She turned on the light, then put on her professional voice. “I’m so sorry,” she told her caller. “I thought it was a friend. This is Dr. Darling. To whom am I speaking?”
“I’m sorry for calling so late, doctor. It’s David. David Camden. I brought my son in to see you earlier this evening.”
Spring ran a hand through hair that tumbled in her face. She opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out a hair tie to tame it.
Putting the phone on speaker, she gathered up her hair and tugged it into a ponytail. “Is Jeremy all right?” she asked him.
“No.”
She heard the panic in the man’s voice and was up and headed to her closet for clothes to wear to either the clinic or the hospital.
“What are his symptoms?” she asked as she grabbed a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt.
“He’s burning up and throwing up. Hold on, please.”
She stared at the phone for a moment. When she heard retching, her mind started running through what besides stomach flu might be wrong with the cute little boy. Spring pulled on the jeans and slipped into a pair of loafers.
“Dr. Darling? I’m back. He says his stomach hurts a lot. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Where are you?”
When he told her, she was a bit surprised to hear that someone with financial troubles was living in that rather expensive hotel. There were several more economical options around town. But she said nothing about that. It wasn’t her business. A sick child was her concern.
“I want you to take Jeremy to the hospital. To Cedar Springs General Hospital. I’ll meet you there. Do you have something to write with? I can give you directions from where you are. It will take you less than ten minutes to get there.”
She gave David the directions, shrugged on and buttoned her shirt and was about to grab her keys when she paused at the mirror. She made a quick detour to her large bathroom and applied a touch of powder and a bit of blush to her cheeks. She picked up a tube of lipstick, then frowned and put it back on the tray that held her makeup.
“It’s a medical emergency, not a date,” she said.
With her keys in hand, she grabbed her phone, the wallet clutch that held the essentials and the lanyard with her hospital IDs.
Outside, as she made her way to the garage, she noticed the lights were still on at her mother’s house. Spring’s home was actually a separate wing of her mother’s large estate. They shared the four-car garage on the property. Lovie Darling was a consummate entertainer, and the two cars in the drive, vehicles Spring didn’t recognize, were proof of that.
In her Volvo car, Spring placed her hands on the steering wheel, closed her eyes and prayed for Jeremy Camden and his father.
Then she headed to the hospital. She hated that it was under these circumstances, but she found herself pleased at the prospect of seeing David Camden again.
Hot on the heels of that came the realization that her thoughts were inappropriate on so many levels. Chief among them was that there was most likely a Mrs. Camden who loved him and that precious little boy. But the doctor’s suddenly sweaty hands and that little flutter in her gut gave evidence to another diagnosis—one of a far more personal nature.
For the first time in a long, long time, Spring found herself intrigued by a man, curious about his impression of her...and she fervently hoped there was no Mrs. Camden.
Spring headed straight to the emergency department at Cedar Springs General Hospital. As one of the staff physicians at the medical center, she had a designated parking space and was able to bypass the entry used by other hospital employees.
On weekends, the emergency department—typically called an emergency room by the public, as if there was just one room to it—bustled with acute trauma cases, mostly of the do-it-yourself-home-improvement variety like broken arms and legs or fractures. Then there were the asthma attacks and bee stings, as well as the usual mix of possible heart attacks, allergic reactions to everything from peanuts to shellfish and the occasional car crash victim. Severe trauma patients who needed advanced care were airlifted to Durham, where specialists at Duke University’s emergency trauma hospital and facilities could handle burns, gunshot victims and the like. Thankfully, those cases were rare at Cedar Springs General.
Spring looked around but didn’t see either David or Jeremy Camden in the emergency department’s waiting room. This evening there was just a handful of people in the waiting area. Three people huddled together with a man who kept saying, “I’m not gonna let them touch me. I’m not gonna let them touch me.” And an elderly woman in a light blue pantsuit sat erect in one of the chairs facing the receptionist’s desk. The woman clutched her purse as if someone might try to snatch it from her grip.
The televisions were on; one wall-mounted plasma set displayed a cable news channel, while its twin depicted a late-night talk show host yukking it up with a celebrity guest.
“Hi, Dr. Darling,” a man said from behind her. “What are you doing here this time of night?”
Spring turned to see Joseph Bradshaw, one of the physician assistants. Dressed in green scrubs, the uniform of most of the emergency department staff, he held a chart and was making his way toward one of the bays.
“Hi, Joseph. I got a call from the father of a patient. Acute abdominal pain that’s gotten worse. They’re supposed to meet me here.”
“It’s been pretty quiet tonight,” Joseph said. “I haven’t seen—”
Just then the automatic doors whooshed open and David Camden rushed in, almost running, with his son in his arms. The panic in his eyes and his bearing arrested Spring. He spotted her almost immediately.
“Dr. Darling!”
“Joseph, I’m going to need a bed.”
“On it, Doc,” he said, heading toward the emergency bays.
“He woke up doubled over,” David said, approaching Spring. “And he threw up again.”
“All right,” Spring said as several emergency department aides rushed to take the boy.
“Daddy, my stomach hurts a lot,” Jeremy said. Adding emphasis to just how much, the boy moaned and burrowed in closer to David’s chest, instinctively seeking the protection of his father rather than the strangers with outstretched hands.
The sound tore at Spring. Little Jeremy’s moan was one of the most pitiful sounds she had heard in a long, long time.
“Dr. Spring is right here,” David told his son.
The boy lifted his head a bit. “Pretty Spring?”
“Yeah, buddy. It’s Dr. Spring.”
Despite the strain she saw evident in the worry lines at his mouth and brow, Spring heard a note of amusement in David’s voice as he answered Jeremy. She’d been called many things in her thirty-five years, but this cute little boy calling her pretty just tugged at her heart.
It was clear Jeremy had more than just a bad case of stomach flu or too many jelly beans. Her mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.
“Noooo!” Jeremy cried out when David tried to place him on the gurney manned by two orderlies.
“It’s okay, buddy,” David assured his son, who resisted lying down. “I’m right here.”
“Want Dr. Spring.”
“I’m