AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She finally looks up, her eyes bloodshot. “Carrie. Rufus was jumping from his bed again.” She looks at him for confirmation. “Right, Rufus? Tell him what you were doing.”
The little boy nods dutifully, his gaze carefully passing from his mom’s to mine and back.
My chest constricts. The kid’s trying so hard to be good, to obey his mother and tell the story she gave him. And yet I’m a hundred percent sure that his mom is a lying piece of shit. I maintain civility. “Is that right? He’s hurt himself before. Three times last year.”
“Yeah. Because he thinks he’s a stuntman and is always jumping from things.”
She goes right back to her phone as I perform the examination, gently feeling his little bones and tendons. “I’m just going to take a look. You like Spiderman?”
He nods, though he’s holding back tears from the pain. The kid is such a twig that a stiff breeze might blow him over. There’s nothing to him but skin and bones and big, sunken in eyes. It might be improper nutrition, but I can’t speculate on that. I used to eat nothing but hot dogs and chicken nuggets when I was a kid his age.
What I can speculate on, though, is the bruising on his neck. There are three circular black-and-blue marks there, roughly the size of finger marks, as if someone grabbed him hard.
“Yeah, me too. He’s the best.” I suck in a breath and get ready for my next task, which isn’t going to be pretty. “Okay, you definitely popped something out there. So I’m just going to quickly pop it right back in.”
His eyes go wide.
“It’s going to hurt for a second, but then you’ll be good. And when it’s done, I’ll buy you an ice cream downstairs. Deal?”
The kid nods excitedly, which makes me wonder if he’s ever been offered ice cream before.
I glance at the mom, who doesn’t look up from scrolling her phone, and then I take a hold of his shoulder and easily set the joint back in place. He doesn’t cry out. Considering the ease with which it happened, I feel like it’s likely not the first time and this kid has endured a lot of pain in his short life.
And damn if I’m going to let it continue.
“Feel better?” I ask my patient.
He nods.
“All right. We’re going to put you up in a sling because you should take it easy for the next few weeks. No furniture diving, you got that?” I ruffle his staticky hair as he nods. “And we’ll get you some medicine for the soreness. But first? Ice cream. Chocolate or vanilla?”
The grin that breaks out on his face is one I’d be happy to see every day of my life. It instantly lifts my mood.
“Chocolate,” he says.
“Excellent choice, my dude.” I reach for the curtain. “Before I get it though, your mom and I are going to have a little chat in the next room. Be back in a sec, okay?”
He nods, and his mom looks up, uninterested, before climbing to her feet and following me out the door. I lead her into a private alcove and spin on her. When I look at her head-on, in this bright light, I can see the pitting in her skin and the glassy eyes. Telltale signs of addiction.
“You’re home with him and your daughter … anyone else?” I ask.
“My boyfriend—my daughter’s father. He works nights though.”
“All right,” I say, typing that information one-handed into the file on my tablet. I look up. “So who’s beating your son?”
She blinks, taken aback. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You and I both know that what happened to Rufus didn’t happen while diving off furniture. And I’m going to have to call Child Protective Services.”
Carrie wipes at her nose. “It’s hard. Taking care of the baby, and him … my boyfriend doesn’t help. It’s really hard.”
“I get it,” I say, though I can’t relate. Rufus has been in here even before the new baby came along. This mother needs a rude awakening, and I sure as hell hope it doesn’t come at her son’s expense. “I know sometimes it can be frustrating and your emotions get the better of you. I still have to call it in. I’m legally obligated to report these things. And even if I wasn’t, I’d do it, anyway. Your kid needs help. You need help. Where’s the baby right now?”
She looks down at her feet and nods. “She’s with my neighbor.”
“All right. Go in with your son and sit tight. Let your neighbor know it’s going to be a while.”
As I got to my office to make the call, the compassion I was trying to muster for the woman who allowed her kid to be hurt like that drains away, and I’m left feeling pissed. There are shitty parents everywhere. Mine were two of them. No, they didn’t hit me. They didn’t lay a finger on me. They didn’t come to my hockey games or give me any indication that they even liked me, other than throwing money my way on a regular basis so I could become the image of success they wanted me to be.
