Kisscut

"What did he mean?" Brad asked. "Wasn't that the same stuff Je

Lena finally managed to focus on the conversation. "Before when?" she asked.

"In the parking lot," Brad said. "You know, when she said adults never do the right thing."

"Oh, Jesus," Lena breathed, feeling all the air going out of her lungs. She jumped up from the couch and started off down the hall, Brad close behind her.

"Mark?" she yelled, knocking on the only closed door. She tried the handle, but it was locked.

"Dammit," Lena hissed, jamming her shoulder against the door. It would not budge. She motioned to Brad. "Kick it in."

He braced himself against the other side of the hall and punched his foot into the door. Unfortunately, the door was hollow at the center, and Brad's foot stuck in the splintered wood. He used Lena for leverage, pulling his foot out of the hole. She leaned down, looking into the room, trying to find Mark through the narrow opening.

"Oh, God," Lena gasped, stepping back to kick at the hole Brad had made. He joined in, and between them they managed to enlarge the opening enough for Lena to slip through. The splintered wood tore at her arms and face, but she barely noticed the pain as she tried to get into the room.

"Mark," she said, her voice high with panic. "Hold on, Mark. Hold on."

Brad pushed her from behind, and she fell into the room. Mark had hanged himself from a rod mounted high in the closet. The ceiling of the trailer was not high, and his feet dragged the ground. Still, the belt around his neck seemed to be doing the trick. His face was blue, his tongue protruding slightly. She grabbed his legs, holding him up to take some of the stress off his neck.

"Goddamn it, Brad," she cursed. "Get in here."

Brad finally managed to bust the door open wide enough to squeeze through, and he used his pocket knife to cut the belt while Lena held Mark's legs. It took forever for the knife to cut through the thick leather, and Lena felt her arms start to shake from holding Mark up for so long.

"No, no, no," Lena cried until Mark fell to the ground. She put her ear to his chest, trying to make out a heartbeat. A few seconds passed, then she finally heard a telltale thump, followed by another stronger one.

"Is he okay?" Brad asked, loosening the belt from Mark's neck.

Lena nodded, pulling a blanket off the bed. She wrapped it around Mark's body, saying, "Call an ambulance."

Chapter Thirteen

"Sara?" Molly asked, then repeated, "Sara?"

"Hmm?" Sara said. Molly, Candy Nelson, and her three children were all staring at her expectantly.

Sara shook her head a little, saying, "Sorry," before she went back to the examination. She had been worrying about Lacey Patterson, wondering what was happening to her.

"Breathe deeply," Sara told Da

"I've been breathing deeply for the last ten minutes," Da

"Hush up," his mama said.

Sara could feel Molly staring at her, but kept the focus on Da

Candy Nelson followed her out into the hallway.

Sara said, "I want to send him to a specialist."

The mother put her hand to her heart, as if Sara had just told her Da

"It's nothing to be nervous about," she assured her. "I just want you to get his ears checked by someone who knows more about them than I do."

"Are you certain he's okay?"

"I'm certain," Sara said, then, "Molly, could you write a referral for Matt DeAndrea over in Avondale?"

Molly nodded, and Sara walked into her office, dropping her stethoscope on the desk. She sat down in her chair, trying not to sigh. She found herself thinking about Jeffrey. Every part of her body felt alive, if not slightly bruised. Her back was killing her, but that wasn't surprising, considering they had not made it out of the hallway until around three that morning.

"So," Molly said, interrupting Sara's thoughts. "I guess this means we're taking Jeffrey's calls now?"

Sara blushed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Let's just say an ad in the Grant Observer would be more subtle."

Sara narrowed her eyes at the nurse.

"That's your last patient," Molly told her, smiling. "Are you going to the morgue?"

Sara opened her mouth to respond, but a banging noise echoed up the hallway, followed by a curse. Sara rolled her eyes at Molly, and trotted up the hall toward the bathroom. Thanks to a six year old with a keen interest in flushing his Matchbox collection down the toilet, the waste pipe had backed up. Sara had actually debated whether or not to call her father, knowing that Tessa would be working with him today. She did not have the proper tools to fix the toilet, however, and since she had taken yesterday afternoon off, she did not have the time to do the job. Besides, her father would have been very hurt if she had not called him to come to her rescue.

"Daddy," Sara whispered, shutting the bathroom door behind her. "This is a children's clinic. You can't cuss like that around here."

He shot her a look over his shoulder. "I cussed around you girls all the time and you turned out okay."

"Dad…" Sara tried again.

"That's right," he said. "I'm your father."

She gave up, sitting on the edge of the tub. As a child, Sara had often watched her father work, and Eddie had put on quite a show for Sara and Tessa, banging pipes, dancing around with a wrench in one hand and a plunger in the other. He wanted to teach his girls to be good with then-hands, and comfortable with their abilities. Sara often thought that he had been somewhat disappointed that Sara had not joined the family business when she got out of college, and chose instead to go to medical school. He had picked up the part of her tuition that the scholarships did not pay for, and made sure she had money to live on, but in his heart Sara knew Eddie would have been perfectly happy to have her back living at home, snaking drains and welding pipes alongside him. Some days, Sara was tempted. She certainly would be working fewer hours as a plumber.

Eddie cleared his throat and began, "The old West, right?"

Sara smiled, knowing he was about to tell one of his jokes. "All right."

"This sheriff goes into a saloon and says, 'I'm lookin' for a cowboy wearing a brown paper vest and brown paper pants.'" He waited a beat, making sure Sara was listening. "The bartender says, 'What's he wanted for?' And the sheriff says, 'Rustling.'"

Sara laughed despite herself.

Eddie returned to the job at hand, shoving a toilet auger down the bowl. The spindle beside him turned slowly, letting out the flexible metal snake with a pointed tip on the end that would hopefully clear the blockage.

He asked, "What'd this kid flush down again?"

"Matchbox car," Sara said. "At least, that's what we think."

"Little bastard," Eddie mumbled, and Sara just shook her head, knowing it was useless to try to censor him. She had learned that lesson nearly thirty years ago at a particularly embarrassing parent-teacher conference. Instead, Sara leaned her elbows on her knees and watched him work. Eddie Linton was not what anyone would call a snappy dresser, even when he tried. He was wearing a Culture Club T-shirt from a concert he had taken Sara and Tessa to when they were in high school. His green shorts were so old that they had strings hanging down. She leaned over and pulled at one.

"Hey," he said.

"You should let me get the scissors," she offered.

"Don't you have patients to see?"

"This is my morgue day," she told him. Even though there was a stack of paperwork waiting for her at the morgue, Sara did not want to deal with it. As a matter of fact, she would be perfectly content to sit here all day with her father. At least until Jeffrey got off work.