, Eli, should feel better in a couple of days,” she promised. “So, now, let’s get an X-ray of that arm, okay? The lab is in the next building.” She turned to her laptop and made a note, then said to Trace, “You can take him over there and have the X-rays taken. They’ll send them over, and I’ll look at them. It won’t take long. We’ll meet up here again, after I check them. If I think you should see an orthopedist, I’ll let you know and set up an appointment with Dr. Belding in Missoula. Or whomever you want.” She offered a reassuring smile, which wasn’t returned. “I’ve worked with Dr. Belding. She’s good.”

Trace nodded curtly. “Thanks.” To his son, he said, “Let’s go, bud.”

Heather appeared with the request forms for the lab just as Trace was helping Eli from the examination table. “Do you need anything else?” she asked Kacey.

“I think we’re okay. Thanks.”

As Heather returned to her desk, Kacey handed Trace the request forms, then, to make the boy feel more at ease, said to Eli, “Look, I know a shortcut, so I’ll walk you over. Is that okay?” She smiled at Eli. “Just in case your dad gets lost.”

“He won’t! He was an Army Ranger.”

Trace snorted and held the door open. “That was a few years back.”

“But you were!” Eli insisted.

“Back in the Dark Ages,” he admitted as they headed through a series of short hallways and out a back door, where the wind knifed through her lab coat and snow was collecting in the planters.

“Right here,” she said, holding her coat closed with one hand while hurrying down the short walkway. Before she could reach the door, Trace pulled it open and waited for her and his son to walk inside.

The heat was blasting, of course, Christmas music drifting down the hallways.

“Okay, from here on in, you’re on your own,” she said as she dropped them off with one of the lab technicians. “I’ll see you in about an hour, after we get the X-rays back.”

“Got it,” he said, and when his eyes met hers, she saw something dark and undefinable in his gaze.

Just your imagination.

Maybe Trace was just worried about his boy, but there was something more to the guy’s reaction, an undercurrent of distrust that seemed out of line with the situation, almost as if he didn’t trust her. Or maybe it was doctors or the medical profession in general. Not that she had time to worry about his hang-ups, whatever they were.

She and Randy, her nurse, spent nearly an hour with other patients: Cathy Singer was dealing with adult acne; two kids came in with flu symptoms; Kevin Thomas’s mother was certain he had head lice as there had been a case at school; and even Helen Ingles, having apparently found a replacement babysitter for her nephew, returned to have her own health and diabetes monitored.

An hour after being sent to the lab, the O’Hallerans were back in exam room three with the X-rays, which proved there was a small fracture in Eli’s left ulna. “Looks like we’re going to need a cast,” she told father and son as she showed them both the tiny hairline fracture in the bone. “So you can have your pick of colors. Pink or blue.”

“Pink?” Eli looked stricken. His nose wrinkled in disgust. “No way!”

“Blue it is,” she said with a grin as Randy found the appropriate colored kit from a supply closet and helped her apply the cast. For his part, Eli was a trooper, didn’t flinch too much, tried to be as stoic as his father.

Once the cast was in place, and Randy was cleaning up the extra packaging, Kacey gave them instructions. “The main thing is that you don’t reinjure it. So you”—she eyed the boy—“have to take it easy for a while. No more climbing on the jungle gym, or being pushed by Cory Whoever.” She leaned down so that she was eyeball-to-eyeball with him. “Can you do that?”

Eli nodded, then looked down at his cast. “Maybe you tell him that? He’s a butthead.”

Trace was long-suffering. “I thought that was our secret. Remember?”

“Everybody knows,” Eli said.

“I guess the secret’s out,” Kacey said with a grin, then told Eli, “But I wouldn’t worry about Cory. . uh. .”

“Deter,” Trace supplied.

“Right. I think your dad will handle any trouble you have from him. I heard that he was an Army Ranger. From what I understand, those guys are pretty tough.”

“They are!” Eli declared, and Trace looked as if he wanted to fall through the floor.

“I think that’s enough,” he said, reaching for his son’s jacket when the boy blurted, “You look like Miss Wallis.”

Kacey glanced up at the father, who visibly winced. “Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah. I guess.” Trace nodded without a lot of conviction.

“Great.” First Shelly Bonaventure, now the unknown Miss Wallis. It seemed to be her week for resembling someone else.

Eli announced, “She’s my dad’s girlfriend.”

Every muscle in Trace’s body appeared to stiffen. “Eli, I told you that Miss Wallis and I — we’re not dating. She’s not my girlfriend.” Totally abashed, he said, “Sorry. Miss Wallis was Eli’s teacher last year, when he was in first grade.”

“And you went out on dates!” Eli glared up at his father.

He gazed apologetically at Kacey. “She and I did go out a couple of times, and yes, you do look a little like her.”

“I must have a face that looks familiar.”

He closed his eyes for half a second and shook his head, the overhead light catching in the blonder strands of his hair. “So, now that I’m completely embarrassed, can you tell me how to slow an active seven-year-old down?”