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“What a brave boy you are!” I hummed. “There, all done.”
I sprayed some antibacterial mist up his nose just in case, cleaned up the snot, and handed him good as new to his mother. She burst into tears, clutching him close. Julius was unmoved by her hysterics, and I had a feeling she freaked out often enough that it wasn’t new to him. I waved awkwardly and left her to it.
My next patient was more… complicated.
Claudette Stevens, twenty-three years old. Her dark brown hair did nothing to hide the bruises on her neck, and her downcast eyes were tired. I could hardly bear to look at her, but I had to smile and be professional. All my patients were bringing Celia to mind that day.
I felt as if someone was trying to send me a message.
Claudette was five foot six and a hundred-and-ten pounds—way too thin. Her elbows stuck out like tiny spears, sharp enough to pierce her concave stomach. Her collarbone was stark, and her cheeks were slightly hollowed. But she stood straight and unbowed, looking at me with defiant eyes.
Just like Celia.
“So, what brings you to the ER today?”
Claudette looked away. “I fainted and my stomach aches.”
I cocked an eyebrow in disbelief, staring at that bruise around her neck. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I expelled a breath and turned away, shaking my head as I picked up the blood pressure cuff. She pulled back her sleeve so I could get an accurate reading. More bruises. To nobody’s surprise, her blood pressure was on the higher side of normal.
There were so many times I stood to the side while my mother told a nurse or a doctor about her own “accidents”: running into a door or falling down the stairs. I glanced towards the curtains separating the cubicle from the rest of the corridor and saw a man peering in. His eyes were steady on Claudette.
“You know, the hospital has certain resources that can help you in case you’re in… a tricky spot,” I whispered.
She shook her head, still not looking at me. “Thanks, but I’m not in any sort of spot.”
“Do you have kids?”
Her eyes slid along the floor and then flicked towards the curtain. She shook her head. I didn’t know if I believed her, but there was nothing in her file to indicate she was lying.
“Well… if you change your mind, you know where to start,” I whispered.
She nodded, not lifting her head at all. With an inward sigh, I walked out of the room with her file, eyeballing the man lurking in the corridor.
“Excuse me, sir. You can’t be back here unless you’re a patient.”
“It’s fine,” he said, not deigning to look at me. “I’m waiting for someone.”
I hesitated, wondering if I should insist. He was a big guy, at least six foot three, with wide shoulders. His hair was cut close to his skull as if he was in the military. He wore cargo shorts and a striped blue and white shirt. I could describe him to the cops if needed.
I walked away, perfunctorily knocking on the GP’s door before entering the room and placing the file on the desk. “Hey, doc. You need to watch out for this one. Might be some domestic abuse going on.”
The doctor sighed, shaking her head. “I’m guessing she’s not admitting it?”
“Nah. Walked into a door.”
We exchanged commiserating glances before I shook my head and left. One thing I knew for sure: nobody could help Claudette until she was ready to help herself. Being that broken, that damaged, was something I could definitely relate to, so it filled me with guilt to just have to walk away… again.
I checked my watch and saw that it was almost noon. Late enough for me to take my lunch break. I was already sick of this shift, so I alerted the front desk and took off for the taco truck across the street.
Buying two tacos and two coffees, I headed down to the morgue where my friend Jodie worked as a pathologist. I found her in her office, transcribing her notes, and held up the brown paper bag.
She immediately stopped typing and grinned at me. “My Lord and savior.” She held her hands out wide, and I stepped into them and let her hug me before she snatched the bag of food. She opened it and peered inside.
“Mmm, tacos. It’s like you read my mind.”
