to tell him, realizing only at the last moment what she’d be giving away. “Ah, ah, ah,” she scolded, wagging a finger. “I hate to stiff you, Doc. I really do. But a billing address won’t do you a bit of good. You can’t get blood out of a turnip, as the saying goes. Besides, I didn’t ask to be brought here.”
He just smiled. “You weren’t in any condition to ask, and this hospital takes all patients, regardless of their ability to pay.”
“Oh. Cool. Well, I’m on my way out of here as soon as I eat and change, anyway. I appreciate the tailoring.” She waved a hand at the bandage. “But I’ve got places to go, Doc, things to do.”
He held up his hands, waved away the technician and said, “I’ll cancel the order.”
The tech shrugged and wheeled the cart out of the room.
“You are a very stubborn young lady,” he said, getting up and going back to the computer.
“Thank you!” she chirped, grinning. “I haven’t been called a young lady in ages.”
He chuckled. “Just how old are you anyway?”
She didn’t see any reason not to tell him. “Thirty-four.”
“You look younger.”
“Sweet. How old are you?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Forty-four.”
That, she decided, worked perfectly. “You look forty-four.”
He laughed. “Thanks. I think.”
“What’s wrong with looking forty-four if you are forty-four?” she asked. “Especially if you’re a gorgeous forty-four.”
There was something freeing about losing the ability to filter what you said, freeing and frightening. Dr. Leland cleared his throat and said nothing, just pecked away at the computer keyboard. He finished and went out. A few minutes later, her meal arrived.
It consisted of a cold sandwich, a bag of chips, a banana, a cup of gelatin, a piece of carrot cake and a carton of milk. She chugged the milk and ate the cake, then went after the gelatin, saving the banana, chips and sandwich for later. Just a few minutes after pledging to save the banana for breakfast, though, she scarfed that down, too. She’d just laid aside the peel, feeling pleasantly stuffed, when Dr. Leland walked back into the room, accompanied by the nurse.
He glanced knowingly at the wrapped sandwich and chips cradled in her lap but said only, “I have some papers for you to sign.”
“Sure,” she agreed happily.
He produced the papers, a pen and a clipboard. She scrawled. He studied. After a moment, he lifted an eyebrow at her.
“Calamity Jane?”
She just shrugged, grinning. She should have known that if anyone could decipher her purposefully illegible penmanship, it would be a doctor.
“All right, Calamity, let’s have a look.”
The nurse turned on the overhead light. Eva smiled to let him know that the twinge of pain she felt was entirely manageable. While he listened to her heart, the nurse took a blood pressure cuff from a wire basket on the wall and wrapped it around Eva’s upper arm. Then she took Eva’s blood pressure while he checked her pupils. Next, he let down the side of the bed, took her by the wrist and had her sit up, swing her legs to the side and eventually stand. Finally he had her walk around. She felt perfectly steady on her feet, and while her head throbbed, it wasn’t fierce.
Holding up the sandwich and the bag of chips, she looked back over her shoulder at him and said, “Guess I shouldn’t skip quite so many meals, huh?”
He sent her an implacable look, saying nothing. Then he reached behind him and snagged a plastic bag from a chair against the wall.
Tossing the bag onto the foot of the bed, he said, “Get dressed. When you’re ready, I’ll drive you back to your vehicle.”
“Yea!” she exclaimed in a small, comical voice. “Or put another way...” She inclined her head regally, feeling just a twinge of pain. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I really must be going now.”
Shaking his head, he left the room again, opening the door for the nurse to leave ahead of him. Eva’s relief evaporated instantly. Sighing, she plopped down on the foot of the bed, with all that currently stood between her and starvation clutched to her chest. She looked at the cold wrapped sandwich in one hand and the bag of chips in the other then tossed them onto the pillow. What did it matter? What did any of it matter?
For a moment she entertained the notion of staying where she was and letting that too-handsome doctor tend her. But, no, she couldn’t do that. Eventually he’d figure out who she was and, if she couldn’t prevent it, how to contact those she’d left behind, which meant that Ricky would be put through the same horrific ordeal that she’d had to endure. That she could not allow.
Nope, better just to carry on to the bitter end. She’d heard there were some lovely spots in south Texas where she could winter. She’d get some money together, find a remote place where she could hide. With luck they wouldn’t find her until spring or even summer. By then Ricky would be well adjusted to her absence. Poor kid. He’d had some tough breaks, but this was the best of a bad lot of options that she could see. She hoped he could forgive her, but if not, so be it.
Shoving aside such maudlin thoughts, she got dressed. After pulling her black long-sleeved knit top over her head, she tied three shawls about her waist to make a skirt then draped a triangular scarf diagonally over one shoulder and knotted that at her waist. A second scarf went over the opposite shoulder, crisscrossing the other. She tied a third about her neck and tucked the point into the waistband of her leggings, letting the top drape loosely. Stacking up the final three colorful, silky shawls, she tossed them about her shoulders. They were amazingly warm, as generations of women throughout history well knew.
Her leather clogs were in the bottom of the bag with her cell phone. She dropped them to the floor and slipped her feet into them, adding over two inches to her height.
Taking the plastic bag, she dropped the sandwich and the chips into it. Then she helped herself to a pair of latex gloves and a small box of tissues on the counter before sitting down on the edge of the bed to wait. Barely had she parked herself before a knock sounded lightly, and the door cracked open.
“Are you decent?”
“Well, I’m dressed,” she drawled. “Beyond that I make no promises.”
Dr. Leland backed into the room, wearing a suit beneath a long overcoat and rolling a wheelchair behind him. “What are you, a stand-up comedienne?”
“If the shoe fits,” she retorted cheerfully, holding up one foot.
“Ha-ha.”
She eyed the wheelchair reluctantly. “Do I really need that?”
“Depends. Do you want to walk back to that grocery store parking lot or ride?”
Sighing melodramatically, she got up and plopped down in the wheelchair. “And you say I’m stubborn.”
