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She was here to help real patients. There simply wasn’t time for gossipers and hypochondriacs during their busy days. It was no secret Carol Bingley didn’t like Vivian, probably because she had refused to answer any of her very inquisitive questions.
The knocking resumed. Irritated, she got up and opened the door.
“Yes?” At this point she didn’t really care how rude she sounded.
However, the nurses at Marietta Medical, Vivian had discovered, were not intimidated by anyone. Nurse Jonathan was grinning, ignoring her sour tone.
“Sorry to bother you, Doctor Miller, but Janice O’Sullivan is in the ER with her godson. He’s visiting from Portland and has apparently hurt his foot. She insists you look at it.”
Her irritation forgotten when she heard the word ‘godson’, Vivian grabbed her statoscope. “Of course. Lead the way.” She’d always had a soft spot for children.
She hurried to the ER where a distraught Janice was waiting for her. Vivian and her sister, Annie, had met the vivacious older woman at the diner just after they’d arrived in Marietta about a year ago, and they’d quickly become friends. Janice was also a newcomer to the small town. She’d ‘only’ been living here for five years.
“Hi, Janice…”
Dramatically dressed as always, this time in a red coat with a huge animal-print collar, Janice would never be the wallflower type. The moment she saw Vivian, she rushed forward and grabbed her hands, her eyes bright with tears.
“Vivian, oh, thank goodness, the poor boy is in such a state, I’m so glad you’re here. Aiden is visiting, and he’s sprained his ankle, poor thing. I’m so sorry to have to bother you, but could you have a look at it?”
*
Aiden had hadenough. He’d been prodded and poked, had his temperature taken, his blood pressure tested, but he had yet to talk to a doctor to explain there was nothing wrong with him. He’d hurt his foot; he wasn’t having a heart attack.
It had been a fluke accident at the airport in Bozeman earlier today when he’d had a run-in with a trolley. He’d twisted his ankle, but as he’d told Aunt Janice, he was sure it was only strained, not sprained.
He swung his legs from the bed; he was getting out of here now.
“Vivian, oh, thank goodness,” he heard Aunt Janice’s voice, the Irish lilt very evident. “The poor boy is in such a state…”
With growing dismay, he listened to his aunt. What the hell? Was she crying? There was nothing to cry about, and she knew it. What was she going on about?
He’d only arrived in Marietta about an hour ago. He’d thought he and Aunt Janice were on their way to dinner and didn’t understand why they had to stop at the hospital.
Please let the doctor look at his foot; otherwise, she’d never sleep tonight, she’d pleaded. She’d looked so upset, he’d reluctantly agreed, but as she very well knew, he wasn’t in any kind of ‘state’.
“It’s okay, I’m here.” A new voice. Brisk, but soft, melodious.
The curtains opened, and a woman stepped inside—tall, willowy, honey-blond hair in a tight bun, no makeup, clear blue eyes. All of this registered in the millisecond she stared at him. Deep inside of him, something shifted.
He opened his mouth to tell her he was fine, but without saying a word, she stepped back, closing the curtain.
Urgent whispering ensued on the other side of the curtain. He couldn’t hear everything that was being said, but the doctor’s tone, even while whispering, wasn’t difficult to interpret. She was ticked off.
He caught a word here and there. “Godson… child… you said he was a boy… he’s a reporter? I don’t believe it…”
What the hell had Aunt Janice been thinking? He quickly got down from the bed and opened the curtains. “Aunt Janice—let’s go. I’m fine.” As he stepped on his left foot, he winced involuntarily.
“Get back on the bed,” Blue Eyes instructed. “Janice, could you wait in the waiting room, please? This won’t take long.”
His aunt studiously avoided looking at him. With a quivering lip, she dabbed her eyes before she walked away.
“Look, I’m fine. I don’t know what my aunt has told you, but there’s really no need—”
Her eyes narrowed again. “I’m tired and I’m hungry and in no mood for a big baby. On top of that I’ve just heard you’re a reporter. I don’t have much time for those. Get back on the bed.”
“I’m telling you, I’m—”
Before he’d finished his sentence, the doctor took hold of his one arm. “Please get on the bed,” she got out through clenched teeth.
