Anne said gently. “We need that line. That’s how we give you medicine.”
The round honey-colored eyes stared through Anne as though she wasn’t there.
“Can you tell me your name?” Anne asked.
“Claire” was the girl’s thick reply. Her lids fluttered closed as though she had no more energy, her long lashes resting on pale skin accented by a sprinkling of light freckles. Rounded cheeks held the last evidence of childhood baby fat.
“Your last name?”
“Griffin.”
“How old are you, Claire?”
“Nine.” She blinked. “Where am I?”
“In the hospital.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “Am I going to die?”
“No. You’re going to get better and go home. Can you tell me what happened today?”
The girl swallowed, as if her tongue was thick, but didn’t answer.
Leaning forward, Anne offered her chilled water from a plastic cup with a straw. The girl eagerly drank and then leaned back again.
Anne lowered her face closer to the bed. “Claire, what happened today?” she repeated softly.
“I took Stanley for a walk and then I started feeling funny. So I sat down on the bench. I feel better now.” She raised her head and glanced around. “Where’s Stanley?” The whispered words were laced with panic.
“Stanley is fine. He’s at the vet’s. They’re taking good care of him.”
Claire’s head sank back against the pillow.
“I need to contact your mother,” Anne said.
One by one, a silent trail of tears rolled down Claire’s cheek. She didn’t wipe at them. It was as though she didn’t even realize they were there.
Tightness pressed Anne’s chest as she waited for the words she didn’t want to hear.
“My mother is... She died,” she said, her voice heavy and slow.
Oh, Lord. Not this little girl, too?
“I’m so sorry,” Anne murmured, knowing the words were ineffectual at best. Before her brain registered what she was doing, she reached out to hold Claire’s free hand and give it a squeeze. “My momma died when I was your age.”
“Maybe they’re in heaven together,” Claire whispered.
Anne nodded, surprised yet pleased at the words.
The girl was silent, as though considering the possibility.
“Where’s your father, Claire?”
“Call Delia. I stay with Delia during the day. She lives on Maple Street by the church.”
A knock on the door to the exam room preceded Marta’s entrance. Anne stood and joined Marta in the hall, leaving the door ajar so she could watch Claire.
“Labs?” Anne asked.
Marta nodded. “Tox screen came back negative. Blood alcohol negative. Glucose six hundred.”
Anne shook her head. “Thanks, Marta. Tell Nelson we need insulin dosing ASAP.”
“Done. He’s on the way.”
“You’re good,” Anne commented.
“I sit at the feet of the master.” Marta quietly chuckled as Anne slipped back into the room.
“Claire, has anyone ever told you that you’re diabetic?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“You haven’t been to the doctor recently?”
“No. There’s nothing wrong with me. I never get sick.”
“Phone for you, Anne,” Juanita called from the open doorway.
Anne stood.
“No. Don’t go.” Claire voice was laced with panic and she reached out a hand to stop Anne, her fingers clinging to the scrub shirttail.
Juanita lifted her brows.
“I’ll be right back. I promise.” Anne held the girl’s hand for a moment and smiled.
“She likes you,” Juanita said, confusion in her eyes as she glanced from the bed to Anne.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence there, pal,” Anne returned.
“The kids usually bond with Marta. She’s the mothering type. That’s all I’m saying.”
Anne’s head swiveled to Juanita. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry, boss. I just meant...”
“This one has been through a rough time. I can relate. She reminds me of myself at her age.”
“Now you’re going to try to tell me that you were a kid once?” Juanita asked with a teasing grin.
“You’re a real hoot today, aren’t you?”
“Every day. All part of my job description.”
Anne washed her hands and followed Juanita down the hall. “Can you call up to Pediatrics for a bed? Nelson will no doubt admit her until her glucose levels are stable. Her name is Claire Griffin.”
“Will do. Any luck contacting a responsible party?” Juanita asked when they stopped at reception. She nodded her head toward her computer. “Insurance information would be real nice.”
“All I have so far is the name.” Anne grabbed the blinking phone on the counter. “Matson, here.”
“Anne, it’s Sam. I just had a call from a Delia Seville. She’s hysterical. Says her husband is in the ER. She doesn’t have any transportation to hospital, and on top of that, her friend’s little girl is missing. Apparently, Mrs. Seville was babysitting.”
“Seville? One of the two men from the construction accident is Manny Seville. We admitted him.”
“Was the other guy Matthew Clark? First Construction?”
“Yes. He’s still here. Right now he’s in Orthopedics being evaluated. Why?”
“I think that’s his little girl I brought in. The Seville woman says she was with a black Lab.”
Anne nearly gasped aloud.
Matt has a daughter?
“Anne? You still
