Emergency Engagement. Michele Dunaway
odd panic consumed Beth. Maybe his impersonal demeanor had gotten to her, or maybe it was just her overwhelming guilt—that she should have put her purse out of reach, that somehow she should have been more careful, more vigilant. She had to make him understand.
“I didn’t leave my purse out. I didn’t even know she had it, or that she was into it.”
He gave her an accepting smile, as if he heard such excuses all the time. If Beth wanted sympathy, she didn’t get it. Empathy came, instead.
“She’s a child. Children do things like this. She’ll probably be stronger for it after learning from her mistake. You can remind her of it when she’s a teenager.”
Beth followed him from the room. He quickly outdistanced her and she soon learned why. From down the hall she could hear Carly complaining, “I don’t want to drink any more. It’s yucky. I’m full.”
The doctor stepped inside her daughter’s room. “I hear you’re full.”
His voice rumbled over Beth and she heard the easy manner with which he handled Carly.
“Uh-huh. I’m full,” Carly repeated.
As Beth reached the doorway, Quinton took the cup from Elaine’s hand. He lifted the lid and checked the amount. He shook his head. “Carly, Carly. And you told me you’d drink it all.”
His voice was teasing, and pain filled Beth. With his sickness, Randy had been unable to reach Carly on her level. Yet Dr. Searle succeeded with masterful ease. Why couldn’t Beth have found a man like that?
“It’s yucky,” Carly said. “My belly hurts.”
He peered into the cup again. “How about a deal? You drink half of what’s left and I’ll throw the rest away.”
“Half?” Carly’s face had the hopefulness and skepticism of a child debating whether to eat liver.
“Half.” Dr. Searle took a pen from his pocket and drew a black line around the outside of the cup. “Right here. A few good sips should do it. In fact, I’ll wait. Do you think you can give me three good sips?”
Carly had brightened. “Yes.” She reached for the cup, and he held it as she sucked on the straw.
“One.” He counted. Carly stopped for a break. Quinton shook the cup. “Two more.”
Carly took another deep drag on the straw, and Beth’s heart wrenched as her daughter’s face scrunched up.
“That was great,” he said. “One more, Carly. You can do it.”
Carly must have caught some of his enthusiasm, for she said, “I can do it,” and went back for one more long pull on the straw. She made a face as she swallowed.
He didn’t even check the container, he simply handed it to Elaine, who removed it from the room. “All done! Way to go.”
“Yay!” Carly clapped her hands. But then she dropped them to her sides and winced. “My tummy hurts.”
“It’s going to hurt,” Dr. Searle said. “The special drink is taking all the green medicine out of your body. Pretty soon you’re going to have to poop.”
“Oh.” Carly stared at him as if she’d never heard the word poop before.
Beth suppressed a smile. In Carly’s world, doctors didn’t use that word. Dr. Searle had said it with a straight face.
“And then the bad medicine will go right down the toilet and you can go home,” he added.
“Hooray!” Carly said, then her face looked pained again. “My tummy hurts.”
“It’s going to hurt as the medicine works. Then you’ll be all better. Listen—I have to check on my other patients. You watch your movie and tell your mommy when you have to go to the bathroom.”
He looked at Beth for a moment and she felt herself flush under his brief appraisal.
“Press the call button when she needs the bathroom.”
“Okay,” Beth said.
His white coat snapped as he left the room.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Carly said.
Since the retaining rails were not raised, Beth sat down on the bed next to her daughter. She gathered Carly into her arms. “It’s okay,” she told her simply. “I love you, and I forgive you. I’m just happy you’re going to be okay.”
“I’ll never leave you. Not like Daddy,” Carly said. She looked close to tears. “It hurts, Mommy.”
“I know.” Beth wished she could speed up the process. She stroked Carly’s hair. “You’ll never take medicine again without asking, will you?”
“No,” Carly said. Under Beth’s soothing ministrations, her daughter shook her head.
“I love you.” Beth said as she drew Carly even closer. “I never want to lose you.”
“You won’t. I promise,” Carly told her.
Beth leaned her daughter onto her back and kissed her forehead. “Good.”
QUINTON STARED at the touching scene through the glass wall of Carly’s room. Since no one had bothered to draw the privacy curtain, he had a perfect view.
“Carly freely admitted taking the medicine,” Elaine said.
Quinton nodded. Whereas Beth Johnson was guilty of being irresponsible with her purse, she wasn’t guilty of any type of child abuse. During his residency, he’d seen it all, including the mother who’d deliberately overmedicated her child, causing massive ulcers in her daughter’s stomach lining that had eventually started to bleed. The child hadn’t even been two.
No, Beth Johnson had made a mistake, and she was a far cry from a Division of Family Services case. He could sum up a person’s character in a heartbeat, and he knew without a doubt that she was devoted to her child. She’d confirmed it in the conference room with her passionate plea for his understanding. He frowned, remembering. He hadn’t liked his reaction to her.
He stared at the ink pen he held, which was emblazoned with some drug manufacturer’s logo. Maybe tonight he was simply caving in from all the family pressure he was under. Perhaps he was still a tad burnt out from the holidays. He watched as Beth helped her daughter sit up. Beth Johnson was a natural nurturer. It was as if she’d never lost that proverbial glow from pregnancy that he saw on women’s faces when they interviewed for their unborn child’s future pediatrician. But Beth Johnson was somehow different, somehow more. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Suddenly, the call button flashed and Elaine was on a run. Within moments, all three women had rushed to the bathroom.
Quinton sighed. That meant one thing: soon he’d be signing Carly’s release papers and she and her hauntingly attractive mother would disappear into the night. They would fade into the faceless masses he treated when in the pediatric ER.
He turned and went to check on a new patient.
Chapter Two
“Come on, Quinton. Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy. At least stay for the stripper.”
Quinton lowered the half-empty bottle of beer. He really wanted to go home. Bachelor parties weren’t exactly his thing, and worse, they reminded him, that, unlike most of the men in the room, he wasn’t married. Not that Quinton was in a hurry to settle down and get married. That was what his family wanted him to do. But Quinton wanted the whole fantasy of love ever after, and was prepared to spend his life alone if he didn’t find it. A man didn’t marry because he was afraid of being alone. A man married because he’d found his perfect mate for life.
Unlike Bill, age forty-five. His bachelor party was for his second marriage. The first Mrs. Webber