She lifted a large manila file jacket. The woman’s hair was a mass of wild blond curls pulled into a ponytail. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she was pretty and she gave Clay a faint smile.
Shelby raised a visibly shaking hand to the side of her head. “Clay, this is Doctor…I’m sorry.” Frustration tightened her voice. “What was your name?”
“Meredith Boren.”
“Dr. Boren,” Shelby repeated. “You’ve told me that before, haven’t you?”
“It’s all right. The confusion will pass and so will the difficulty you’re having concentrating,” the woman soothed, glancing at Clay. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” Shelby said before he could answer. He knew her mother would agree.
“You’ll probably ask the same questions for a bit,” the doctor said. “That’s due to the concussion. I expect that fogginess to dissipate in the next twenty-four hours or so.”
“Concussion?” A new worry snaked through Clay. He’d gotten one years ago in a high school football game. But his had been mild; he’d suffered with only a headache, some nausea. His mind had never been this fuzzy, and he’d never forgotten anything. His voice was sharp with concern. “How long was she out?”
“We’re not sure.” The doctor’s sober gaze told him she was concerned, too. “The EMTs who brought her in said she was unconscious when they found her. She woke up a couple of times en route, but I’d estimate she was out at least five minutes.”
“That’s a long time.” Clay’s stomach knotted as he scanned Shelby’s heart-shaped face. She had an injured wrist, a cut and some bruises on her golden-ivory skin, but what was going on internally?
“I’ve looked at your X rays,” Dr. Boren said to Shelby. “Your wrist is sprained. We’ll need to wrap it and stitch up that gash at your hairline. That’s not what worries me, though.”
Clay stiffened. “What does?”
The woman’s warm gaze took in both of them. “Shelby, you have a grade three concussion. That’s pretty severe. The hit you took to the head had some momentum behind it.”
That put a hard knot in Clay’s chest. “Meaning she was pushed?”
“Or fell from some height.”
“I wish I could remember what happened,” Shelby said impatiently. “How long will this last?”
“I can’t say. With a grade three concussion, it’s possible the post-traumatic amnesia will last longer than twenty-four hours. I want to keep you overnight to monitor you and to see if your memory improves at all. At this juncture, I don’t think your skull is fractured, but I want to watch for a change in symptoms in case there’s a small hematoma I haven’t detected.”
Blood clot. Clay knew that much. His mind reeled with all the information, the sight of his strong, irrepressible buddy lying feebly in a hospital bed.
“Besides the confusion,” the doctor continued, “you’ll have headaches, dizziness, possibly some disturbance in your vision. I want to run a CAT scan and check for visible contusions on the brain.”
“What’s that, Doc?” Clay dragged a hand down his face.
“Bruising on the brain. Sorry.” The woman smiled.
“I can’t remember anything except walking into M.B.’s house.” Shelby frowned.
“Do you remember what time that was?” Clay asked. “Or why you went over in the first place? Did you see anyone else?”
“You have on your cop face,” she muttered.
The vise around his chest finally eased its grip, and he grinned.
“I know it’s hard, Shelby,” Dr. Boren said. “But do not make yourself try to remember. What you need to do is rest, and I can give you some medication to help with that. We’ll see how you do tomorrow. Try not to get ahead of yourself, all right?”
“Hello?”
Hearing the warm, familiar voice outside the door, Clay glanced up.
The doctor turned as Paula Fox moved into the room in a swirl of loose flowing skirts.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Paula,” Clay murmured.
The woman, who had been like a surrogate mother to him since his own had left, moved up the other side of her daughter’s bed, her gaze searching Shelby’s face.
“I came as soon as Clay called.” Paula’s brown kinky hair was pulled back with a headband, her pretty features wan with worry.
He knew all three of them were thinking about the last time they’d been in a hospital together. The night Jason had died. The older woman looked terrified and Clay certainly understood why.
“I’m okay, Mom.” Shelby squeezed her mom’s hand. “This is Dr. Boren.”
The blonde smiled. “Mrs. Fox, I was just explaining to Shelby and Clay that I want to keep her overnight.”
“It’s standard procedure,” Shelby explained.
When Clay nodded in agreement, some of the rigidness left Paula’s shoulders.
Dr. Boren scribbled something on a chart. “I’ll send in a nurse to wrap your wrist and stitch you up, then we’ll get you into a room. I want you to get some rest, even though we’ll bug you every two hours to check your vital signs.”
“All right.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Clay said.
The doctor left, closing the door on her way out. Paula frowned at the bandage on her daughter’s temple. “Shelby Marie, what happened?”
“All I remember is I went across the street to check on a friend. There wasn’t a fire when I got there. At least I don’t think so. Somehow I fell.”
Clay decided not to mention the possibility that she could also have been pushed.
Paula frowned. “You don’t remember anything else?”
“No.”
“Do you have a concussion? Is that why the doctor wants to admit you?”
“It’s nothing to be overly concerned about. You know how hard my head is.”
“What about your memory? What does she say about that?”
Shelby glanced at Clay and he saw the strain of worry in her eyes. “Dr. Boren thinks the memory loss may last only twenty-four hours.”
Clay hoped that by tomorrow Shelby would be able to recall those lost minutes.
“I’ll stay with you tonight.” Paula smoothed a wing of Shelby’s short brown hair away from her face.
“You don’t have to.”
“You need someone.”
“She’s right, Shelby,” Clay put in.
Shelby nodded. “Okay.”
Clay didn’t want to leave her. Telling himself she’d be fine with Paula did nothing to unlock the muscles that had gone rigid when he had heard about Shelby. He needed to do something. “I’m going to call Jack. Be right back.”
He slipped out and leaned a shoulder against the wall. The three firefighters who’d been there had moved down the hall. Upon seeing Clay, they walked toward him.
Jay Monroe, wiry and ruddy-skinned, shook his hand, introducing the other two men. “The doc already told us we can’t see her tonight. How’s she doing? How bad is she hurt?”