Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Calvin

I 've never been more scared in my life. Not because of the kid I'm attending to or because of the scary looking dude hovering nearby with tattooed tears on his face. He looks like Bozo the Clown, Stephen King style.

I'm on auto pilot, suturing the boy's bullet wound like it's something I do every day, because it is. Another gang-related visit to the ER.

"Yo, doc. Am I gonna die?"

The patient's voice cracks like the twelve-year-old he is. I'm amazed he's holding back the tears. It's gotta hurt like the devil. Chart says he has no mother. Guess he's seen worse than a bullet graze.

I keep it light. "Not a chance! But you might feel like it when you realize there's no WiFi."

I want to give my practiced speech about starting off in life on the right foot, avoiding things that could take you down the wrong path but I don't. I have yet to see anyone heed my wisdom. Let's just say, in this job, in this city, I have repeat customers. It's when they don't come back that I worry.

Despite the situation in front of me, my thoughts are elsewhere. Namely, when the ambulance pulled into the bay, medics helping the patient out the back. I was finishing some paperwork, considering what I could grab for dinner from the snack dispenser, when I glanced at the gurney whooshing past.

A frazzled soccer mom with a stricken look on her face was keeping pace until someone told her to stay back. Something caught my eye. A red purse jostling beside the patient. My first thought was Caroline has one just like it. It took a couple of seconds to realize it was Caroline.

There's a reason they say doctors should never treat friends and family in dire circumstances. You lose perspective and allow emotions to rule, when what's needed more than anything is to remain calm and collected.

I wrap the bandage around the boy's arm and tell the nurse what to prescribe. The kid has one foot still in puberty and I'm hesitant to write a script for an opioid that he'll likely sell anyway.

My mind reverts to an unconscious Caroline. As they wheeled her into a room, I said to the nurse, "I know her."

"You want to take her?"

I knew I shouldn't but there was no one else around. All the doctors were treating other patients. I instructed the nurse to take Caroline to the only available room, start an IV, and get the medic's report. Then I approached the soccer mom. "Can you tell me what happened?"

She said, "My friend and I were eating and she got a funny look and face planted into her gnocchi."

It sounded like a comedy sketch but the woman looked stricken. I learned her name is Samantha. I recognized it as one of Caroline's lunch friends. "Was she under stress at the time?"

Sam furrowed her brow. "Yes, but that's normal for her."

"Right. Caroline has been under a lot of pressure lately."

A look of surprise crossed her face. "You know her?"

I nodded. "She's my friend. I better get back there."

Her eyes widened. "You're Doctor Hand?—"

"Doctor Sinclair."

As I hurried to the back, Sam asked, "Will she be okay?"

All I could say was, "She'd better be."

When I got to her, Caroline's pulse was racing like a runaway train, her eyes closed. Thank heavens the measures we took were successful. It wasn't the first time I prayed in the ER but it was the most desperate. By the time we got her heart rate under control, mine was through the roof.

She's stable, I remind myself. Awake and coherent. Even joking. Her friends are with her. I'll run more tests and if things check out, I'll discharge her in the morning. But not before she and I have a serious talk. There's something I've been meaning to suggest. I like the idea a lot but who knows if Caroline will agree. Only one way to find out.

I'm back in the present and gently pat the kid on the back. "Stay safe, kid."

He eyes me, his expression that of someone who's seen more than he should in his short life. "Yeah."

With Bozo at his heels, he walks back out onto the New York streets.