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That settled it, then. My best bet was to give her care on my own terms, which if she agreed to, kept us out of the strict policies set in place for every medical establishment in the country, but would allow me to make sure she recovered well enough to stay out of the hospital. Which, if I didn’t do, she would certainly find herself at.
The problem would be convincing her. She was clearly a bit prickly about accepting help.
“I can pay for the medicine,” she rasped. “I know it’s expensive. Maybe there’s some kind of payment plan—”
“Stop,” I cut her off, looking away from the computer. I caught her gaze. She seemed to respond to assertive care. So, assertive care she would get. “I’m going to tell you two things, and I’ll answer questions about the second, but I’m not going to take ‘no’ for an answer either way.”
She swallowed visibly, and then winced.
“First, I’m going to pay for your prescriptions and all the supplies I used today. And I’ll send in an order for everything else you’ll need. They make Novocain lollipops that will help you eat, which is helpful.” She started to protest. I cut her off again. “And second,” I continued, “I’m taking you home with me.”
That stunned her into silence.
I started to list things off, tapping my fingers as I did. “You have a fever of one-oh-six which is causing mild loss of consciousness and prolonged, increased heartrate.” Okay, so maybe the heightened heartbeat was caused by me, but it still counted. “Your blood pressure is shit, you have a bacterial infection running rampant through your body, including otitis media, and you’re severely dehydrated. Any one of those things could get you admitted to the hospital, but you can’t do that,” I continued, ignoring the little spluttering sounds she was making. “So, this is plan B. And it’s not negotiable.”
“Plan B,” she replied, clearly trying to keep her voice even, “is I thank you and you send me home with medicine.”
I shrugged, shoving my hands in the pockets of my loose, black joggers. “I told you. ‘No’ isn’t an option.”
She held my gaze, as if waiting for me to crack and admit it was a joke. I stared back, deadpan.
“We don’t even know each other,” she said finally, an incredulous smile tugging on her lips.
I clicked the spacebar on the computer to wake up the screen again. Glancing at it, I listed off, “You’re Laurel Margerie Brook, twenty-four, up to date on all your vaccinations, you gave birth to a daughter at Ogden Regional Hospital, vaginal birth, no complications, and you are…” I leaned forward, getting a better look at the small print. “Divorced.” I didn’t need a chart to tell me that. She had all the haunted qualities of a young woman who had been through the relationship wringer.
She gaped. I returned my eyes to hers, hoping my intensity would smash through her misgivings. “Also, you sprained your ankle last year.”
She scoffed, “Okay, so you know, like… some of my medical history. But you don’t know me. I don’t knowyou. What if I’m an axe murderer?”
“Why do people always say axe murderer?” I mused out loud, turning back to the computer. “Seems like a gun would be more practical.”
“Well, I don’t own a gun,” she snapped.
“Do you own an axe?”
She blinked. “No. But I might be a broom murderer. What would you do then?”
“Terrifying,” I muttered, smiling slightly. I tapped her plan of care into a box as we talked. “Listen, Laurel, I can’t just send you home with medication, because your condition is precarious. You could easily take a turn for the worse, and if you’re at home with Calla when that happens, what will she do? Because ‘going south,’” I said, giving her a pointed look, “is not something you get to predict. It happens in a matter of minutes, and I don’t think your five-year-old is equipped to call help for you.” Laurel went rigid, her face stricken.
“It’s either you come with me to my house,” I said slowly, “or I take you to the hospital.”
“You can’t force someone to get admitted,” she frowned. She wasn’t at all certain of the truth of her own words, by the looks of it.
I folded my arms. “Watch me.” I was completely full of shit, of course. I couldn’t force her to get admitted, but I couldstronglyencourage my staff to take her into their care and ignore her protests. There were definitely lines we could blur without consequences.
Her internal war was on full display as her features flitted from angry to uncertain, and then melted into resigned.
“Plus,” I added, hoping to snag her with some honesty. “I like you. And I know you like me.”
Her eyes flared, sparking dangerously. “So, what?” she challenged.
“So, if you like me, then maybe you should trust me.”
She pointed at me. “Not the same.”
“Tell your mom you’re staying with friends for a few nights,” I pushed on. I almost had her… and if I didn’t, then I’d make an enemy of a lifetime and plop her in the emergency room and walk away. Either way, she’d be taken care of. I rather hoped she would take me up on my offer, though.
“I’m feeling way better,” she rasped out, starting to sit up. “I think you fixed me.”
