Dianne Drake - A Family for the Children's Doctor

Sighing, she took her first sip of coffee, then settled back into the hard-backed metal chair and stared up at the green light from the coin return on the candy-bar machine reflecting off the ceiling. On the other side of the room, voices entering whispered in muffled tones, apparently in respect for the quiet atmosphere there.

Ten minutes. That’s all she would allow herself, then she’d return to Isabella, and try to get some sleep, too. Or else she’d be all baggy-eyed and sluggish come morning.

“You really do like doing this, don’t you?” he asked, his voice coming out of nowhere.

Caprice startled. “I didn’t see you,” she gasped, immediately bolting upright.

“I saw you,” Adrian said, taking a seat next to her. Without invitation. “You’re wound up pretty tightly for a woman who has a large medical operation ready to start in the morning.”

“I’m always like this the night before. There’s so much to do, and I’m afraid I’ll overlook something, or miss someone who needs to be seen. A lot of people depend on our trips down here, and…” Why was she telling him all this? It seemed that she was always babbling on around him. He had that kind of effect on her. Wary, yet babbling away. Odd mix.

“Somehow I don’t see you overlooking anything. My guess is that you’re obsessive over detail.”

“Not obsessive. Just careful.” Maybe a little obsessive, but she wasn’t going to babble on about that, too.

He chuckled. “There’s a fine line, and you’re over it, Dr Bonaventura. You couldn’t do otherwise.”

“What makes you think you know me so well?” she snapped, that strange response to him clicking on with a slight chill wiggling up her spine.

“Takes one look. Over-protective mother, a doctor passionate to her cause. How could you not be obsessive?”

“Protective,” she corrected. “Not over-protective.”

He chuckled again, then took a sip of his own coffee. “Your eyes practically popped out of their sockets when Isabella took to me. Oh, you were polite about it. But you were bothered. Admit it.”

“You’re a stranger. I’ve taught her never to talk to strangers.”

“It’s hard for children to make the distinction between strangers and friends when the person they trust most in the world introduces that stranger into their life. Child trusts parent, therefore child trusts parent’s judgment. You brought me into Isabella’s life and she trusted that.”

He surprised her, sounding so insightful in matters to do with children. Of course, his own medical practice was devoted to children, so that was probably the reason. He worked with them every day. “Are you to be trusted, Dr McCallan?”

“Depends, I suppose.”

“On what?”

“To what aspects of my life are you referring? Medically, as a doctor, I’m absolutely to be trusted. Personally, as a friend, I’ve never had anyone say I’m not trustworthy.”

“But as a man?” she asked, immediately regretting it. That had just slipped out. Some of her true sentiments shining through, the ones she never, ever let loose around any aspect of her professional life.

“I’d say that’s pretty revealing,” he answered. “A mother alone in the Costa Rican jungle with her daughter. No wedding ring on her finger. Very distrustful of men. I’d say those are all signs of a relationship ending very badly.”

“And I’d say those are personal things I don’t discuss.”

“But didn’t you open the door to that conversation by asking me if I’m trustworthy as a man? That seems like personal conversation to me, and if you’re allowed to indulge in it, in all fairness, I should be given the same consideration.” He sat his cup down on the table and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “And the answer to your question is yes. As a man, I can be trusted. So now it’s your turn. You owe me one. Did the relationship end badly?”

She glared across at him, and even though the room was dim, she could see the intense look on his face. He was serious. He really did expect an answer. “Why do you want to know?” she asked.

“Because I like to know with whom I’m dealing. My reading on you before I came here didn’t reveal much. Mostly academic credits, medical accomplishments. Certainly nothing about Caprice the person. By design, I’m sure.”

“And why would knowing more about Caprice the person benefit you?”

“I’m not answering any more of your questions until you answer mine. In this world, you always have to give a little something to get something.”

Caprice huffed out an impatient sigh. Her time was up. She needed to get back to Isabella. “In this world, sometimes it’s nice to give something without expecting anything in return for it.” With that, she stood, then looked down at him. “And in answer to your question, yes. It ended badly. As badly as a marriage could possibly end.” Then she left him sitting there.

When she got out into the hall she slumped against the wall, thinking about putting her burning cheeks up against the cool cement blocks to stop the heat. Instead, though, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and fairly ran to her room before anyone had a chance to see how badly she was blushing. And shaking. And going wobbly in the knees.

From the end of that same hallway Adrian stood in the cafeteria doorway, watching Caprice make her hasty retreat. When she finally disappeared through her door, he returned to the public telephone to make yet another try at a call home.

THE room was basic. One great, open area partitioned into separate exam spaces by curtains, with each cordoned space containing a stainless-steel exam table, a stool for the doctor and a chair for the child’s parent, blood-pressure cuff, hand disinfectant, gloves—the most basic of medical equipment. Minimally equipped, yet equipped well enough.

Near the main entrance to the room stood several rows of brown folding chairs, all set up in neat long rows for parents and children awaiting their turn with one of the doctors. And there was a play area in the corner with donated bright red, blue and green plastic toys for the youngest children. It was always the most popular spot in the room—a place for them to come together to make new friends.

When the room wasn’t in use as a mass exam for Operation Smiling Faces, it served as a hall for hospital meetings and in-service training sessions—a multi-purpose room in function with three white cement block walls and a fourth wall that was more a row of windows overlooking the lush Costa Rican jungle.

Caprice liked the room. Over the many times she’d been here, she’d come to appreciate the sparse quality of it, and even taken it on as a symbol of their mission—basic, without extras, minimally equipped, yet equipped well enough to give the children what they needed. No one complained that, in surgical sequences which would require multiple procedures, the entirety of the medical treatment might be spread out months, even years longer than it would elsewhere. The people here weren’t like that. They weren’t impatient or presumptuous. Rather, they were kind, friendly and, most of all, appreciative.

Perhaps that’s why she kept coming back. In truth, she loved the smiles. One smile on a face that had never before smiled made all the effort worth everything it took to reach the medical end.

The medical end…even her own Isabella hadn’t reached the end yet. She would require more surgeries over time as her face matured. The same with many of these children. Tweaks to compensate for growth, maybe another scar reduction depending on how technology advanced. More dental work. But then, somewhere, came a logical, beautiful end to it—an end everyone in this room wanted badly. Including herself, for them, and for Isabella.