Pieces of a Whole

by: Betsy J. Bennett

CHAPTER 8

The night had been bad, filled with nightmares he couldn’t wake himself from, residual, he suspected, from the long hours at the clinic.  Still, it was the first nightmare in weeks, and it could be argued that he was used to them, so Richard had forced himself to leave the lumpy bed before dawn. In the near dark, for the one lamp in his room didn’t provide enough light to read a newspaper, he dressed and decided on getting into work early. There was always something to be done. He found comfort in work, always had, even when he was looking over his shoulder while toiling in the cranberry bogs or driving a big rig through the mountains. Then three miles from the clinic, the transmission in his car failed. He managed to get his now useless vehicle to the shoulder, then started walking. This too, like the nightmare, was familiar.

“Doc,” the speaker said. Shadows still filled the alleyways, and except for a stinking diesel bus, the streets were still deserted, too early for the commuter rush.

“Yes?” He had jumped when he heard the word, but he felt pleased with himself that the reaction was not as intense as in years past. He already felt his pulse starting to settle back to a more normal cadence.

The speaker was young, probably eight or nine, a tall, skinny black boy, with a haunted look in his eyes that Kimble could relate to. Beside him were two other boys and a girl, younger siblings, he thought, based on the identical features, down to the skittish look that they expected to be accosted at any moment. The girl was probably about four, but she stood rigid, like her brothers, not moving. This was courage, real courage, and he felt kinship with the bunch.

“We need a doc, bad.”

His scan was quick and professional. No blood, no obviously broken bones or trauma such as a bad allergic reaction or a disease going critical. The children, at first glance, all appeared healthy. Again he tried to still his pulse. “Where are your parents?”

The oldest boy had perfect posture, his shoulders back, his spine straight. The other three tended to slouch. “Ma works nights on the assembly line. She’s sleeping now. We know better than to wake her. And she’s alone.”

“Ok. What can I do to help you? What’s the problem?”

“It ain’t us, Doc. It’s Raggs.”

“Raggs?”

As a unit, the children moved aside, uncovering a cardboard box that was hidden behind them. Inside lay a beagle-mix dog, massively pregnant and obviously in distress. Kimble knelt down, checked her pupils, felt her distended abdomen. Her fur was damp, her eyes bordering on unresponsive. She had been struggling to give birth to these puppies for a long time. He stood up, faced four sets of wide brown eyes. “I’m not a vet.”

The second one spoke. The clothes he wore were clean but patched, and at least a size too small. “The puppies won’t come. She’s been trying for some time. Everyone tells us to let her be, but she’s not good.”

His heart was breaking, not for the dog, although he cared for the dog, but for the children who had the courage to beg a stranger, anticipating they would be turned down, turned away, but knowing they had to try anyway.

“You’re right. She’s not good. Did you take her to a vet?”

“We don’t know a vet. There isn’t one in the neighborhood. We don’t want her to die.”

“She’s all we got, Mister,” said the little girl. Her eyes were liquid, and in her hands a Raggedy Anne doll that conceivably was on her third or fourth owner.

He would move heaven and earth for them, that was his training and his inclination, but this was a problem he was not qualified to solve. “I’m not sure what I can do. I don’t know anything about dogs.”

“She sleeps on my bed,” said the oldest. A rank of honor. The dog slept on his bed.

The second one spoke, his gaze had been darting, to the left, to the right, but like his brother he met Kimble’s eyes directly. “But you know medicine. Everyone is talking about you, how you work with Doc Ollie, how you help.”

Kimble shoved his hands in his pockets, kept his eyes on the children, not the mother who was too weak to bring her puppies to life. Death in childbirth, it had to be a particularly ugly way to die. “I do what I can.” It was a statement as true as he could make it, it also was the testimonial that he would help them, although he didn’t realize it yet himself.

The girl spoke, tugged on his jacket, as her sincerity broke his heart. “We don’t know who to ask. We waited here, knew you’d be going to work soon.”

There was courage here, but more than that, love for a pet that had become a family member. They were strong children, and proud, and he knew how hard it was to ask for help. He’d been in that position himself countless times. He decided he would walk through fire if it would help them.

“I’m not sure I can save her even if I try.” Another true statement. His skill was in doubt, but more than that, that animal had been pushed past endurance. She knew real pain, and futility, and perhaps inevitability.

The girl sniffed, and the second boy looked at her but didn’t say anything. The look spoke more of love than any word he could have used. “We know. We won’t blame you if anything happens. We don’t want Raggs to suffer. Even if she has to die, we don’t want her to suffer.”

“Ok, fair enough.” Kimble bent down, picked up the cardboard box. “The clinic is down the street. I’ll see what I can do.”

He had keys to the clinic, so he unlocked the door. It was early yet. Even Dr. Olivetti hadn’t made it in yet. Kimble reached into his back pocket, pulled a five dollar bill out of his wallet. “There’s a diner two blocks down, you know it?”

“Yeah, sure do.”

“You and the rest of you, go get some breakfast. Anything you want. Take your time. Do you understand me?”

“Yes. And Doc, thanks.”

He took his laboring patient into Exam room 1 and got to work, as the dog, past caring, looked up with pain ravaged eyes. He found a general anesthesia, the surgical tools he would need, gauze, and suturing materials. The blanket, still in the box, was painfully clean. No need to change that. He lifted the dog gently from the box onto the examination table. Even with puppies, she couldn’t weigh twenty pounds. “Raggs, let’s see if I can help.”

Olivia popped her head through the door a few minutes later, took in the scene with quick professional analysis and said, “Do you need help?”

He half-expected condemnation, a “what do you think this is, a zoo?” query, but with her words, he understood he was not giving her the credit she deserved. In a flash he suspected she wouldn’t have turned down the stair-step children either. “You ever do a surgical rotation in animal husbandry?”

“No.”

“Me neither. You know anything about dogs?”

Her voice was light, and she handed him a clamp that he took and utilized. “I can train one to sit, and I know they’re good for kids.”

“Yeah, that’s what my knowledge is limited to.”

“So, C-section?”

“That or put her down, and I’d rather not do that. Will you lose your clinic if I operate on a dog?”

Her answer was honest and supportive. “We’re making a list as to things you’ve done since you’re arrived which might make the powers that be shut this place down, so why stop now.”

“Why indeed.”

“You need anything?”

“Besides my head examined?”

Her laughter was the most pleasant part of his day. “I’m not qualified for that either.”

“No, I’d take her to a local vet, but I seriously doubt they could do anything more and according to the kids, there isn’t a vet anywhere close. I worked as a vet tech once, and I would call him for advice, but he was notorious for not having a phone.”

“So sad.”

“One other thing, if you see a group of kids, keep them out of here.” He reached into the abdominal cavity. The first puppy he pulled out was dead. He rubbed its chest, hoping for a pulse, a spark of life, then set it aside.

Her breath caught as she recognized the fatality. “Will do. One other thing, where’s your car?”

“On the shoulder, three miles down the road. Transmission. I’ll have to make arrangements to have it towed.” The second puppy was alive. Olivia reached out, accepted the whimpering blind creature, and put it in the cardboard box on the floor.

“Where are your keys?”

“My jacket pocket, why?”

She quickly, professionally washed her hands, then rooted around in his jacket, and liberated the car key from the other keys he carried. “I’ll see to it.”

When he heard sound at the door twenty minutes later, he looked up, expecting Livi or Maggi, but blinked as a flashbulb blinded him. “Not a bad shot, Doc.”

The photographer, or whoever it was, disappeared before Kimble could question him or even get rid of the dancing red spots long enough to get an idea what he looked like. “Send the kids back,” he said to Maggi who appeared minutes later, after he had washed up and got the place looking less like a warzone.

The four stair-step children entered, the oldest handing him the change, which obviously he had been holding in a death-grip from when it had been given him, the dollar bills crumpled, the coins damp from perspiration. They crowded around the box, whispering in their excitement words of praise to the new mother and the doctor who had assisted.

“From what I can tell, Raggs is doing well. I’ve got three puppies living. I don’t know who their father is, but he has to be some kind of bull mastiff or something, for the puppies are huge, and honestly look nothing like their mother. And you were right. She never could have birthed those puppies on her own. They’re too big.”

“Are they going to make it?”

“I hope so. I didn’t go to all this work for them not to. Raggs is coming along fine. She’s nursing them. I suspect she’ll have enough milk, at least for a little while.”

The children knelt on the floor, touching their pet with gentle hands that trembled, as if they were witnesses to a miracle, and what was more miraculous than new birth and the mother who survived?

“Can we take her home?”

“Yeah, of course. Why don’t you let her rest here for a few hours, then this evening, before the clinic closes she can go home with you. She had major surgery, so she won’t be running around for a couple of days. You’re going to have to let her rest.”

“Are the puppies blind?”

“Yeah, but that’s normal. They’ll open their eyes in a while. I don’t know how long, like I said, I’m no vet, but they look strong and healthy. I see no reason why these three shouldn’t do well.”

“Are they boys or girls?”

“All three are girls. If you’ve got any food for Raggs, I’d appreciate it. I had to use some anesthesia on her so she’s kind of out of it now, and she’s not hungry yet, but she’ll be hungry probably later this afternoon. When you come back, I’ll let you see her. I’m sure it will make her happy to know all you survived as well.”

“Can we give the puppies away?”

“Give it a couple of weeks. Eight or nine, I think. I’ll have to look it up. Until then they have to stay with their momma. She will know what to do for them.”

“They’re awful cute, aren’t they?”

“Cutest puppies I’ve ever seen.”

“You want one, Doc? For all the work you’ve done?”

“That’s a kind offer. Right now, where I’m living, I can’t have a dog. But maybe one day. I’ve always believed kids should have a dog.”

The remainder of the day he worked as the janitor, for Olivia had given him a list with clearly thirty things on it that she needed repaired or cleaned immediately. Today’s first task was replacing burned out light bulbs. If the clinic had been dim, now it glowed with fresh light. Without him, he suspected she’d be seeing her patients with a flashlight in a couple of days.

Whenever he passed the exam room, he would stop, speak to whoever was there waiting for the doctor. The majority of them recognized the dog, knew the children, thanked Kimble in their forthright manner for helping. They saw nothing wrong, nothing unusual, in their local janitor/doctor performing a C-section on a beagle. He doubted his father or his former parents at his pediatric office would have been as understanding.

The next day as he started into work, he found Olivia sitting quietly outside the building where his room was situated, her car running. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said as he got into the passenger seat.

“I know. I’ve only been here a minute. I’m glad I didn’t miss you. There’s coffee and a muffin for you.”

“I don’t need someone to take care of me.”

“You don’t?” She put her turn signal on, then pulled out into oncoming traffic without looking and got a loud beep for her efforts. “I’ve been to the library, going through all the old newspapers I can get to where your name is mentioned.”

He groaned out loud as he took his first sip of coffee. “None of it good.”

“None of it good,” she agreed. “So you need a keeper.”

“And you still want me to work for you?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Olivia kept her features absolutely emotionless and her eyes locked on the road as she passed a milk delivery truck with millimeters to spare. The woman drove like a little ole’ lady from Pasadena. “When you’re in my presence, you keep your mouth shut, and occasionally, if necessary, you may nod sedately and say ‘Yes, Ma’am. You got that?”

Kimble let the seconds pass, a bit more than was expedient before he nodded sedately and said, “Yes, Ma’am,” and then he roared with laughter. Enjoying the repartee he commented, “You’re a despot.”

Her laughter joined his. “Well, it is my clinic.”

Entering the building, they went their separate ways, he to finish the tasks on the list he had not had the time to see to the day before, and she off to her office. No one was waiting outside the clinic door, a rather rare occurrence, so they kept the door locked, the lights in the lobby off. Half an hour later, Dora Ann entered the examination room where he had her stool upside down, replacing the wheels. “Doc, I need to talk to you right now.”

“Can you give me ten?”

“Now.”

As Kimble looked up, Dora Ann handed him the local Detroit morning newspaper. On the front page, above the fold, was a picture of him, covered in blood to his elbows, holding what was obviously a dead puppy, on the stretcher behind him, a second dead puppy. Kimble Murders Again! Shouted the headline.

His response was instantaneous, and unavoidable. He dropped the paper, and ran for the john.

“Where’s Richard?” Olivia asked a few minutes later as she straightened her lab coat and positioned her stethoscope around her neck. She had left her medical bag in her office and was ready to start the day.

“Tossing his cookies.”

“He’s sick?”

“Upset, more, I’d say.”

“What happened?”

Wordlessly, and with a sick resignation, Dora Ann handed her the paper.

“Oh, there’s someone whose neck I’d like to wring. What was he supposed to do, let that bitch die? Dora Ann, I’ll see to this. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it taken care of.”

Kimble appeared, looking white as a sheet. “I have to go—“

“Go,” she said. “Take what time you need.”

“Dr. Olivetti, Livi, I don’t know if I’ll be back.”

“You will. Whatever this is, we’ll fight it together.”

He fumbled around in his slacks pockets, as if looking for key. “Damn, my car,” he growled.

“You didn’t notice it as we drove up? I’m sure it’s fixed. Key is in the ignition.”

“Fixed?”

“Repaired, if you prefer. I never much took you for a grammatatarian,” but seeing her teasing was falling flat, continued, “The bikers run a garage not far from here. In case you’re wondering, I never ask where they get their parts. That falls under the category of things I’d rather not know. Consider the new transmission payment for the sutures.”

His heart pounding so hard he could feel the pulse and hear the pounding in his ears, he ran for his car, having no idea where he was heading, only knowing that he had to get away. His mantra, “I’m free. I’m free,” had no effect on the panic he felt roaring through him.

He would run. He was used to running. This was nothing new. Another chapter. He would pack, it wouldn’t take long, and hit the road. There had to be another state, another small town that hadn’t gotten the paper, where he could settle down, try to re-imagine a life he could consider normal.

“Dick!”

Blind with desperation, as he exited his car, heading for his cockroach infested room, he almost ran into a pregnant woman who stepped in front of him at the last minute. “Excuse me.” His apology was abrupt and perfunctory. He was still frantic to put miles on his car.

“Richard, we need to talk.”

He put his arms on her shoulders, studied her, found not a stranger, but his sister. “Donna, what are you doing here?”

She hugged her brother as he held onto her, this lifeline of support he had used so many times in the past. “Richard, it’s so good to see you.”

“Upstairs,” he said. “I don’t want to be on the street.”

If she were disgusted at the smell of urine in the hallway, if the garbage and other traces of wasted life on the stairs bothered her, she made no comment. “What is this?” he said, pointing down to her stomach.

She patted her bulging waistline with maternal pride. “When you were exonerated, Lenny and I got talking that we wanted another baby. It looks like we got lucky. I’m hoping for a girl. There’s enough testosterone in my house now. All I want to do is have an intelligent conversation with someone that doesn’t involve soccer or, heaven help me, earthworms. Billy wants to be an earthworm-ologist, his word. He says they are the most underappreciated creatures on the planet.”

Her matter-of-fact conversation was having the exact reaction she intended. He was losing that too-wide-eyed look of the cornered animal about to be slaughtered.

“Of course Bobby wants to be an astronaut. Len is encouraging that. He bought a telescope and keeps inserting odd sounding words like ‘apogee’ and ‘friction coefficients’ into the conversation.”

His pulse was settling, and his breathing regulating. “Last time I was there it was soccer player or fireman.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, neither one of those have been completely ruled out. Do all astronauts have to be test pilots?”

“I don’t know, maybe, although I’d imagine they’re going to need doctors up there in space.”

She rolled her eyes in fine histrionics. “Fine, I’ll bring that into the conversation. After an entire childhood of listening to Dad talk to you about blood sugar levels and torn meniscus, whatever that is, I get to live it all over again with my kids.”

“Donna, thank you for coming. Yet again you’ve saved my sanity.”

She looked around the small room, nothing more than a bed and a dresser with three drawers none of which shut properly, the whole thing decidedly listing to starboard. “Someone should give that thing last rites.”

“Probably.”

Still the bed was made with military precision, with she noted, hospital corners, and the room was painstakingly spotless. She wondered if there would even be a fingerprint on his toothpaste. “Now let’s talk about you. I’m surprised you’re still here. I expected you to be long gone by now.”

He sat on the bed, elbow on his knees, apparently now, in no hurry. The suitcase remained untouched. “It will only take five minutes to pack. And I am leaving. I want to speak to Olivia before I go. I owe her that much. How did you know to come?”

She knew compassion and rubbed his back gently. “We got the picture in Stafford, too. Whatever you’re up to, you’re still front page news. I don’t know what the background to the story is, but whatever happened, no one is blaming you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Please Richard, can we talk?”

“For you, anytime.” He took his time studying her, reliving the past where so many times he had needed her. Even during the long nights when he couldn’t get to a phone he would imagine speaking with her, entire conversations where he’d known what she would say and that would be calming, allowing him to wait out the searches.

“I can always escape later in the day. I doubt delivering puppies in a downtown clinic is worthy of an arrest warrant.”

“Probably not.”

“Still, the article when I saw it, well let’s just say every time I saw my picture on the front page of a newspaper, it was time to be somewhere else.”

“Someone else,” she added, knowing that was the facet of his running that bothered her the most.

He patted her hand. “Yes. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you it’s freeing to assume an alias.”

“Listen to me. You are Richard Kimble. You have done nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of. You have a proud name that was sullied by no fault of your own, and it’s clean again. You can be proud to be who you are.”

“Donna—“

“I’m not going to let you run. This, whatever this is, will be better if it’s faced, and faced directly. Running, putting off confrontations, will only make it harder later on. I need you to go back to your clinic. Dr. Olivetti isn’t blaming you for anything, is she?”

“No. I didn’t have her permission when I started operating on the dog, but it didn’t seem to bother her.”

“Good. Then I’m sending you back to work. Billy has a soccer game this evening, and it’s a long drive. Not an impossible drive, just long.”

He walked her to her car, he hugged her for a long time, then kissed her gently on the forehead. “Dr. Olivetti was saying just this morning that I needed a keeper. I guess I’ve had one all along. Thank you, Donna.”

“I don’t want to be your keeper. I’m resigning the position effective immediately. I want to be your sister. I love you. Take care. And remember, you’re Richard Kimble. You’ve done nothing wrong. You can hold your head up, face whatever false accusations show up.”

“Good bye, Donna, and I really am happy about this new addition to your family.”

 

He walked into the clinic, surprised only in that it was spotless, and crowded, standing room only. Taking the time to professionally size up the crowd, he knew Kimble had defenders here. Pleased with his insight, he went up to the reception area, spoke to the woman who barely crested the top of the desk. “Hello, I’m Mike Decker. I’m looking for Richard Kimble.”

She didn’t bother to spare him the time of day. “So are a lot of people.”

“I’m a friend.” He pointed to a spot behind her. “I can see you’ve got my article posted. I wrote that.”

Before she could answer, the doctor appeared from the back. “Dora Ann, is Richard back yet?”

“No. He didn’t call either. I don’t think we should expect him.”

Decker introduced himself to the woman. “Do you have his address?”

“No.” Her answer was clipped, and she turned, about to head deeper into her clinic when she turned on her heel. “I can give you the address of the children who owned the dog, and I’m willing to give a statement about his character and what I think of bloodthirsty reporters who don’t bother to ask a single question and jump to the wrong conclusion. Oh, yeah, I’m more than willing to discuss that.”

“Hey, Mike, what are you doing here?” Kimble thumped his friend on the back. It was easier to come back than he expected.  For some reason he thought there would be police check points on the road, and a dozen cops in the waiting room.

“Seems like you need a keeper. I’ve elected myself.”

“Good, because Donna just resigned the position,” he muttered under his breath.

“Are you feeling better, Richard?” Olivia asked.

He waited a moment, then with only the ends of his lips twitching, said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

Her laughter rang through the waiting room. “One of these days I’m going to kill you.”

“You’ll have to stand in line.”

“Speaking from a point of knowledge, the line is a lot shorter than it used to be,” Decker said. “If you stick around, you might even make it to the top of the list.”

“Whose side are you on anyway?”

“My own. Hey, Kimble, I’m on a story. You want to come with me, and interview some kids about a dog? It’s not something I’d usually find suitable for Top of the Deck, but I’ve been known to go out on a limb from time to time.”

He checked Olivia’s reaction first, and she nodded, before Kimble agreed. “I’ve been meaning to check the sutures anyway. It will give me a chance. Then I’ll come back and work on that leaky sink.”

“I’m sure we’d all appreciate that,” Olivia said, taking the next patient to the back with her.

“So, you didn’t run?”

“I’m never going to run again,” he said, loudly enough that he was certain Dr. Olivetti heard him. But while it was for her, it was an affirmation for himself. He was here. He was staying.

 

Twenty-four hours later, Dora Ann knocked on the closed exam room door, then entered, hearing the “Come in” only after she was already in.

“We’ve got a problem.”

The man on her gurney was out cold, the result of anesthesia that Maggi was supervising, while Olivia tried to remove his appendix. That he weighed over 300 pounds and had been a heavy smoker was not doing him any favors, but what compounded the problem was that he had ignored the symptoms, especially after he started “feeling better,” after the appendix had burst. It was now fully in sepsis. Should she not finish what she started, she was signing his death warrant. “What?”

“Woman in labor. I know bad and this is bad.”

“I can’t get to her now.”

“When?”

“There’s a minimum of another hour here, and that’s optimistic. How long has she been in labor?”

“I’m not sure. It sounds like three days. Livi, I know you don’t want to hear this, and you know I’m not a doctor—“

“I trust your opinion better than most doctors. But I can’t leave.” She clamped off a bleeder, continued with her surgery without looking up. “What?”

“There’s no use calling an ambulance. She won’t go. I think we’ll lose them both. She’s undocumented, and terrified of hospitals.”

“Blood pressure is dropping,” said Maggi, talking about the unconscious patient.

“Yes, dammit, I can see that.” She couldn’t send Maggi out, she needed her here, not that Maggi could do labor and delivery. “Where’s Richard?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him all morning.”

“Find him, now.”

The storeroom was the biggest room in the clinic, clearly twice the size of the reception area, and packed haphazardly from floor to ceiling with an eclectic collection of bits and pieces that medical centers collect over the years: gurneys and wheelchairs, bedpans and crutches, all broken or in some kind of disrepair. Richard took a moment to survey the damage, then decided the only thing to do was dive right in.

He’d been at his task a little over an hour, not cleaning, for he could get nowhere near the floors or the walls, instead separating what he thought could be repaired, and what should be jettisoned into the nearest dumpster. The dumpster pile was looking impressive.

“Richard, Dr. Olivetti needs you. Exam room 2.”

“Be right there.”

He followed Dora Ann, who left him at the door. “Yes, Doctor? Do you need help?” He approached, as he could see she was deeply involved in some sort of abdominal surgery.

“Yes. What are you doing?”

“I was cleaning the utility room. It hasn’t been touched in ages.” He moved closer, noticed the appendix had been ruptured.

“How are you at delivering a baby?”

“Fine. I’ve had a lot of experience. Obstetrics used to be part of our practice.”

“Are you comfortable performing a C-section, if needed? On a person, I mean.”

“Of course. With the exception–”

“No exceptions. I’m going to go with ignorance as a defense. You’re needed in exam room 1. I don’t know if she needs a C-section. I haven’t had the opportunity to check, but I can’t leave this and I can’t ignore her.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Dr. Kimble, I’m trusting you with this.”

“I won’t let you down.”

The woman was young, probably late teens, early twenties, and however long her labor had been so far, it had not been kind to either her or the fetus deep within. He understood laboring women, and while he couldn’t feel her pain, he could emphasize. “Hello, I’m Richard Kimble. I hear you’re about to have a baby in here.” As he spoke, he took her pulse, thready and weak, felt her skin, checked her eyes. This woman should have seen a doctor hours ago, if not days.

She answered him in a spate of rapid Spanish, and he answered, had her strip down, put on a hospital gown, and preformed his initial exam.

“Dora Ann!”

“Yes?” She must have been standing outside the closed door, for she opened it immediately.

“Find me someone in the waiting room who doesn’t mind the sight of blood, and take this guy out of here.” The father, a young Hispanic, had been trying desperately to be brave for his wife, but was bloodless and likely to be on the floor in the next few minutes.

Richard scrubbed his hands with surgical precision then gathered the medical tools he would need, and started sterilizing the area where he would perform the C-section.

“You ok with blood?” he asked the older black woman who appeared.

“I got six kids of my own, and onwards of a dozen grandbabies. I’ve helped in deliveries a time or two. I imagine I’ve seen my share of blood, and of babies born.”

“Good. Wash your hands. Take your time, I need a scrub nurse. And I do appreciate you volunteering.  Ok, here are the instruments. I’ll tell you what I need, and you hand them to me. Any time this gets to be too much, you let me know.”

“I imagine I’ll do all right.”

“I like you. I think we’ll work well together. So what’s your name?”

“Ruth.”

Using ether, the only general anesthetic they had, he put the laboring woman gently to sleep. “This isn’t going to take long. When I get the baby, I’ll hand it to you. Wrap it in a towel, and keep an eye on it. Unless the baby is in distress, I’ll still be concentrating on Momma here. Ok?”

“I imagine.”

The long incision he made was firm and sure, the surgery went quickly, and the baby was born within minutes. “A son. She’s got a boy.” The child let out a lusty yell as he cut and knotted the umbilical cord. “And it sounds like a healthy one at that. Keep him warm. After I’ve dealt with the placenta, I’ve got a bit of sewing to do, then we’ll get Daddy in here to see his son.”

He finished suturing his patient, finally taking time to check the infant, who looked perfect, and was sleeping peacefully in Ruth’s arms. The mother’s pulse was better, and her blood pressure had returned to normal ranges. Next Richard went to the waiting room. “I need someone to run to the store for me.”

“I’ll do it,” some young kid said, jumping to attention.

Kimble pulled out his wallet. “I need a package of diapers, rubber pants, pins, and a onsie. I’ve got a baby in the back I’m trying to decide if I should diaper in paper towels or gauze.”

“He’s a boy. What would he know about those things?” Ruth said, analyzing the kid who had volunteered. She cradled the sleeping infant, wrapped in a clean towel. “And my experience is neither paper towels or gauze are going to be adsorbent. My kids are out of diapers. I’ll get what you need. You can keep your money.”

Half an hour later, the mother, still a little woozy, was holding her baby, rocking it softly and singing, while Richard gave instructions to the young father when Olivia put her head in the door.

“Richard?”

“Coming, Doctor.”

He shut the door of the exam room, and faced Olivia. “How did your appendix go?”

“Fine, although I’d just as soon not do that again. Sepsis was not a happy place to be. I’ve got him dosed with antibiotics. On the bright side, looks like I’ll be staying overnight with two patients instead of just one, or three patients, if you count the little guy. I would release Momma, but as you’ve said, I’d hate to see those stitches ripped, and she does need some quality down time.”

“This is getting to be a habit.”

“So, you speak fluent Spanish?”

He offered her his fleeting smile. “It’s a recent acquisition. I spent a couple of months working as a migrant worker picking cabbages, things like that. I don’t read it, it’s purely conversational. The Mexicans and the Hondurans were nice to me. I don’t know why, but it’s my experience that the less people have, the more they’re willing to share it with someone else. I picked up Spanish.”

“And the baby?”

“Breech. Marta wouldn’t have been able to deliver vagninally. I tried to turn him, but he wasn’t having any part of that, and the mother was in distress.”

“I want to look at the stitches, then we need to talk again, but first, there’s someone waiting in the lobby for you.”

“Me?”

“A kid.”

“I don’t know any kids.”

“Well, go check. He hasn’t been here long, and is standing out like as swan in a chicken convention, that’s Dora Ann’s assessment, if you’re interested. Like I said, we’ll keep the mother here over night.”

It hadn’t been that long since he’d been in the waiting room, not half-an-hour he’d guess but he recognized the kid immediately, even before the attractive, tall, blond, blue eyed young man stood to face him. Kimble took a second to readjust his own pulse before speaking.

“Phil, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you, Dr. Kimble.”

“Does your father know you’re here?”

He had changed in the three years since Kimble had seen him, taller, and far more self-assured. “No. He thinks I’m in a regional debate meet at Michigan State.”

“Ann Arbor isn’t that close to Detroit. How did you get here?”

“I found someone driving up. It wasn’t hard.”

“You hitched.” No need to make it a question.

“Yeah. I hear it worked for you a time or two.”

“Ok, so the first thing we’re going to do is call your father, then I’m going to put you on a bus for Stafford. I think you’re finished with the debate meet this time around, and I better not hear of you hitch-hiking ever again.”

“I’m not afraid of my father.”

“I am.” Kimble’s tone was droll.

“You are?”

“You know when you’re late for curfew or when you get a B on a history test, you probably say something like “My Dad’s going to kill me?””

“Yes.”

“In my case, it’s a little more literal.”

“You can’t be afraid of my Dad now.”

“Actually I am, but at the moment, it’s your Mother who terrorizes me.”

“Yeah, I can relate to that. She can be scary. So when did you meet my mom?”

“Long story and one that I’m definitely not sharing with you. Phone call first.”

Link to Chapter 9