straw extended past the plastic lid.
Carly clapped her hands. “The straw bends!” Carly said. “We never get bendy straws at our house.”
“Well, this one does, and you may bend it,” Elaine said.
“Is my drink chocolate?”
“No, but it is dark,” Elaine answered. “And I’m going to stay here while you drink all of it.” She handed Carly the cup. “Carly, Dr. Searle needs to see your mommy for a moment. She’s going to meet him in a room down the hall.”
“Okay,” Carly said. She took a drink and grimaced.
Beth realized that her daughter was putting on a brave front when Carly said, “This isn’t too bad.”
“Well, there’s a lot of it to drink,” Elaine said.
“I can do it!” Carly said. She took another pull on the straw.
Elaine turned her attention back to Beth. “The small lounge, three doors down on the left.”
“Thank you. Carly, I’ll be right back.”
Carly, her mouth full of drink, just nodded.
When Beth arrived at the small lounge, Dr. Searle wasn’t present. She studied the beige, nondescript room. Here the touches done for children vanished; in their place was the austere environment so characteristic of hospitals.
“Mrs. Johnson?”
She faced him. “Yes.”
As the doctor stepped into the room, Beth’s hand automatically touched her hair. Not that she should worry about how she appeared. But suddenly she knew exactly how pathetic she must appear—how horribly inadequate as a mother, how totally unfeminine. Over a year had passed since she’d had a professional haircut, and her long hair was held back from her face with a plain black headband. She hated disarray, which was literally her life of late.
And this man was a physician, with years of college, whereas she’d had none. Worse, he was one of those attractive, self-assured men who exuded presence. She braced herself. Even though she probably had nothing to fear, her gut tightened anyway.
“I wanted to speak with you about Carly’s treatment where she couldn’t overhear us.”
“That’s fine.”
“Can I get you some coffee or something? Water?”
He poured himself a cup, and for a moment Beth was tempted. But coffee was a luxury, and it was better to avoid what she couldn’t have again. “Water, please,” she said.
He set down his cup and poured her some water. He held the cup out for her, and their fingers connected as he transferred it to her hand. A gorgeous-man’s touch. Beth shivered slightly. His eyes narrowed and she could now see how gray they were.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Just worried,” Beth said.
“Don’t be. Carly is currently drinking what amounts, in layman’s terms, to liquid charcoal. The charcoal will act as a sponge and absorb the medicine. From there it will travel quickly through her system and be expelled as fecal matter.”
She must have frowned, for he said, “It’ll hit her hard and she’ll have several loose bowel movements. After she’s had the first, we’ll release her. Unless you notice any behavior—such as sluggishness or hyperactivity—that is out of the ordinary, we won’t need to see her again. However, you should consult with her pediatrician tomorrow morning, as well, just in case he wants you to follow up with a visit.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it.” He turned to leave.
An odd panic consumed Beth. Maybe his impersonal demeanor had gotten to her, or maybe it was just her overwhelming guilt—that she should have put her purse out of reach, that somehow she should have been more careful, more vigilant. She had to make him understand.
“I didn’t leave my purse out. I didn’t even know she had it, or that she was into it.”
He gave her an accepting smile, as if he heard such excuses all the time. If Beth wanted sympathy, she didn’t get it. Empathy came, instead.
“She’s a child. Children do things like this. She’ll probably be stronger for it after learning from her mistake. You can remind her of it when she’s a teenager.”
Beth followed him from the room. He quickly outdistanced her and she soon learned why. From down the hall she could hear Carly complaining, “I don’t want to drink any more. It’s yucky. I’m full.”
The doctor stepped inside her daughter’s room. “I hear you’re full.”
His voice rumbled over Beth and she heard the easy manner with which he handled Carly.
“Uh-huh. I’m full,” Carly repeated.
As Beth reached the doorway, Quinton took the cup from Elaine’s hand. He lifted the lid and checked the amount. He shook his head. “Carly, Carly. And you told me you’d drink it all.”
His voice was teasing, and pain filled Beth. With his sickness, Randy had been unable to reach Carly on her level. Yet Dr. Searle succeeded with masterful ease. Why couldn’t Beth have found a man like that?
“It’s yucky,” Carly said. “My belly hurts.”
He peered into the cup again. “How about a deal? You drink half of what’s left and I’ll throw the rest away.”
“Half?” Carly’s face had the hopefulness and skepticism of a child debating whether to eat liver.
“Half.” Dr. Searle took a pen from his pocket and drew a black line around the outside of the cup. “Right here. A few good sips should do it. In fact, I’ll wait. Do you think you can give me three good sips?”
Carly had brightened. “Yes.” She reached for the cup, and he held it as she sucked on the straw.
“One.” He counted. Carly stopped for a break. Quinton shook the cup. “Two more.”
Carly took another deep drag on the straw, and Beth’s heart wrenched as her daughter’s face scrunched up.
“That was great,” he said. “One more, Carly. You can do it.”
Carly must have caught some of his enthusiasm, for she said, “I can do it,” and went back for one more long pull on the straw. She made a face as she swallowed.
He didn’t even check the container, he simply handed it to Elaine, who removed it from the room. “All done! Way to go.”
“Yay!” Carly clapped her hands. But then she dropped them to her sides and winced. “My tummy hurts.”
“It’s going to hurt,” Dr. Searle said. “The special drink is taking all the green medicine out of your body. Pretty soon you’re going to have to poop.”
