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The girl’s gaze slid away.
“Is there anything you need to talk about?”
The girl’s trembling hands were clasped tightly at her knees. “I—I’m worried about my baby.”
She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, maybe less. No wedding ring. Her baggy painter’s pants were torn at the knees and her cheap jacket was faded and worn.
“Where do you live?” Jolie asked gently.
The girl gave her a wary look. “Out on J—” She caught herself. “South of town.”
Jolie stared at her face. Bruising on her left cheek was dark red, changing to purple. The abrasion above her right eyebrow looked raw. These were new injuries.
Required by law to report all instances of suspected child abuse, Jolie knew she’d have to contact the authorities if this girl was under eighteen.
“How old are you, honey?”
The girl’s gaze darted uneasily toward the door. “I...I’ve got to go. I shouldn’t have come here.” She stood abruptly.
“Please, I want to help.”
Jolie reached out to touch her arm, to offer comfort and encouragement. The girl jerked back as if she’d been slapped, then bolted across the room.
“Wait—you said you’re worried about your baby.”
She stopped, one hand on the doorknob.
“Are you afraid there might have been some...injury?”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t have any money.”
“That’s okay.”
“I shouldn’t have come if I can’t pay.”
“There are state-aid programs.... Have you applied?”
“No.” Her voice was even softer now, tinged with desperation.
“What about the baby’s father?”
“I don’t need anything from him. Not ever.”
No last name, no address—if the girl walked out the door, she might never come back, and Jolie wouldn’t know how to find her. “Please, don’t leave. Think about your baby.”
The girl hesitated. Then she fled out the door.
THE GIRL STILL HADN’Treturned by Friday. Other patients came in, though.
Two ranch hands with burns—an occupational hazard during branding. A crotchety old man with gastroesophageal reflux who’d been wolfing down antacids for months before seeking medical advice. A skateboarder with a broken wrist.
One snippy woman stopped by to ask if the rumors were true about the multimillion-dollar malpractice lawsuits filed against Jolie in California. Where, Jolie wondered on a heavy sigh, did these crazy rumors start?
Charlie—trailed by Annie—appeared every day after school. They popped in the front door, and if there weren’t any patients in the waiting room, they sat and talked with her. Charlie seemed as hungry for motherly attention as he did for the jar of Tootsie Rolls on her desk.
Now he was hanging over the counter at the receptionist’s window, grinning from ear to ear.
“I think you should come for supper,” he announced. “Dad said he’s gonna grill steak tonight, so then you wouldn’t have to eat supper all by yourself.”
