Family Practice

“Can’t you just drive Lizzie’s car?” he asked. The baby had settled down. The wound had stopped bleeding. Kara appeared to be relaxed.

“I can’t,” Kara said.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I never learned to drive.”

Michael’s jaw must have dropped when he heard her words, because Lizzie explained. “Kara hasn’t had the same opportunities as some young people. She has never owned a car, so she’s never been able to practice. I keep thinking I’ll take her out driving, but I guess we haven’t taken the time.”

“It’s no big deal,” Kara said. “I walk a lot. And the bus system works great.”

The bus. Michael bit back a scowl. Shoot, it wasn’t as though he were a fugitive. The worst that could happen would be having reporters find him and harass him again. If that happened, he’d just leave town.

He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll take you to the hospital. Just give me a minute or two. I’ll go get my keys.”

As Michael left the room, Lizzie let out a slow sigh. “He is the nicest young man. Aren’t we lucky to have someone who knows first aid living next to us?”

“Yes,” Kara said. “Do you think he’s a doctor?”

“Driving that old blue Ford?” Lizzie made a noise with her lips. “Doctors are rich. I’ll bet he’s just a hospital orderly.”

“You’re probably right,” Kara said. She placed a kiss on Ashley’s head. “But still, it’s nice to know that someone around here has some medical skill. Maybe I’d better sign up for a first aid class through community services. Michael won’t be here forever.”

“No, he won’t.” Lizzie placed her hands on the armrests of the chair and slowly rose to her feet. “Too bad. He would make a nice neighbor.”

Yes, he would, Kara thought. She, too, was glad to have him near. On one level. Under the surface, she knew having Michael next door would be a trial of sorts because each time she looked at him, she remembered the feel of his hand on her cheek, his lips on hers, the taste of him. It was a distraction she didn’t need right now.

Before she could respond to Lizzie’s comment, Michael returned with his car keys and Eric on his heels. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, dear,” Lizzie said. “You’ll need a car seat. We’ll have to take it out of my back seat and put it in yours.”

“Why don’t I just drive your car, Lizzie?”

“Oh. That would be easier, wouldn’t it?”

Ten minutes later, Michael pulled into the hospital drive. He dropped Kara and Ashley off at the ER entrance, then parked Lizzie’s car in the visitor’s lot.

This was a new experience for him. Usually, he pulled into a reserved spot. There was a special status given to doctors, even more so to surgeons. He’d never realized how special until he entered the double doors of the ER like any one of the others waiting their turn.

An older woman and her male companion sat quietly and thumbed through weathered magazines. Michael wondered if they were actually reading the words or just going through the motions.

A young man in baggy jeans paced the floor, walking on the shredded hems of his pants. Michael figured he’d walk off the excess length of his jeans before the afternoon was up. He glanced at the clock. Two thirty-five. This would probably take forever.

He counted the people in the room—fourteen—then shook his head. Back in med school, he’d spent an ungodly number of hours during his long shifts in the ER—hours on end, days with little sleep. Still, the time had passed quickly. A string of emergencies, one crisis after another, kept him going. The hours passed quickly.

Two thirty-six. At this rate, he and Kara would be here all day.

He spotted her at a small window, balancing Ashley on her hip and pulling out insurance cards and a permission-to-treat form Lizzie had signed. He thought about joining her at the window, but didn’t. Instead he studied the figures in the room. He saw loneliness, worry and boredom etched on the faces before him. One man slammed down a magazine, then stomped out the door. Michael felt as though he’d like to do the same thing, but before he could give it any thought, Kara made her way toward him.

“I’ve signed her in,” she said, trying to twist her head from Ashley’s reach. The little girl grabbed a handful of the red hair and jerked. Kara merely tugged the strands from Ashley’s grip, leaving several hairs behind. “The receptionist said they’d call us when it’s our turn.”

Our turn? Michael scanned the room, then nodded. They took a seat near the telephone.

Two thirty-seven. He made another assessment of the gash on Ashley’s forehead. Three stitches, maybe four. Four hundred dollars and half a day wasted. Oh, well. What did he have to do, anyway?

“Would you please hold her?” Kara placed the infant on his lap before he had a chance to ask why. “I need to call her doctor. With all the excitement at home, I forgot.”

“Sure,” Michael said. He rested Ashley’s diaper-clad bottom on his knee. She was a pretty little thing. Not much hair, but big brown eyes that would drive the boys wild in a few years.

The baby thrust a fist at him, two strands of Kara’s hair still held tightly in her fingers. “I know you like the color. Me, too. But if you continue to pull it out like that, Kara won’t have any more for us to admire.”

Ashley laughed as though they’d shared a private joke.

Michael hadn’t held babies very often. Not like this. Ashley blew bubbles through pursed lips, and he couldn’t help but smile. “You were squawking pretty good a few minutes ago. Had everybody in panic mode. Did it hurt that bad?”

The baby let out a happy shriek, the high-pitched sound surprising the smile from her face.

“I didn’t think so.”

When Kara returned, she reached for the diaper bag before Michael could put the baby in her arms. “Are you hungry, little one?” she asked, handing Ashley a bottle of milk.

Ashley eagerly snatched the bottle and slunk down in Michael’s arms. She kicked one heel against his knee while happily mouthing the nipple. A dribble of milk eased down her chin, and he caught it with the tip of his finger. She smiled at him, as though grateful for his assistance. This was a strange experience for him. Sure, he’d held kids. Sick kids. Recovering kids. But not like this. Not in a day-to-day way.

The tap of Ashley’s heel upon his knee slowed to a stop, and she closed her eyes and slowed her sucking. When her lips loosened upon the nipple, a flurry of tiny bubbles rushed into the remainder of the milk, filling the half-empty bottle with a lacy froth.

Imagine that, the little kid was sleeping in his arms. A little angel—with a tummy full of milk and a knotted gash on her noggin.

He held her like that for a long time, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Amazing, he thought. The little girl rested in peaceful slumber, but he, too, found a sense of peace. Relaxation. Well-being. Something he’d been searching for on the jetty by the harbor. When Ashley woke up, this mellow mood in which he found himself would pass. But he’d touched the clouds for a moment and discovered a hint of the peace he’d been after.

“Michael?” Kara tapped his shoulder and pointed to a nurse in the hall. “It’s our turn to go.”

Michael sheepishly glanced up from his musing, only to see many of the same people still waiting. “How did you manage to take cuts?”

She smiled. “Dr. Weldon was visiting a patient on the fourth floor. When I called his service, they had him paged.”

Of course, Michael thought, as he got to his feet, careful not to wake Ashley. That made sense. He followed Kara, who followed the uniformed nurse to one of several cribs provided for the youngest ER patients.

“Dr. Weldon will be right in,” the nurse said. “Since the baby’s sleeping, why don’t you just hold her until he comes. They’ll be poking and prodding her soon enough.”

Michael glanced down at little Ashley. It seemed a shame to wake her, but he knew the routine. And the procedure. She’d be strapped to a papoose board that would restrict her movements, and she wouldn’t like it at all. He held her close, wishing he could spare her the pain and discomfort and knowing he couldn’t.

Dr. Weldon approached Kara and drew the curtain around the crib, providing what little privacy the ER could offer. Weldon had a paternal, grandfatherly appearance, with bushy white hair, a bit of a potbelly and ruddy cheeks. “Well, well,” he began in a patronizing fashion. “What happened?”

“She pulled herself up on the coffee table, then lost her balance. She hit her head on the corner.”

“Did she lose consciousness?” he asked.

She’s all right, Michael wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t his case. It wasn’t his kid. He was just the neighbor who’d brought Kara and the baby to the hospital. Keep it simple. Stay detached.