Page 105 of Tanner

“She needs a local doctor on paper before tomorrow. You’ve got the old clinic card and the birth certificate. We do the registration now. That’s one box ticked before Rebecca Palmer walks through the door.”

Tanner stared at him. He didn’t want to do it right then, but it made sense. “She’ll see the forms tomorrow anyway,” he said.

“Exactly.”

Tanner looked down at his drink. “You planned this already.”

Miles shrugged a shoulder. “I thought it was the best use of the next hour.”

Something in Tanner wanted to refuse on principle. Wanted to say no just because everyone had been telling him what the next hour, the next day, the next week needed to be. But Savannah was asleep in the next room. A doctor on file mattered. He knew it mattered. He’d known before Rebecca Palmer ever said it across that table.

He reached for the folder and pulled it closer. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Tanner flipped it open. “I might a bit.”

The registration form was on the clinic website, but the printer at the house still jammed on anything more than one page, so Miles called ahead instead and got them to agree to prepare a paper copy if Tanner came in before closing. They were open another forty minutes. Tanner changed Savannah from her jeans into soft leggings without waking her properly, carried her back to the truck half asleep, and slid into the passenger seat with the folder tucked under one arm again.

The clinic receptionist behind the desk wore reading glasses low on her nose and spoke fast in the way people did when they were trying to get through a queue before closing.

“Child registration?” she asked.

Tanner nodded.

“Current address?”

He gave it.

“Parent or guardian?”

His mouth dried out, but he forced the words out. “Brother. Guardianship process started today.”

The receptionist glanced up then, quick and assessing. “Fine,” she said, already pulling a form from the tray. “Put your details here, and I’ll need the child’s full name, date of birth, previous practice if you have it, and an emergency contact.”

Tanner took the clipboard. The pen was attached with a piece of plastic chain. He sat in one of the waiting room chairs and bent over the form while Savannah leaned against his side with her rabbit in both arms and her head tipped onto his shoulder.

“Why we here?” she asked, voice thick with sleep.

“Doctor stuff,” Tanner said.

“I not sick.”

“No.”

That satisfied her. She played with the rabbit’s paw while Tanner filled in each line. His own writing was rougher than usual. He had to stop twice to check dates in the folder. Emergency contact made him pause.

Miles said quietly, “Put me.” Tanner looked at him. Miles met his eyes. “Put me.”

Tanner didn’t say anything. He wrote Miles Owens and the number he already knew by heart.

When he took the clipboard back to the desk, the receptionist checked the form, copied the documents, and stapled a temporary registration slip to the front.

“There,” she said. “That covers you pending the full transfer. If she needs an appointment before the records come through, call first thing in the morning.”

Tanner took the papers back carefully. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”