“The lady must have felt sorry for him—or us,” the man told her. “She filled a big bag and gave them to Jeremy. I didn’t think he’d eaten that many.”
Spring checked the boy’s vitals.
“He has a temperature,” he continued. “I don’t have a thermometer, so I don’t know how high, but...”
“It’s a low-grade fever,” Spring confirmed a moment later. “You said his name is Jeremy?”
The man nodded, his gaze boring into Spring’s. She felt as if she’d been overcome with a fever herself. She found it disconcerting but, oddly, not unpleasant.
Shaking off the sensation, she told herself it was compassion, not attraction. The people who came to the Common Ground Free Clinic often had no other available recourse for health care. While her specialty was pediatrics, she, like all the other volunteer physicians, nurses and physician assistants, practiced general medicine here, doing what she could for the patients on-site and making referrals as warranted. Often the clinic picked up the tab for those specialty referrals.
The free clinic’s clients were typically the unemployed or underemployed, the working poor who had low-wage jobs with no or inadequate benefits. And then there were the homeless, an ever-growing population in the city of Cedar Springs.
She wondered which category the man and the boy fell into.
He’d said he couldn’t go to the hospital. And then there was the overly generous handout at the downtown bakery and sweetshop. Spring could make a fairly educated guess about their financial situation.
She sent the man a reassuring smile, then gave her full attention to her young patient. “Jeremy, sweetie, does it hurt anywhere?”
He let out a moan in response.
The man winced, a reaction that didn’t escape her. He hovered near the top of the table and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“My stomach hurts,” came a small voice.
“Well, I’m Dr. Spring, and I’m going to see about that, okay?”
Jeremy nodded.
She gave him a cursory exam, feeling along his abdomen and chest, watching his reaction as she pressed or prodded.
The boy moaned again.
“Is he going to be okay?” The father’s concern and fear compelled Spring to reassure him in some way, even though she knew she couldn’t give him the blanket promise she knew he wanted to hear.
“May I see you for a moment?” she asked him.
He glanced at his son and then nodded. “I’m going to be right over here, buddy. You hang in there—the doctor’s going to make it better.”
They took a few steps away, just far enough that the child couldn’t overhear.
“I’m going to run a few tests,” Spring told him. “Just to be on the safe side. It could be a simple tummy ache, but I don’t want to rule out anything else unless I’m sure.”
“Do you know how much—” the man began.
Spring interrupted. “You don’t have to worry about the cost. Our focus here at Common Ground is wellness and health.”
“I can pay,” he said.
She touched his arm. “It’s all right. Really.”
A little moan from the examination table drew Spring’s attention back to her young patient.
“Everything will be fine,” she assured the boy’s father.
* * *
David didn’t know what was more distressing, Jeremy getting sick while they were out of town or this gorgeous doctor thinking he was some kind of deadbeat who couldn’t pay for his kid’s health-care needs.
And gorgeous she was. Her blond hair, like spun gold sprinkled with shards of sunlight and honey, was pulled up on the sides and clasped with a large barrette to keep it out of her face. She wore simple gold hoops in her ears. Khaki slacks and a crisp white shirt were visible under the unbuttoned white lab coat she had over her clothing.
But something about that name rang a bell with him. What had the receptionist said?
And then he remembered. Darling.
Someone named Darling was leading the opposition to his development project.
Great.
Just great, David thought. What else can go wrong?
“I think it’s a case of gastroenteritis,” the pretty doctor said.
David groaned. That sounded serious.
“That sounds...it sounds bad,” he said. “Are you sure? Is he going to be okay?”
Dr. Darling smiled and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Again.
“It sounds much worse than it is,” she said. “Gastroenteritis is what most people call the stomach flu. Has he had any—”
“Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom.”
“—diarrhea or vomiting?” Spring said at the same time.
David’s eyes widened as he looked between the boy and the pretty doctor. She pointed toward the door.
“Second door on the right,” she told him.
David scooped up his son and dashed for the rest room.
Twenty minutes later and with his son’s diagnosis confirmed, David got instructions from the doctor on what needed to be done.
“He’ll need rest and plenty of fluids for the next few days,” Spring said. “It’s really easy for the little ones to get dehydrated with this sort of illness. He needs plenty of juice, tea or Gatorade. I’m going to give you a prescription. It’s an oral electrolyte replacement. Gatorade has some, but this will ensure that he gets all the fluids and minerals he needs. He may not want much to eat, but be sure you give this to him with food, even if it’s just a bit of banana or some peanut butter. The protein will do him good. But be sure he starts with soft foods.”
“Dr. Darling, I’m not sure—”
“It’s already taken care of, Mr.—I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name.”
“Camden,” he said. “David Camden.” Then, wondering, he added, “What’s already taken care of?”
“The prescription. All you have to do is take this to any pharmacy in town. Common Ground will see to the payment. You just need to make sure Jeremy takes all of the medication, even when he’s feeling better.”
Her cheery explanation grated on David. Here he was in Cedar Springs to help develop its economic vitality and all she could see was a loser who needed handouts. That Carolina Land Associates, and thus David Camden himself, was one contract away from just that stung his psyche like salt in an open wound.
For every degree of warmth in her voice, David’s dropped until ice chips formed on his words.
“I am not a charity case, Dr. Darling.”
Chapter Two
“I didn’t presume that you were, Mr. Camden,” she said.
If she was upset or insulted by his tone, it didn’t show.
David had to give her credit. She didn’t snap at him even though he probably deserved it. She spoke the words slowly and evenly. But he did notice an ever-so-slight tightening at the corner of her mouth. If he hadn’t been looking directly at said mouth, he would have missed it.
The irrational part of him felt inordinately pleased. He had managed to ruffle her too-cool feathers and the calm-seas demeanor she wore with the ease she wore that white lab coat with the Common Ground logo and her name—Dr. Darling—embroidered inside a blue oval.
The rational part of him wanted to tell her that he was worried about his kid. He was worried about his own mother, who was also Jeremy’s regular babysitter. The day he’d left for this business trip, she’d taken off for Greensboro, saying she needed to “get away for a few days.”
He was worried about his company and the employees who depended on him to secure the deal with the City of Cedar Springs. And, most of all, he was worried that he would fail every last one of them, including and most especially his son.
And to put a cherry o
n top of the mess of a melted sundae that was his life, it hadn’t escaped his notice that she had—again—cut him off and was in fact presuming he couldn’t afford to pay.
Was she trying to save him embarrassment?
If that were the case, she did so with a grace and style he could only admire, displaying empathy in a gentle and subtle manner. David had to admit that the line about the peanut butter and banana was smoothly delivered. There was no judgment, no condemnation in her voice, just a statement of fact. He supposed many of her patients here subsisted on peanut butter and bananas, two relatively inexpensive foods that were readily available and nutritious.
After another trip to the little boys’ room, Jeremy sat comfortably—at least for the time being—ensconced in a chair that looked like the command station of a galactic battleship or maybe the mission control room for NASA astronauts. He was fighting hard to stay awake to watch a Sesame Street video, but David knew sleep would win the skirmish with the four-year-old. On top of being ill, it was way past his usual bedtime.
“Clever way to get the kids comfortable while sick,” he said, nodding toward the room where the receptionist had directed him after he’d seen to Jeremy in the restroom.
The doctor smiled, and David knew she’d accepted the olive branch he’d extended by way of a compliment. And he liked the way that smile lit up her face.
“Decorating the children’s waiting rooms in themes they could relate to was actually a suggestion of one of our young patients,” she said, gesturing toward the all-boy space decorated in blues, blacks and silver. Her blue eyes sparkled, and she gave him a grin that transformed her face. “He didn’t care much for the very pink Barbie Dreamhouse that was in a corner and wanted to know why we liked girls more than boys.”
David smiled. “Out of the mouths of babes comes genius and inspiration?”
Spring nodded. “Something like that. Then, before you know it, backed by an anonymous gift to the clinic, there was funding to update and remodel not only two kids’ waiting-slash-recovery rooms, but also all of the common spaces here. Common Ground was very blessed by that donor.
“But back to Jeremy’s care and recovery,” she said.
And just that fast she morphed into the cool and efficient physician. David wondered if she had a husband and children who after clinic hours got to see the unmasked Dr. Darling. Her genuine smile seemed like good medicine to him.
“Here you go,” the receptionist said, bustling into the waiting room toting a small canvas bag. “How’s our patient?”
“Dozing at the moment,” Spring said, accepting the bag the woman handed her.
“Everything else is all ready,” the receptionist told the doctor. “You just swing by my desk when you’re all done. My name’s Shelby,” she added to David.
“Yes, I will. Thank you,” he mumbled. Then, eyeing the bag, which he noted also sported the oval Common Ground logo, he asked Spring, “What everything else?”
“Just the file. Jeremy’s charts. She’s gotten everything logged in to our medical and service records system. When you return, all you’ll need to do is check in. You’ll only need to fill out paperwork once. And that’s for any Common Ground ministry. The medical records are, of course, only accessible to staff here at the clinic.”
“What exactly is Common Ground?”
“A perfect segue,” she said, smiling as she reached into the tote bag the receptionist had handed off to her. She pulled out a brochure and offered it to him.
“This will tell you more about the ministries,” she said. “We’re a nonprofit partnership run by three churches here in Cedar Springs. In addition to joint community service programs, Common Ground operates a soup kitchen, homeless shelter, this medical clinic and a recreation program. Once you’re registered for one service, you’re registered for all. One-stop shopping makes it easier for everyone, clients and our volunteers.”
David glanced around the waiting room. “So, this is basically a free clinic?”
That telltale tightness appeared at her mouth again, probably prompted by the frustration he had been unable to shield from his voice. What he’d suspected was true. She thought he was a freeloader looking for a handout. He didn’t know why that irked him so much. It just did.
He also got the distinct impression she was going to say something, but then the moment passed and she gave him a hospitable smile—not one of the genuine ones she’d bestowed on Jeremy, but that I’m-being-polite-because-I’m-supposed-to smile that Southern girls seemed to perfect in kindergarten, if not as early as in the womb.
“There are sliding rates, Mr. Camden. Shelby will be able to answer any questions you may have, and if she can’t, our administrator is available from nine until noon on weekdays.”
Contrite now and attributing his earlier bad attitude to stress, David ran a hand through his hair.
She was just doing her job. He didn’t need to take his frustrations or his insecurities out on her.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. I...I’ve had a lot on me these last few months. Jeremy getting sick must have just capped it all. I hope you’ll forgive that evil twin who was impersonating me a few moments ago.”
She regarded him with what could best be described as wary interest, the kind reserved for the occasion when you run across an injured animal—one that might also have rabies. Then, like sunrise after a night of storms, she smiled and patted him on the arm. He liked when she touched him, even though the touches were nothing more than human kindness, the type that typically went along with what was referred to as a doctor’s bedside manner.
“I’m going to check on Jeremy one last time before you go.”
He watched her cross the room and then bend toward his son. The shopping bag, he noticed, she’d left on the floor at his feet. He also noticed that she hadn’t accepted—or outright rejected—his apology.
* * *
As Spring tended to Jeremy she thought about his father.
She wasn’t at all sure what to make of her reaction to the man. Not to mention the little sparring match they’d engaged in. She’d sensed hostility in him, quickly followed by what she could only describe as regret.
What was that all about?
With his sandy hair and those worried brown eyes, he was attractive enough—if you went for that type. The type who listened with his whole being, whose gaze seemed to search for hidden and deeper meanings with every glance.
And do you go for that type?
She ignored the taunt of the inner Spring.
“Are you my mom?”
The small voice floated up to her in an awe-filled whisper.
She smiled at the question from her small patient.
“No, Jeremy. I’m Dr. Spring. Do you remember me?”
The boy nodded.
“How’s that tummy feeling?”
He made a face. “Where’s my daddy?”
“He’s right—”
“Hey, buddy,” the man said, making Spring start. She hadn’t heard him approach. She edged out of the way to give him room, moving to the other side of the big chair. She watched as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’m right here, Jeremy.”
“I wanna go home, Daddy.”
He looked over to see what she had to say about that. “Is he all clear?”
Spring nodded.
“I wanna go to our real house,” Jeremy added. “Not the hotel.”
Spring bit her lip. Her heart ached for them. This father and son needed help, the kind that Common Ground offered, but the man bristled each time she tried to assure him that it wasn’t a handout but a help up that the ministry provided.
She had had the training offered to every volunteer and knew she couldn’t foist assistance on them. She was on the board of directors and had been one of the people who’d insisted that s
ensitivity training be a requirement of all Common Ground volunteers. People wanted and needed to maintain their dignity, especially when they found themselves in critical situations.
“You’ll be feeling like your normal self in a few days, Jeremy,” she told the boy. “Your father is going to give you some medicine to take. Will you promise me you’ll be a good trouper and take it?”
The boy nodded.
“Good,” she said, smiling at him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pen and a small card. She scribbled something on the back and handed it to the boy. “If your tummy hurts again, have your dad call me at this number.” Spring patted Jeremy’s leg and then glanced up at his father. “Have a good evening, Mr. Camden.”
Spring left them then, but she overheard the child’s question. “Daddy, is she a spring angel?”
Her smile was wry as she made her way to the physicians’ office.
It took her just a few minutes to log her new patient notes, shed her lab coat, pack up her bag and grab her keys. Shelby would be ready to go, as well, as soon as Mr. Camden and his son checked out.
“There has to be some mistake,” she heard the man say a few minutes later as she reached the front reception area. “I must have left my wallet at the hotel. I do have insurance.”
She started to turn and go out the back way, but the boy, in his father’s arm and peering over his shoulder, had seen her.
“Dr. Spring.”
She waved at him. Uncertain about how Mr. Camden might take her overhearing his financial problems, Spring hastened toward the door.
“Mr. Camden, don’t worry about it. Really. We don’t need an insurance card or payment,” Shelby said. “All you have to do is take this to the pharmacy. They’ll fill it no questions asked. Here are the directions to an all-night drugstore.”
“But...”
Spring’s heart broke for them. She’d heard plenty of hard-luck stories in her time volunteering with Common Ground. She had also learned that she couldn’t make people’s problems disappear the way she could with an illness. A bandage, shot or lollipop could not and did not solve the troubles the clinic’s patients faced once they left Common Ground.
Love Inspired May 2015 #1 Page 20
