He’d braced himself for this, but it didn’t make it any easier. He wasn’t at all comfortable being treated like a hero just for doing what anyone else would have done under the circumstances. For that matter, one of the other adults would probably have seen Kyle’s predicament only a moment or two after James had. He was just glad he’d been able to help.
“Okay, Mom, you’ve embarrassed James enough,” Shannon said, fondly nudging her mother back a few inches. “Let Dad thank him and then we’re going to cut the man some slack and let him eat a burger in peace.”
A man with a ring of hair that might once have been red circling a glossy bald head stepped forward to offer a hand to James. “Hollis Gambill. Consider yourself thanked again.”
The man’s calm, but sincere tone reminded James of Stu. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Call me Hollis. You answer to James or Jim?”
“Either, but I generally prefer James.”
Hollis nodded, apparently making a mental note of the preference as he motioned toward the people crowding around him. “This is my wife, Virginia. And my brother, Lou, and his wife, Lois.”
Hands were shaken all around and then James was towed toward the picnic tables, where the adults he’d met at the swimming area were all either cooking, setting out supplies for dinner, or supervising the seven children making noisy use of the nearby playground equipment. Stacy was one of the supervisors and she barely took her eyes off Kyle. James suspected that young man’s adventures were going to be closely monitored for the foreseeable future.
He offered his assistance with the dinner preparations, but was assured everything was under control. “Shannon, get your guest something cold to drink,” her mother ordered. “The food will be ready in just a minute.”
“Our guest, Mom,” Shannon corrected in a murmur. “What would you like, James? We have beer, bottled water, diet cola, fruit juices….”
He interrupted with a chuckle. “Bottled water will be fine. Thanks.”
She handed him a plastic bottle with a teasing, “Here you go, Doc.”
“Doc?” Her aunt Lois set down a stack of paper plates and studied James from the other side of the concrete picnic table where he’d been urged to have a seat. “You’re a doctor?”
“A medical student,” he corrected. “Fourth year.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Can you write me a prescription for those little yellow pills that perk me up when I’m feeling peckish? My doctor at home is being a real fuddy-duddy and he won’t let me have any more, but I told him I don’t overuse them. I just like to have them around when I need them.”
Though he’d been warned it could happen, it was the first time he’d actually been hit up for a prescription. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mrs. Gambill. As a medical student, I’m not allowed to write prescriptions.”
“Honestly, Lois,” Shannon’s mother scolded her sister-in-law. “This nice young man is going to think you’re a druggy. Don’t go pestering him for pills.”
“But I—”
“I’m sorry if Lois put you on the spot,” Virginia continued to James, ignoring Lois’s protests. “She isn’t really a drug addict.”
He struggled against a smile. “I didn’t think so.”
Virginia turned then to her daughter-in-law. “Karen, you should have the doctor look at that rash on Caitlin’s back and tummy. Maybe he’d know what’s causing it.”
“I’m not a doctor yet,” he reiterated. “I’m a medical student.”
“Bet you’ve seen a few rashes, though, haven’t you?”
“Well, I—”
“Caitlin. Come see Grammy, sweetie.”
“But I—”
“We did warn you the family’s crazy,” Shannon murmured, standing close behind him and not even bothering to hide a wry grin.
Because he wasn’t sure what to say in response to that, he didn’t even try. Little Caitlin, the five-year-old with hair that glowed almost neon orange, dutifully lifted her shirt upon her grandmother’s instructions, baring her tummy to James’s reluctant eyes. A blotchy pink rash splashed her skin, extending to her back when she turned around. James was relieved when they merely told him it was also on her bottom, rather than stripping her down to prove it.
“It doesn’t really look like heat rash to me,” Shannon’s mother fretted. “And it’s definitely not measles or chicken pox, because she’s had her vaccinations. I know what they look like, anyway. What do you think?”
“Probably not heat rash,” James agreed, trying to recall his days in the outpatient peds clinic. “It looks like contact dermatitis to me. Have you changed laundry detergents lately?”