The Doctor Takes a Detour

by Bren Christopher

  “Good idea. Is Gabriel almost done?”

  “I think so. I’ll see if he can hang around for a few minutes.”

  “He should leave too. We don’t need any help handling George.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. But you never know with junkies in withdrawal. Adrenaline and desperation could lend them superhuman strength. “Tully is outside waiting for him.”

  She looked puzzled. Then, “Last week? An older man with . . . jaundice? Yes, not bad yet, just a bit of yellowing of the eyes. I think I gave him a slip for bloodwork. Did he go?”

  “I don’t know. He won’t come in. Says he’s waiting for George. I’ll ask him if I get a chance.”

  He headed back to the waiting room, pausing briefly in the doorway of the social worker’s office to make sure Gabriel didn’t need anything. Competent as Gabriel was, he hadn’t been a volunteer long.

  Gabriel sat in front of an ancient computer, talking to a young man and an even younger woman rocking a sleeping baby. They didn’t look old enough to date, never mind have the responsibility of a baby. At least they had sense enough to seek out help. Gabriel de la Cruz wasn’t much older, but he’d graduated the year before and already seemed more patient and knowledgeable than a lot of their older volunteer social workers. Possibly that compassion would fade after he’d been on the job a few years. Ian hoped not. Catching Ian’s eye, Gabriel gave him a quick nod, but didn’t stop his instructions to the couple.

  Ian continued down the hall to the waiting room. “Mrs. Fuentes?” he called. “You can come on back, please.” He escorted the older woman and the little girl to Lucia.

  “Well, hey there,” Lucia crouched down to the girl’s level. “What’s your name?”

  “Tara,” she whispered.

  “Can you hop up here, Tara?” Lucia stood and patted the bed.

  Ian raised an eyebrow at her, and she gave him a tired nod. He left the room, closing the door.

  Maybe he’d hit up that cute ex-ER doc after all, see if he was up for a few volunteer hours to give Lucia a break. He’d refrained from asking, knowing Langdon and Burke would have warned the new guy away from the clinic, but desperate times and all that. Ian wouldn’t mind seeing him again anyway, even if he said no.

  Gabriel walked the small family to the door, whatever he was saying in his rapid-fire Spanish making the new parents chuckle. He waved to them from the doorway and then turned back to the waiting room when they were piling into their rusty station wagon.

  Ian craned his neck to try to see inside the wagon.

  “Sí, Mother Hen,” Gabriel said from beside him. “They do indeed have an appropriate child safety seat.”

  Ian smiled at him sheepishly.

  “The hospital gave them some help when the baby was born, but they didn’t explain things to them very well,” Gabriel said. “They speak some English, so perhaps the social worker on duty that day thought they understood what they needed to do to finish signing up for aid and insurance.”

  “You know who they worked with?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask.”

  “Don’t wanna rock the boat, huh?”

  “I’ve worked there for all of a month. No, I don’t wanna rock the boat.” An impish grin lit the brown eyes, visible behind his wire-framed glasses. “Not over something as simple as a misunderstanding anyway.”

  Ian nodded sagely. “‘He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot, will be victorious.’”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. “He who reads too much Sun Tzu will sound like an ass.”

  “Do not mock the master.”

  “Wasn’t him I was mocking.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  George shifted in his chair, a new line appearing between his feathery gray brows, almost buried in all the other wrinkles.

  “Another few minutes, Mr. George,” Ian said, and then jerked his head at Gabriel. “Can I see you in the office?”

  “Sure.”

  Once they were in the social worker’s office, Ian closed the door and spoke quietly. “I think George is coming down from something.”

  “He does seem awfully twitchy.”

  “He says he’s not sleeping, which means he’s going to ask Lucia for a sedative. There are limits to what she can prescribe, but even if there weren’t, she wouldn’t give him a prescription. I want to be in there with him when she sees him. Do you mind hanging around until we’re done?”

  Gabriel blinked up at him. “You want me for backup?” His voice rose to a squeak.

  Ian grinned down at him. He had several inches and a lot of pounds on Gabriel. “I want you to call for backup if we need it.”

  “Oh.” Gabriel’s brow smoothed. “That makes more sense.” He headed for the desk. “I need to wrap this up anyway and make a few notes. How about if I work in here and we leave both doors open?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  The door to the exam room slammed wide, and Mrs. Fuentes strode out, tugging the little girl behind her, mouth twisted in disgust.

  “Gabriel,” Lucia called. “Can you help?”

  “Mrs. Fuentes.” Gabriel hurried after her, holding up a hand. Mrs. Fuentes stopped and listening grudgingly while he introduced himself.

  Lucia followed them. “Please take Tara for the bloodwork, Mrs. Fuentes,” she said in that firm tone she used when she was trying to get her way by sheer force of will. Ian knew it well. “You have insurance. There’s no reason for Tara not to see a regular doctor. I can refer you—”

  Gabriel did his best, clearly trying to convince the woman to stay, but she snarled an interruption and then banged out the front door, tugging Tara behind her.

  “What did she say?” Lucia asked.

  “That we were useless.”

  “Damn.” Lucia ran a hand through her dark hair, shaking a few strands free of the ponytail.

  “I think she understands more than she speaks.”

  “She speaks some English, except when she doesn’t like what I’m saying. Then suddenly she doesn’t understand. I thought she might listen to you. Anyway, thanks for trying.” She turned on her heel and headed for the exam bed, then started pulling the paper off the bed with short, sharp snaps of her wrists.

  Ian leaned against the doorway, watching her.

  After a minute, she sighed and looked at him. “The grandmother says the girl had a seizure. Or maybe she was being possessed by orishas. Or she’s a santera in waiting. She could be possessed by the devil. Hell, I don’t know what she meant.”

  “One seizure?”

  “Yes, one. Happened yesterday afternoon and lasted about a minute. Vitals are good. Could have been anything—diabetes, epilepsy, an allergic reaction. She even has insurance, so there’s no reason they can’t go to a doctor or get some bloodwork done. But they won’t go into town.”

  “Her parents?”

  “The parents seem to be the ones most against it. I get the impression the grandmother brought her here without telling them, although she also seemed torn between bringing her here or to their Santeria priest.”

  “Do we have an address?” He’d send out child services if they could track her down.

  But Lucia shook her head. Supplying any kind of personal information was optional. If they required it, most of their patients would never walk through the door.

  He had a last name though. A computer hunt might turn up something.

  “Let’s take care of George so we can head out.” Ian stepped back into the corridor. “Ready for you, George.”

  George mumbled a stream of incomprehensible words as he stood up unsteadily and made his way to the exam room. Ian followed him, leaving the door open. Gabriel sat quiet and watchful in the office across the hall, his phone on the desk in front of him.

  Lucia pulled on her gloves. “Good to see you again, George. Have a seat.” She reached for a penlight while Ian moved in with a blood pressure cuff.

  “Don’t need all that.” George jolted away, avoiding the cuf
f.

  Lucia paused, penlight in hand. “You know the routine. Can’t do anything without getting your vitals, right?”

  They waited patiently until the old man finally gave a half nod. He wasn’t that old; probably in his fifties, but it was hard to be sure. The answer varied each time they asked him. Drugs, alcohol, and hard living had aged him beyond his years though.

  “Are you taking your insulin shots?” Lucia asked.

  He grunted.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Lucia swiped his finger, then jabbed it and put the strip into the glucometer. “Not too bad, but higher than it should be.” She turned away. “I’m going to give you a couple of units to bring it down, but you need to—”

  “That’s not gonna help with my sleep. I’m dog tired.”

  Lucia turned back and slipped the needle under the skin at the back of his arm. He held himself still, obviously hoping his compliance would put Lucia in a good mood.

  “Come on, Doc. I need a little something to help me sleep,” he repeated.

  “I’m not a doctor, remember?” She disposed of the needle, moving deliberately, and then looked him in the eye. “I can’t give you anything too strong, and that’s a fact. Even if I wanted to, I’m not licensed to prescribe narcotics or strong sedatives. Besides, we don’t keep such in this place, I’m telling you.”

  Ian silently applauded her straightforward approach. If she tried to give George an over-the-counter med and pass it off as a stronger drug, he would know. He could probably identify more pills by color, size, and scientific name than either Lucia or Ian.

  “This is the best I can do.” She pulled a bottle of diphenhydramine from the cabinet.

  “You’re shittin’ me. Benadryl?” He made no move to take it. The mumble disappeared, and his voice rose. “This is bullshit.”

  Lucia continued to hold the bottle out to him. “Not the best thing to take when you have diabetes,” she said conversationally. “But nothing much is. Take two. They’ll be enough to help you sleep.”

  “Come on, Doc. You gotta have something.”

  “I’m not a doc—”

  “There’s gotta be something better than that.” He stood, his eyes darting around the room.

  “There isn’t,” Ian said flatly.

  George jumped as if he’d forgotten Ian was standing right beside him. His tone switched from belligerent to begging in an instant. “I need help.”

  Ian softened his tone. “I know, man. Take the Benadryl, and call that clinic I told you about last time. Do you need the number again?”

  “I ain’t going to no damn clinic.” George snatched the Benadryl out of Lucia’s hand. “Thanks for nothing, Doc.”

  “I’m not—”

  But she was talking to his back as George stormed out of the clinic, the door slamming behind him.

  Lucia sagged back against the exam bed. “What a fucked-up day.” Then she lifted her chin and looked straight at Ian. “We need to talk.”

  The grim set of her mouth told him he wasn’t going to like whatever she had to say. A sneaking suspicion sent dread pooling in his belly.

  Gabriel poked his head in. “Esta bien?”

  “Yes, everything is fine.” Ian squeezed his shoulder. “Thanks for staying.”

  “No hay problema. Have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  Ian followed him to the door and watched him until he pulled away in his battered Toyota. They’d never had an attack on any of the workers, but the potential was always there, and George’s anger had left Ian a bit warier than usual. He scanned the parking lot, but it was deserted now except for his bike and Lucia’s van.

  After locking up, Ian did his final walk through the small clinic, shutting down lights and checking the back exit while Lucia readied the exam room for the next day. When she was done and had slung her bag over her shoulder, she met him in the front lobby.

  She gazed up at him with that worried line between her brows.

  “Do I need to sit down for this?” Ian asked.

  “No. It’s not . . .”

  He squeezed her shoulders and then smoothed his hands down her arms. “Tell me.”

  “It’s just . . .” Her eyes shone.

  “Oh Jeez. Don’t get upset. It can’t be that bad.”

  She took a deep breath. “I know how much this clinic means to you, and what a difficult time you have staffing it.”

  “So . . . What? You can’t volunteer anymore?”

  “I need to go back to work full-time.”

  The pool of dread in his belly congealed into a cold, hard ball. “The twins start school this year.”

  She nodded. “I found a full-time job. Regular daytime hours. I can be home in the evening for the kids, and lord knows we can sure use the money.”

  He’d known for months this day would come. Nevertheless, it hit him hard. He crossed his arms and gazed out the window at the dimming light reflecting from the oil spills on the broken pavement.

  “I’m sorry.” Her choked apology was full of anguish. She knew what this meant. He had an occasional doctor or nurse he coerced from his acquaintances at the hospital, but she was the one he relied on—the only qualified medical person who was always there when he needed her.

  He stared at her, his expression frozen. It was eating her up, he could see that, but what the hell was he supposed to do? The clinic had been teetering on the brink of closure since he’d opened it, and now . . .

  Wrapping his arms around her, he gave her a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find another way. I’ll go by the hospital and talk to Dr. Aguto. See what she can do about getting more volunteers from the hospital.”

  She hugged him back, relief in her voice as she said hastily, “I’ll come when I can, and so will Tommy. I could come on the weekends when Tommy is off rotation and can watch the kids.”

  He laid his cheek against her hair. “We’ll work something out once you’re settled into your new schedule.”

  She pulled away to look up at him, tears welling in her dark eyes, so like his. “I know you’re disappointed,” she said in a low voice. “I know this place never took off like you wanted, but don’t give up, okay?”

  He forced a smile. “Of course not.”

  “Ian . . .” She bit at her lip, a childhood habit he rarely saw her do anymore.

  Christ, what else could there be? “You got something else to say, say it.”

  “Just . . . Do you remember what Aguto said, back when you first asked her to be medical director? About the hospital . . .” Her voice trailed off uncertainly while he stared at her, puzzled.

  Then he got it. “No,” he said flatly.

  “You won’t think about it at all? Even now?”

  He scrubbed his face, the weariness dragging him down. “I have thought about it. But a hospital sponsorship means thorough documentation. Half our patients don’t even want to give us their last names. They’d stop coming, and then what would even be the point of the clinic? Might as well close it down.”

  She grimaced, and then nodded. “Okay. I see your point. I’m just worried.” She hesitated. “You—you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

  “Of course not,” he repeated, his voice rough. “I’ll figure something out.”

  He led her out the door, locking it and setting the alarm behind them.

  “When do you start?” He walked her to her SUV. “And where?”

  “Not for a couple of weeks, I’ll be at the hospital, but it’s in the Women’s Center, so it’s daytime hours.”

  “The gynecology clinic?”

  “Yep.” She smirked at him, her eyes drying. “Let me know if you want details.”

  He gave an exaggerated shudder. “No, thanks.”

  As soon as she drove off, he let the forgiving façade vanish. “Goddamn it,” he hissed, then with no one around to hear him, yelled it out. “Goddamn it!”

  Breath heaving, he clenched his fists as the wave of anguish p
assed and he could walk to his bike with a steady gait. His limbs felt heavy as he slung a leg over the seat and then sat staring at the dark clinic windows. The place wasn’t much to look at, and they weren’t exactly overflowing with patients. But the people who did come—they needed help, and few of them would make the trip into town to get it. Most would simply do without until it was too late.

  One step forward and three steps back. The constant struggle of the last two years caught up with him sometimes, filling him with doubts, weighing down his soul. Then the next desperate patient would walk through the door and he’d remember why he was doing all this.

  He scrubbed his face and then clutched the bars with a grip that hurt his hands. He’d find a way. He always did.

  Got a sinus headache? A stuffy nose? Call Dr. Josh so he can give you the antihistamine you could have gotten from your own damn medicine cabinet. Feeling faint? Vision blurry? Try not drinking two glasses of wine before your insulin shot. Or ever. Have a low energy level and a constant, mild headache? Call Dr. Josh so he can give you advice about diet and exercise that you’ll ignore.

  After three weeks of this, Josh was ready to join his patients in drowning his sorrows in wine and anti-depressants. Or at least ready to tell them frankly what they needed to do to feel better, which would mostly consist of getting off their asses.

  Not that he would. Langdon and Burke would have his head for being too blunt with the clients, particularly Mrs. Bollinger. But Josh had an appointment with his heart patient from New York in an hour—he’d had to call Dr. Shaw four times to pin him down to a date and time, and he wouldn’t let this last-minute summons from Mrs. Bollinger make him miss it.

  For the second time in the last three weeks, he pulled up to the gated entrance and identified himself into the speaker. When the gates opened, he followed the long circular drive to the front of the sprawling Spanish-style house perched on the edge of a narrow canal that led out to the gulf. The red-tiled roof gleamed in the morning sun as seagulls circled over the water beyond the house, their widespread white wings shining against the cloudless blue sky.

  Turning his keys over to the . . . whatever he was— Did private homes have valets? Or maybe he was a bodyguard, given the way the big dark-skinned man was built. The first time Josh had visited, Mrs. Bollinger had been waiting for him in the doorway, so Josh hadn’t had a chance to talk to the man. He tried giving a friendly nod as he held out the keys to his rental, but the man wrinkled his nose and took the keys to the Ford by the edges.