Five

T he blaring monitor and the alarm by the door played in surround sound. The door swung open, and blinding light blasted through Anna's eyelids. Her head throbbed. Her body ached. She placed her hand over her closed lids to ease the pain.

"Anna, are you doing okay?"

The distant voice wobbled into focus. She slid her hand down.

Someone lifted her other arm. "My name is Dr. Clarke. I'm injecting some medication in your IV to lower your blood pressure and help with your pain. You'll feel a warm sensation for a minute, but then you'll rest. Just relax."

The warmth moved through her arm and then throughout her body, a comforting warmth . She relaxed, drifting off to sleep. "I hope this is a dream."

Sometime later, the metal bed rails clanked against the monitor stand as her bed jiggled. Some type of plastic, like a potato chip bag, rustled. She rubbed her eyes, adjusting to the dim room. Did the wall clock say two? As in, two in the morning?

The rustling came again from the nurse between her and the IV stand. With her back toward Anna and her manner restrained, she wasn't the perky young nurse from the earlier shift, but older, slower.

The whiteboard had the name Rita in large print.

The nurse turned, walking toward Anna, her name tag unclear in the darkened room, but it appeared to match the board. The nurse shuffled past and out the door.

Anna drifted back to sleep, then stirred at the sound of someone in the room again. She felt better and more alert. She squinted at the clock. Six a.m.

"Good morning."

A blond-haired doctor sat in a navy recliner, his feet propped up, his hair tousled, his athletic physique noticeable under the white coat. He dropped the footrest and rubbed the side of his jaw as he stood.

"How are you feeling today?" He moved to read the monitor. The poor guy's sea-green eyes were almost red.

Anna didn't appreciate the taste in her mouth right now. She rubbed her tongue across her grimy teeth. A gurgling from her stomach spoke for her. Stop that.

"We've ordered food for you. It arrives soon." He hung her chart back up and stepped to her side. "Do you have any questions before I go?"

"Can you tell me what happened?"

His handsome face gave no hints in its expression. "You had a head injury, which resulted in a severe concussion. You also have bruised ribs. You took a hard fall and got banged up. We've had you under observation for two days, but we'll release you after you're able to eat and pass a few tests."

"Two days?" She let out a low whistle, leaned back, and shifted her weight to get more comfortable. The navy reclining chair angled into the corner—Dr. Clarke's chair. A green curtain hung next to it for no apparent reason since the room didn't have a window. The colors clashed. She wouldn't need the cabinet nearby, probably for flowers or personal items. There were no flowers, and there'd be no visitors. She was all alone. She shivered at the familiar feeling.

Dr. Clarke followed her gaze. "I'm sorry. I'm not aware of any visitors, but someone from Food to Remember Diner has called each day to check on you."

"That's probably Sandy." She hesitated before asking. "When can I go home?"

"Your nurses will monitor your progress today and keep me posted. If everything goes well, we'll discharge you this afternoon or first thing tomorrow morning."

"It'll go well." It had to. She'd had more than enough of hospitals in her life. She suppressed a shudder.

Then the clanking of trays brought the aroma of hot food, which encouraged her stomach to rumble deeper than before. Really? A sweet young girl in a hunter-green uniform carried a tray almost as big as she was. She swayed, wobbling with each step.

As the tray looked ready to tilt, Anna slid over to allow more space, and the eager girl kept it upright and thumped it onto the table, spilling some of the juice. Anna licked her lips like she'd been without real food for weeks on a survival reality show. The aroma made her stomach leap, and she wiggled straighter in the bed, hands in ready position.

"I'll see you later." Dr. Clarke chuckled.

Her face overheated. She wiped the dampness from her brow with a subtle swipe of her hand. She discovered her eyes reflected in his before he strode away.

But he remained by the doorway as she took her first bites, watching her. Probably to ensure she didn't choke as she shoveled the food.

"Thank you," she whispered as he left. Then the room became empty and drab, and loneliness reclaimed her as its companion.

Over the next few hours, she completed the steps to ensure she could go home, then waited for Dr. Clarke's evaluation. He stood over her now, chart in hand. At last, he lowered the clipboard and moved to the computer. The clicking on the keyboard lasted for what seemed to be an eternity.

"I can release you if you have a ride home. Do you have someone who can pick you up?"

She raised the back of her bed and repositioned herself, squirming as she delayed. Evie wouldn't offer, and Sandy was at work. She couldn't ask Sandy to lose wages. There was no one else. No one. She shook her head but kept her gaze lowered, interested in her fidgeting hands.

"I can call for a taxi or a ride." Why had she isolated herself and avoided close relationships in Grandville?

He stretched his tight shoulders, and her face warmed as his full gaze probed her. Several years older than she was and professional in a doctor-patient relationship, he was still attentive. Was it too attentive?

"What part of town do you live in? The shifts are about to end. Maybe someone at the hospital lives in your direction."

"I'm not too far. East of Davis Street." She pretended to adjust her sleeve.

He rubbed a hand across his chin. "I'll be back."

She closed her eyes while she waited. She placed a hand on her head and then touched her throbbing ribs.

Dr. Clarke returned with a bounce in his step, then slowed. His gaze drifted to her hand on her rib cage. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She wanted to go home.

"Well then, you have a ride."

"Whew. Thanks." After he left, she lowered the bed and shuffled to the restroom. Changing her top would be a challenge.

She checked the room for her things once she was dressed. There wasn't much. Her purse seemed heavier, though. She must be weaker from the trauma. And lack of food.

"Hi, Anna." A freckled intern paused at the door, Dr. Clarke coming in again behind her. Her red ponytail bounced over one shoulder as she shuffled from foot to foot with too much enthusiasm. "My name is Misty. I live over by Second Street and East Davis. Are you close to that area?"

"Yes, that's not far from my place."

"Great. I'll get my car and meet you in the loading area. It's white." She was out the door.

He shook his head, picked up the phone, and dialed. "This is Dr. Clarke. We need a wheelchair delivered to Room 203. Could you send one up with an orderly?" His forehead tensed. "Okay, can someone at least bring the wheelchair?"

He hung up, then rubbed his hands together. "Do you have all your things? I'm leaving soon. They'll be bringing the wheelchair here. And, since every orderly is busy, we'll go down together and meet Misty at the front."

They waited in awkward silence until rolling wheels clattered down the hallway. The attendant was in and out in a flash.

Dr. Clarke moved behind the chair and pushed it closer. When she gave him a thank-you nod and slid into the seat, he asked, "Got everything?"

"Yep. Thanks."

He rolled her into an elevator heavy with the scent of stale food. She held her breath long enough for her nose to adjust. They stole bashful glances as they rode to the first floor. Then they continued down the hall toward intense sunshine streaming through the windows above the revolving door. He stopped near the lobby.

"That looks like Misty pulling up now." He held his hand over his eyes to block the glare from the setting sun as the white four-door sedan parked in the loading area. Misty's head was bobbing to some type of music.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Take care of yourself." His hand moved toward her, his expression tender, before he lowered his hand back against his side.

Misty helped Anna into the car. As they sped along, her anxiety increased. How long had Misty been driving? With each turn, Anna squeezed the armrest to keep from sliding across the seat. Misty almost missed the next turn and slammed the brakes. The sudden stop lunged Anna's body forward, thrusting it against the locked seat belt. She moaned as her hand rushed to protect her ribs.

"Hey, please take it easy. You know I just got out of the hospital, right?"

"Sorry, sometimes I misjudge the turns."

Anna forced a sympathetic smile, hoping the throbbing would ease.

"Have you been at the hospital long?" she asked, trying to slow Misty's driving.

"About six months. I love it. I meet interesting people. The cases—" She lifted her hand to her mouth. "Well, I'm not supposed to talk about what I see, but there's been some interesting things."

"I'm sure it's never dull. I appreciate you driving me. I was ready to get back home."

Misty nodded as if she understood. "It's hard to rest for sure. We're coming and going at all hours."

After a pause, a curious expression crossed Misty's face. At the stop sign, she slanted a glance Anna's way, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Do you know Dr. Clarke? I mean—personally."

The direct question raised Anna's defenses. "Well, of course. He's my doctor."

"It's just that I hear things. Some of the nurses were talking—nothing mean, you understand. Patients are always attracted to Dr. Clarke. After all, he's so handsome. Anyway, the nurses—not me—were saying they don't remember him ever taking such a keen interest in a patient."

"Dr. Clarke has been very kind. He may have wanted to get rid of me and used you to get me out of the room."

"I don't know. He acted differently. Is this your place coming up?"

"Yes, thank you."

Misty parked in the driveway and turned toward Anna with a casual shrug. "Maybe you remind him of his fiancée who died last year. You kinda look like her."