Tinkling laughter filtered from Hope, the woman so in tune with her kid that it sent a tumble of affection through the center of me. She shifted forward so she could look at me, her expression so damned soft as she said, “He said there’s no way you can keep up, but he might be nice enough to let you try.”
I turned back to him, cocked my head, mouth moving with the tease. “Is that a challenge?”
Another emphatic nod, the kid’s grin so wide I could have counted his teeth.
“Oh really . . . I’m the doctor here. You don’t think I can beat you at your little game?”
He made a gesture across his body, a swipe of his hand as he pinched his fingers together, his mouth moving in time.
NO WAY.
I hefted out a breath. That was what I thought.
Evan could read lips.
Of course, he could. This sweet kid who oozed love and faith and intelligence.
A kid whose chart promised he was fragile and breakable and weak, when really his spirit was big enough to fill the entire room as he prepared to outwit me.
“Well, then, I’ll do my best to keep up. How’s that sound?”
GOOD, he signed again.
And my insides were twisting again because I had no idea how the fuck I was going to get through this. But I had to suck it up, act like the man I’d been trained to be. How I was going to pretend I hadn’t had his mother propped on a table a mere three days before, touching her and wishing things could be different, was beyond me. One thing at a time, though.
Because this was the reality.
I was Evan’s doctor.
His doctor.
The one responsible for his care.
And I wasn’t about to fuck that up.
Stark lights. Cold. Barren. Flat line.
I jarred against the sudden vision, blinking the cruelty away, voice rough when I said, “All right, then, Evan. Let’s check you out.”
If I wasn’t paying such close attention, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the way he flinched.
Wouldn’t have noticed the fear that went racing beneath the surface of his skin.
Or the way his mother cringed in sympathy of it. Swore, I could feel her having to physically restrain herself from reaching out and gathering him into the safety of her arms.
This amazing woman so clearly desperate to shield him from the things she didn’t have the power to protect him from.
No doubt, he was no stranger to needles and pain or being poked and prodded.
Even though I knew he couldn’t hear me, I kept my voice soft, filled with assurance. “I already checked out your records, Evan. You don’t need any shots, and you did all your heart tests for Dr. Krane last month. That means, I’m going to give you a really fast checkup. Make sure everything’s going just right. No needles. How’s that sound?”
His trusting face flushed with relief, tension draining from his body.
While mine curled with the yearning to be able to take everything from him.
Make it better.
Promise him he would never hurt again.
Wishing I could be the hero I could never be.
Another part of me wanted to tease him about monsters growing in his belly. Make him laugh the way I did Frankie Leigh and my younger patients, but the boy was eight years old. If I did that, he would probably demand a new doctor because the one he’d been assigned had lost his mind.
Sounded about right.
“I’m going to take your shirt off, okay?” I made sure to keep my mouth in view of his eyes when I asked it.
Without any reluctance, his arms flew over his head.
I chuckled, reached down, and worked it over his head. Had to beat down the urge to ruffle my fingers through his hair when I did. “There we go,” I said, setting it beside him.
From behind and to the side, I could feel the weight of his mother’s stare against the side of my face.
Could feel the weight of her burden and her fear that I was sure never went away.
The anticipated prominent scar ran from the top of his sternum to about two inches above his belly button. I ran my fingers across his breastbone, palpating the area and familiarizing myself with his scars and the way his surgical wound had healed.
I moved back to make sure he could see my mouth. “Do you ever have any pain in this area? Anytime you’re playing or trying to sleep? Anything that makes you feel funny?”
He’d had a cardiology checkup with Dr. Krane recently. His chart affirmed his transplanted heart was functioning well. But as his primary care, I would cover all the bases.
That was what the clinic was all about.
Ensuring nothing was overlooked. If one doctor missed a sign, chances were, the next would pick up on it. And I sure as fuck wasn’t going to miss it.