He held his tummy and rocked back and forth. “Hungweeeeee.”
Oh, God, what should she do now? She scratched her head, aware that a fine line of perspiration had formed above her lip. He was hungry and she was petrified.
Think, Stephanie, think.
She snapped her fingers. The tour. Jason had taken her on a tour of the clinic that morning, and it had included the employee lounge. “Come on, let’s check out the refrigerator.”
Robbie reached up for her hand. Avoiding his gesture, she quickened her step and started for the hallway. “It’s down here,” she said, as he toddled behind, bouncing off his toes, trying to catch up.
She switched on lights as they made their way to the kitchen in the mansion-turned-clinic. “Let’s see what we can dig up,” she said, heading for the refrigerator, avoiding his eyes at all cost and focusing on the task. She had every intention of writing IOU notes for each and everything she found to share with Robbie.
Some impression she’d make on her first day, stealing food.
Heck, the fridge was nearly bare. Someone had trained the employees well about leaving food around to spoil and stink up the place. Fortunately there was a jar of peanut butter. She pulled out drawer after drawer, hoping to find some leftover restaurant-packaged crackers. If the kid got impatient and cried, she’d freak out. Drawer three produced two packs of crackers and a third that was broken into fine pieces. Hopefully, Robbie wouldn’t mind crumbs.
“You like peanut butter?”
“Yup,” he said, already climbing up on the bench by the table. “I wike milk, too.”
Stephanie lifted her brows. “Sorry, can’t help you there.” But, as all clinics must, they did keep small cartons of juice on hand for their diabetic patients. “Hey, how about some cranberry or orange juice?”
“’Kay.”
“Which kind?”
“Boaff.”
“Okay. Whatever.” Anything to keep the boy busy and happy. Anything to keep him from crying. She glanced at her watch. How long had Phil been gone? Ten minutes? She blew air through her lips. How would she survive an hour?
After their snack, she led him back to the waiting room, careful not to make physical contact, where a small flat-screen TV was wedged in the corner near the ceiling. She didn’t have a clue what channels were available in this part of the state, but she needed to keep the boy distracted.
“What do you like to watch?”
“Cartoons!” he said, spinning in a circle of excitement.
She scrolled through the channels and found a cartoon that was nowhere near appropriate for a child.
“That! That!” Robbie called out.
“Uh, that one isn’t funny. Let’s look for another one.” She prayed she could find something that wouldn’t shock the boy or teach him bad words. Her hand shook as she continued to flip through the channels. Ah, there it was, just what she’d hoped for, a show with brightly colored puppets with smiling faces and silly voices. Maybe the fist-size knot in her gut would let up now.
She sat on one of the waiting-room chairs, and Robbie invited himself onto her lap. Every muscle in her body stiffened. She couldn’t do this. Where was Phil?
His warm little back snuggled against her and when he laughed she could feel it rumble through his chest. She inhaled and smelled the familiar fragrance of children’s shampoo, almost bringing her to tears. Someone took good care of this little one. Was it Phil?
She couldn’t handle this. Before she jumped out of her skin, she lifted him with outstretched arms and carried him to another chair, closer to the TV.
“Here. This seat is better. You sit here.”
Fortunately, engrossed in the show, he didn’t pick up on her tension and sat contentedly staring at the TV.
It had been a long day. She was exhausted, and didn’t dare let her guard down. Robbie rubbed his eyes, yawning and soon falling asleep. She paced the waiting room, checked her watch every few seconds, and glanced at the boy as if he were a ticking time bomb. Her throat was so tight, she could barely swallow.
Several minutes passed in this manner. Robbie rested his head on the arm of the chair, sound asleep. Stephanie hoped he’d stay that way until Phil returned.
A few minutes later, one of the puppets on the TV howled, and another joined in. It jolted her. Robbie stirred. His face screwed up. The noise had scared him.
Oh, God, what should she do now?
After a protracted silence, he let out a wail, the kind that used up his breath and left him quiet only long enough to inhale again. Then he let out an even louder wail.
“It’s okay, Robbie. It was just the TV,” she said from across the room, trying to console him without getting too close. She patted the air. “It was the show. That’s all.” She couldn’t dare hold him. The thought of holding a child sent lightning bolts of fear through her. She never wanted to do it again.
Flashes of her baby crying, screaming, while she paced the floor, rooted her to the spot. Robbie cried until mucus ran from his nose, and he coughed and sputtered for air, but still she couldn’t move.
It took every ounce of strength she had not to bolt out of the clinic.
Phil’s patient had been set up and ready for him when he’d arrived in the nearby E.R. The dental crown had been easy to locate in the trachea at the opening of the right bronchus. He’d dislodged it using a rigid scope and forceps, and done a quick check to make sure it hadn’t damaged any lung tissue. He’d finished the procedure within ten minutes, leaving the patient to recover with the E.R. nurse.
He barreled through the clinic door, then came to an abrupt stop at the sight of Robbie screaming and Stephanie wild-eyed and pale across the room.
“What’s going on?” he said.
She blinked and inhaled, as if coming to life from her statue state. “Thank God, you’re back,” she whispered.
“What happened?” He rushed to Robbie, picked him up and wiped his nose.
“I was ‘cared,” Robbie said, starting to cry again.
“Hey, it’s okay, buddy, I’m here.” Phil hugged his brother as anger overtook him. “What’d you do to him?” he asked, turning as Stephanie ran out the door. What the hell had happened? Confused, he glanced at Robbie. “Did she hurt you?”
“The cartoon monster ‘cared me,” he whimpered, before crying again.
Phil hugged him, relieved. “Are you hungry, buddy? You want to eat?”
The little guy nodded through his tears. “’Kay,” he said with a quiver.
What kind of woman would stand by and let a little kid cry like that? Had she been born without a heart? Phil
