The mother shifted the baby, saying, “He’s still fussy.”
Sara put her hand to the boy’s cheek, shushing him. The child calmed as if a spell had been cast, and Jeffrey felt a lump rising in his throat. Sara was so good with children. The fact that she couldn’t have any of her own was something they seldom talked about. There were some things that just cut too close.
Jeffrey watched as Sara took a few more seconds with the baby, stroking his thin hair over his ear, a smile of sheer pleasure on her lips. The moment felt private, and Jeffrey cleared his throat, having the strange sensation of being an intruder.
Sara turned around, taken off guard, almost startled. She told Jeffrey, “Just a minute,” then turned back to the mother, all business as she handed the woman a white paper bag. “These samples should be enough for a week. If he’s not significantly better by Thursday, give me a call.”
The woman took the samples with one hand, holding tight to the baby. She had probably had the kid while she was just a teenager. Jeffrey had learned just recently that before going off to college he had fathered a child. Well, not a child anymore- Jared was nearly a grown man.
“Thank you, Dr. Linton,” the young mother said. “I don’t know how I’m gonna pay you for-”
“Let’s just get him better,” Sara interrupted. “And get some sleep yourself. You’re no good to him if you’re exhausted all the time.”
The mother took the admonishment with a slight nod of the head, and without even knowing her, Jeffrey understood the advice was falling on deaf ears.
Sara obviously knew this, too well. She said, “Just try, okay? You’re going to make yourself sick.”
The woman hesitated, then agreed, “I’ll try.”
Sara looked down at her hand, and it seemed to Jeffrey that she had not realized she was holding the baby’s foot in her palm. Her thumb rubbed his ankle, and she gave that private smile again.
“Thank you,” the mother said. “Thank you for coming in so early.”
“It’s fine.” Sara had never been good at taking praise or appreciation. She walked them to the door, holding it open as she reminded, “Call me if he’s not better.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sara pulled the door shut after them, taking her time as she walked back across the lobby, not looking at Jeffrey. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it, asking, “Anything on the Jane Doe?”
“No,” he said. “We might get something later on when the West Coast opens for the day.”
“She doesn’t look like a runaway to me.”
“Me, either.”
They were both quiet for a beat, and Jeffrey didn’t know what to say.
As usual, Sara broke the silence. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, walking back toward the exam rooms. He followed her, thinking he was hearing good news until she said, “I want to draw some blood for a hep and liver panel.”
“Hare already did all that.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, leaving it at that. She didn’t hold the door for him, and he had to catch it before it popped back in his face. Unfortunately, he used his left hand and the hard surface caught him smack on the bandaged cut. He felt like someone had stuck him with a knife.
He hissed, “Jesus, Sara.”
“I’m sorry.” Her apology seemed genuine, but there was a flash of something like revenge in her eyes. She reached for his hand and he pulled back on sheer reflex. Her look of irritation at this persuaded him to let her see the bandage.
She asked, “How long has it been bleeding?”
“It’s not bleeding,” he insisted, knowing she’d probably do something really painful to it if he told her the truth. Still, he followed her down the hall toward the nurses’ station like a lamb to the slaughter.
“You didn’t get that prescription filled, did you?” She leaned over the counter and riffled through a drawer, grabbing a handful of brightly colored packets. “Take these.”
He looked at the pink and green sample packs. There were farm animals printed on the foil. “What are these?”
“Antibiotics.”
“Aren’t they for kids?”
Her look said she wasn’t going to go for the obvious joke. “It’s half the dose of the adult formula with a movie tie-in and a higher price,” she told him. “Take two in the morning and two at night.”
“For how long?”
“Until I tell you to stop,” she ordered. “Come in here.”
Jeffrey followed her into an exam room, feeling like a child. His mother had worked in the hospital cafeteria when Jeffrey was a kid, so he had missed out on going to a pediatrician’s office for various bumps and scrapes. Cal Rodgers, the ER doc, had taken care of him and, Jeffrey suspected, had taken care of his mother as well. The first time he had heard his mother giggle was when Rodgers had told a stupid joke about a paraplegic and a nun.
“Sit,” Sara ordered, cupping his elbow as if he needed help getting up on the exam table.
“I’ve got it,” Jeffrey told her, but she was already unwrapping his hand. The wound gaped open like a wet mouth, and he felt a throbbing ache pulse up his arm.
“You broke it open,” she admonished, holding a silver basin under his hand as she washed out the wound.
Jeffrey tried not to react to the pain, but the truth was it hurt like hell. He never understood why an injury hurt more during treatment than it did when you first got it. He could barely remember cutting his hand in the woods, but now, every time he moved his fingers, he felt like a bunch of needles were digging into his skin.
“What did you do?” she asked, her tone full of disapproval.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he thought about the way Sara had smiled with that baby. He had seen Sara in a lot of moods, but he had never seen that particular smile.
“Jeff?” she prompted.
He shook his head, wanting to touch her face but afraid he’d pull back a bloody stub where his hand used to be.
“I’ll wrap it again,” she said, “but you need to be careful with this. You don’t want an infection.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, waiting for her to look up and smile.
Instead, she asked, “Where did you sleep last night?”
“Not where I wanted to.”
She didn’t take the bait, rather she began wrapping his hand again, her lips pressed together in a tight line. She used her teeth to cut through a strip of surgical tape. “You need to be very careful and keep this clean.”
“Why don’t I drop by later and you can do it?”
“Right…” She let her voice trail off as she opened and closed some drawers. She took out a vacuum tube and a syringe. Jeffrey felt a moment of panic that she was going to stick a needle in his hand but then remembered she wanted to draw blood.
She unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and rolled up the sleeve. He looked up at the ceiling, not wanting to watch, waiting for the sharp sting of the needle. It didn’t come- instead he heard her give a heavy sigh.
He asked, “What?”
She tapped his forearm to find a vein. “It’s my fault.”
“What’s your fault?”
She waited before answering, as if she needed to think about how to phrase her response. “When I left Atlanta, I was in the middle of my vaccinations for hep A and B.” She wrapped a tourniquet around his biceps, pulling it tight. “You get two injections a few weeks apart, then five months later you get the booster.” She paused again, wiping his skin with alcohol. “I got one and two, but when I moved back here, I didn’t follow up. I didn’t know what I was going to do with my life, let alone whether or not I was going to keep practicing medicine.” She paused. “I didn’t think to finish the series again until around the time…”
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