Michele Dunaway - Emergency Engagement

“It’s yucky,” Carly said. “My belly hurts.”

He peered into the cup again. “How about a deal? You drink half of what’s left and I’ll throw the rest away.”

“Half?” Carly’s face had the hopefulness and skepticism of a child debating whether to eat liver.

“Half.” Dr. Searle took a pen from his pocket and drew a black line around the outside of the cup. “Right here. A few good sips should do it. In fact, I’ll wait. Do you think you can give me three good sips?”

Carly had brightened. “Yes.” She reached for the cup, and he held it as she sucked on the straw.

“One.” He counted. Carly stopped for a break. Quinton shook the cup. “Two more.”

Carly took another deep drag on the straw, and Beth’s heart wrenched as her daughter’s face scrunched up.

“That was great,” he said. “One more, Carly. You can do it.”

Carly must have caught some of his enthusiasm, for she said, “I can do it,” and went back for one more long pull on the straw. She made a face as she swallowed.

He didn’t even check the container, he simply handed it to Elaine, who removed it from the room. “All done! Way to go.”

“Yay!” Carly clapped her hands. But then she dropped them to her sides and winced. “My tummy hurts.”

“It’s going to hurt,” Dr. Searle said. “The special drink is taking all the green medicine out of your body. Pretty soon you’re going to have to poop.”

“Oh.” Carly stared at him as if she’d never heard the word poop before.

Beth suppressed a smile. In Carly’s world, doctors didn’t use that word. Dr. Searle had said it with a straight face.

“And then the bad medicine will go right down the toilet and you can go home,” he added.

“Hooray!” Carly said, then her face looked pained again. “My tummy hurts.”

“It’s going to hurt as the medicine works. Then you’ll be all better. Listen—I have to check on my other patients. You watch your movie and tell your mommy when you have to go to the bathroom.”

He looked at Beth for a moment and she felt herself flush under his brief appraisal.

“Press the call button when she needs the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Beth said.

His white coat snapped as he left the room.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Carly said.

Since the retaining rails were not raised, Beth sat down on the bed next to her daughter. She gathered Carly into her arms. “It’s okay,” she told her simply. “I love you, and I forgive you. I’m just happy you’re going to be okay.”

“I’ll never leave you. Not like Daddy,” Carly said. She looked close to tears. “It hurts, Mommy.”

“I know.” Beth wished she could speed up the process. She stroked Carly’s hair. “You’ll never take medicine again without asking, will you?”

“No,” Carly said. Under Beth’s soothing ministrations, her daughter shook her head.

“I love you.” Beth said as she drew Carly even closer. “I never want to lose you.”

“You won’t. I promise,” Carly told her.

Beth leaned her daughter onto her back and kissed her forehead. “Good.”

QUINTON STARED at the touching scene through the glass wall of Carly’s room. Since no one had bothered to draw the privacy curtain, he had a perfect view.

“Carly freely admitted taking the medicine,” Elaine said.

Quinton nodded. Whereas Beth Johnson was guilty of being irresponsible with her purse, she wasn’t guilty of any type of child abuse. During his residency, he’d seen it all, including the mother who’d deliberately overmedicated her child, causing massive ulcers in her daughter’s stomach lining that had eventually started to bleed. The child hadn’t even been two.

No, Beth Johnson had made a mistake, and she was a far cry from a Division of Family Services case. He could sum up a person’s character in a heartbeat, and he knew without a doubt that she was devoted to her child. She’d confirmed it in the conference room with her passionate plea for his understanding. He frowned, remembering. He hadn’t liked his reaction to her.

He stared at the ink pen he held, which was emblazoned with some drug manufacturer’s logo. Maybe tonight he was simply caving in from all the family pressure he was under. Perhaps he was still a tad burnt out from the holidays. He watched as Beth helped her daughter sit up. Beth Johnson was a natural nurturer. It was as if she’d never lost that proverbial glow from pregnancy that he saw on women’s faces when they interviewed for their unborn child’s future pediatrician. But Beth Johnson was somehow different, somehow more. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Suddenly, the call button flashed and Elaine was on a run. Within moments, all three women had rushed to the bathroom.

Quinton sighed. That meant one thing: soon he’d be signing Carly’s release papers and she and her hauntingly attractive mother would disappear into the night. They would fade into the faceless masses he treated when in the pediatric ER.

He turned and went to check on a new patient.

“Come on, Quinton. Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy. At least stay for the stripper.”

Quinton lowered the half-empty bottle of beer. He really wanted to go home. Bachelor parties weren’t exactly his thing, and worse, they reminded him, that, unlike most of the men in the room, he wasn’t married. Not that Quinton was in a hurry to settle down and get married. That was what his family wanted him to do. But Quinton wanted the whole fantasy of love ever after, and was prepared to spend his life alone if he didn’t find it. A man didn’t marry because he was afraid of being alone. A man married because he’d found his perfect mate for life.

Unlike Bill, age forty-five. His bachelor party was for his second marriage. The first Mrs. Webber now enjoyed a house and a new BMW courtesy of her wealthy ex. The bride-to-be was twenty years younger than Bill. No, that type of relationship wasn’t for Quinton.

He wanted a woman who loved him for him. He wanted the whole heart and soul, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, death-do-us-part thing. He wanted the fairy tale. Hell, he wanted what, in reality, probably didn’t exist.

Quinton twisted the bottle in his hand. Maybe he shouldn’t have been a doctor, especially one with ER duty. Doctors experienced too much negative reality. Jaded, Quinton knew the fairy tale was fake.

Unlike Carly Johnson. At four years of age, she had confused him for a prince. He was no prince. Quinton shook his head. Eight days had passed since Carly left the ER, and her small face still haunted him. She’d been pale but undeniably brave after her body had begun to purge itself of the liquid charcoal.

She’d even hugged him as she left, her small arms finding and tugging at the heartstrings he kept safely hidden. At that moment he’d looked into Beth Johnson’s blue eyes and seen tears. Not tears of happiness, but of something else he hadn’t been able to catch before she’d lowered her lashes and hidden the emotions. Images of Beth had haunted him, too, and that had never happened before. They remained as fresh as on the day they met—

“She’s here,” Larry said, interrupting Quinton’s thoughts. “At least stay for this. Bill won’t understand if you walk out early.”

“Fine.” Quinton tossed the empty bottle into a trash can. He could use the time to sober up a bit. Although he’d only had two beers, he rarely imbibed any alcohol, and he could definitely feel its effects. Besides, even though he disliked strip shows, maybe the tawdriness of it would help dispel his memories of the Johnsons. Quinton followed Larry into the family room and both men took a seat on the sofa.

“Everyone here?” Mike, one of the senior doctors in the practice, glanced around the room. “Great. Well, Bill, this little show’s just for you, to give you a hint what you’re giving up by being dumb enough to tie the knot again!”