Kisscut

Tuesday

Chapter Ten

"Hold on, Sam," Sara coaxed, struggling to hold a wriggling two year old in her lap so that she could l isten to his chest.

"Be still for Dr. Linton, Sammy," his mother said in a singsong voice.

"Sara?" Elliott Felteau, who worked at the clinic for Sara, poked his head into the room. She had hired Elliott right out of his residency to help her out, but so far Sara had spent most of her time holding his hand. It was a trade-off, because an older doctor would have insisted on some kind of partnership, and Sara was not about to relinquish her control. She had worked too hard to get to where she was to start listening to someone else's opinions.

"Sorry," Elliott apologized to the mother, then said to Sara, "Did you tell Tara Collins that Pat could play football this weekend? She needs a medical release before the school will let him back on the team."

Sara stood, taking Sam with her. His legs wrapped around Sara's waist, and she scooted him up on her hip as she lowered her voice, asking Elliott, "Why is this question coming from you?"

"She called and asked for me," he told her. "Said she didn't want to bug you."

Sara tried to unclench Sam's fist as he tugged her hair. "No, he can't play this weekend," she whispered. "I told her that on Friday."

"It's just an exhibition game."

"He has a concussion," Sara countered, the tone of her voice a warning to Elliot.

"Hmm," Elliott said, backing out of the room. "I guess she thought I'd be an easier target."

Sara took a deep, calming breath, then turned back around. "Sorry about that," she said, sitting down in the chair. Thankfully, Sam had stopped fidgeting, and she was able to listen to his chest.

"Pat Collins is their star quarterback," the mother said. "'You're not going to let him play?"

Sara avoided the question. "His lungs seem clear," she told the woman. "Make sure he finishes his antibiotics, though."

She started to hand the child back to his mother, but stopped. Sara lifted up Sam's shirt and checked his chest, then his back.

"Is something wrong?"

Sara shook her head no. "He's fine," she told the woman, and the boy was. There was no reason to suspect abuse. Of course, Sara had thought the same thing with Je

Sara walked to the pocket door and slid it open. Molly Stoddard, her nurse, was at the nurses' station writing out a lab request. Sara waited until she was finished, then dictated Sam's directions.

"Make sure I follow up," Sara told her.

Molly nodded, still writing. "You doing all right today?"

Sara thought about it, and decided that no, she was not doing all right. She was actually pretty on edge, and had been since her confrontation with Lena yesterday afternoon. She felt guilty, and ashamed of herself for letting her temper get the better of her. Lena had been doing her job, no matter what Sara thought about it. It was unprofessional to question the young detective, especially in front of Jeffrey. On top of that, what Sara had said was not only inexcusable, it was just plain mean. Sara was not the kind of person who liked to be mean. It was not in her nature to attack, and the more Sara thought about it, the more she believed that she had attacked Lena. Of all people, Sara should have known better.

"Hello?" Molly prompted. "Sara?"

"Yes?" Sara said, then, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just…" She nodded toward her office so that they could get out of the hallway.

Molly let Sara go first, then slid the door closed behind her. Molly Stoddard was a compact woman with what could be called a handsome face. In great contrast to Sara, the nurse was always neatly dressed, her white uniform starched to within an inch of its life. The only jewelry Molly wore was a thin silver necklace that she kept tucked into the collar of her uniform. The smartest thing Sara had ever done was hire Molly as her nurse, but some days Sara felt tempted to snatch off the woman's hat and ruffle her hair, or accidentally spill ink on her perfect uniform.

"You've got about five minutes before your next appointment," Molly told her. "What's wrong?"

Sara leaned her back against the wall, tucking her hands into her white lab coat. "Did we miss something?" she said, then amended, "Did I miss something?"

"Weaver?" Molly asked, though Sara could tell from her reaction that the other woman knew. "I've been asking myself that same question, and the answer is I don't know."

"Who would do that?" Sara asked, then realized Molly had no idea what she was talking about. The physical findings from the autopsy were hardly public, and even though Sara trusted Molly, she did not feel like she was in a position to share the details. Molly probably would not want to hear them.

"Kids are hard to explain," Molly provided.

"I feel responsible," Sara told the nurse. "I feel like I should have been there for her. Or paid more attention."

"We see thirty to forty kids a day, six days a week."

"You make it sound like an assembly line."

Molly shrugged. "Maybe it is," she said. "We do what we can do. We take care of them, we give them their medicine, we listen to their problems. What else is there?"

"Treat 'em and street 'em," Sara mumbled, remembering the phrase from her E.R. days.

Molly said, "It's what we do."

"I didn't come back here to work like this," Sara said. "I wanted to make a difference."

"And you do, Sara," Molly assured her. She stepped closer, putting her hand on Sara's arm. "Listen, honey, I know what you're going through, and I'm telling you that I see you here every day, putting your heart and soul into this job." She waited a beat. "You're forgetting what Dr. Barney was like. Now, there was an assembly line."

"He was always good to me," Sara countered.

"Because he liked you," Molly said. "And for every kid he liked, there were ten he couldn't stand, and toward the end he passed the ones he hated on to you."

Sara shook her head, not accepting this. "He didn't do that."

"Sara," Molly insisted, "ask Nelly. She's been here longer than I have."

"So, that's my standard? That I'm better than Dr. Barney?"

"Your standard is you treat all the kids the same. You don't play favorites." Molly indicated the pictures on the wall. "How many kids did Dr. Barney have on his walls?"

Sara shrugged, though she knew the answer to that. None.

"You're being too hard on yourself," Molly said. "And it's not going to accomplish anything."

"I just want to be more careful from now on," Sara told her. "Maybe we can cut the schedule so I can spend more time with each patient."

Molly snorted a laugh. "We barely have enough time in the day to see the appointments we have now. Between that and the morgue-"

Sara stopped her. "Maybe I should quit the morgue."

"Maybe you should hire another doctor?" Molly suggested.

Sara tapped her head against the wall, thinking. "I don't know."

The door shook as someone knocked on it.

"If that's Elliott…" Sara began, but it was not. Nelly, the office manager at the clinic since before Sara was born, slid open the door.

"Nick Shelton's on the phone," Nelly said. "Want me to take a message?"

Sara shook her head. "I'll take it," she answered, then waited for Molly to leave before picking up the phone.

"Hello, sunshine," Nick said, his south Georgia drawl clear across the line.

Sara allowed a smile. "Hey, Nick."

"I wish I had time to flirt," he told her. "But I gotta meeting in about ten seconds. Real quick, though," he began, and she could hear him shuffling papers. "Nothing current came up on female castration, at least, not in the United States. But I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that."