Chapter 4 #2
"That's not how medicine works," I correct them firmly. "Doctors use scientific medical training to diagnose and treat illnesses. We don't rely on magic, only knowledge."
Their faces fall slightly at this revelation.
"Now, I've prepared a presentation on nutrition and its importance for growing bodies." I retrieve my tablet from my briefcase and connect it to the classroom's projection screen.
The first slide appears, a detailed diagram of the digestive system, complete with Latin terminology for each organ. I hear a soft groan from where Maeve sits, but I proceed as planned.
"Proper nutrition is essential for optimal physiological development and function." I gesture to the diagram. "The digestive process begins in the oral cavity, where mechanical breakdown of food combines with enzymatic activity to—"
"Dr. Reizenhart," Maeve interrupts gently. "Perhaps we could simplify things a bit? For our audience?"
I pause, somewhat annoyed at the interruption. But not annoyed at her attention. I want her to look at me, to speak to me.
To lie under me.
Stop. It.
"Medical accuracy shouldn't be sacrificed for simplification."
"Of course not," she agrees, her tone diplomatic. "But maybe we could use words the children actually understand?"
I glance at my audience. Twenty blank faces stare back at me, confusion obvious in their expressions. Fine. I'll adapt.
"Food gives your body energy," I begin again, skipping ahead several slides to a more basic chart. "Different foods provide different nutrients that help your body grow and stay healthy."
The children's expressions shift from confusion to cautious interest. One small human boy raises his hand.
"Yes?" I acknowledge him.
"Is pizza healthy?" he asks, deadly serious.
"Pizza typically contains excessive sodium, refined carbohydrates, and saturated fats," I reply. "It lacks nutritional density and contributes to childhood obesity rates."
His eager gaze turns into a frown. I didn't even answer in medical terminology. What more do they want?
Maeve clears her throat. "What Dr. Reizenhart means is that pizza is an occasional treat, not something we eat every day."
The boy nods, seemingly satisfied with this translation, inaccurate as it is.
I continue through my presentation, occasionally catching Maeve's eye as she silently encourages me to simplify further. It's irritating. It’s also helpful in its own way.
As time passes, the children remain attentive, if not enthusiastic. Until the pixie girl from earlier raises her trembling hand.
"What happens if I don't eat vegetables AT ALL?" Her wings flutter rapidly in a sign of anxiety. “Like, ever?”
I consider my response carefully. Medical accuracy is paramount, but I'm aware now of my audience's limitations. Still, children deserve honest answers to their questions.
"Without proper nutrition, including vegetables, your body won't develop correctly," I explain.
"Poor dietary choices lead to numerous health conditions including cardiovascular disease, metabolic disorders, and statistically shorter lifespans.
Studies show that consistent nutritional deficiencies can result in premature death. "
“You mean if I don’t eat veggies, I’m going to die?” the girl asks, her eyes as wide as saucers.
From the corner of my eye, I see Ms. Grimsby get up from her seat, alarm on her face.
“Well, it’s an oversimplification of what happens when a person suffers from deficiencies in their diets.” I keep my tone even, proud of the way I adapted my discourse to the children. “But, in essence, yes.”
The classroom erupts into chaos.
A human girl in the front row bursts into tears. "I'm going to die because I don't like broccoli!"
“Well,” I correct. “Not right away. But yes, in the end, this type of diet could lead to you dying younger than you normally would.”
“Does my mom want me to die, too?” A young troll girl stares in horror at her lunch box, which contains what appears to be a peanut butter sandwich and crackers.
"We're all gonna die!" wails a gnome child, his pointy hat quivering along with his chin.
The human boy who asked about pizza stands up on his chair, reaches into his lunch bag, and hurls a carrot directly at me. It hits me square in the chest before falling to the floor.
I freeze, genuinely confused by this reaction. I stated medical facts. Nothing I said was incorrect or exaggerated.
Maeve springs to her feet, her red curls escaping their bun as she moves swiftly to the front of the classroom.
"Everyone take a deep breath," she commands, her voice firm but gentle. The children respond instantaneously, their sobs quieting as they follow her instruction. "That's it. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
She crouches down to eye level with the crying girl.
"Emma, sweetheart, you're not going to die from not liking broccoli. There are lots of other vegetables you might enjoy. Remember how you tried those carrot sticks with ranch dip last week?"
The girl hiccups and nods.
"Tommy," she calls to a boy hiding under his desk. "You can come out now. Nobody's dying today."
She scans the room from her standing position, reassuring each child individually. To the troll girl, she says, "Your mom packed you a perfectly good lunch. Dr. Reizenhart just means we should try to eat healthy foods most of the time."
By the time Maeve and Ms. Grimsby made a complete circuit, the classroom has returned to relative calm. Even the pixie who asked the original question is quiet, though her wings still flutter nervously.
"Ms. Grimsby,” Maeve calls to the teacher. “Perhaps we could take a short break? Maybe the children could work on their nutrition collages while Dr. Reizenhart and I have a quick chat?"
"Excellent idea," Ms. Grimsby agrees promptly. "Children, let's get out our magazines and scissors and work on our healthy food pictures."
As the children shuffle toward the art supplies, Maeve turns to me, her expression perfectly controlled.
"Dr. Reizenhart, may I speak with you in the hallway?" Her tone is polite but leaves no room for refusal.
I follow her out, conscious of the eyes tracking our exit. In the hallway, she closes the classroom door firmly before turning to face me.
I instantly feel the change in her demeanor, like a light switch being flipped. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes gleam with anger. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath, and I find myself glancing down at her round bosom with mortified fascination.
Something is definitively up with that woman. My body shouldn’t be reacting this way.
"What were you thinking?" she demands, keeping her voice low but intense. "Telling a room full of five-year-olds they're going to die if they don't eat their vegetables?"
"I stated medical facts," I defend myself. "Improper nutrition does indeed lead to shortened life expectancy and increased morbidity."
"They're five years old!" She throws her hands up in exasperation. "You can't tell them they're going to die if they don't eat broccoli!"
"I was tasked with educating them," I repeat, my own irritation rising. "Coddling them with falsehoods does them no service."
"There's a difference between lying and being age-appropriate!" Her voice rises slightly, and she immediately modulates it. "Children need guidance that meets them where they are, not clinical facts that will give them nightmares."
"Facts are facts regardless of the listener's age," I counter. "Would you have me lie to them about other medical realities as well? Perhaps tell them broken bones are fixed by fairy dust?"
"Don't be ridiculous." She steps closer, and I catch the scent of something floral, her shampoo, perhaps. It makes the skin on my face feel like it’s catching fire and there I am again, struggling to form a coherent sentence.
Only this time, it makes me mad and anger helps dissipate some of that strange erotic fog.
I’m a doctor. Heck, I was the highest surgeon in the High Elven Court for a decade.
I was tasked with giving a lecture on nutrition and I did.
Too bad the audience can’t face the fact that proper diet is the only logical choice.
“There are ways to communicate important information without traumatizing children,” she grits between her teeth. “That's part of being a good doctor."
"I'm an excellent doctor," I state firmly, my own anger rising alongside hers. I’ve never been spoken to this way. Not since I was the child attending elementary school, anyway. "And perhaps this type of presentation is not a good use of my medical expertise."
"Medicine isn't just about facts." Her green eyes flash. "It's about people, Dr. Reizenhart. Real people with feelings and fears and different levels of understanding."
Our argument has grown louder, drawing the attention of the kindergarteners, who now cluster at the classroom door, watching wide-eyed through the glass door.
"Is Dr. Elf mad at Nurse Maeve?" one small voice asks. “I really don’t like him.”
Oh, perfect. Just what I need. Now I’m the villain.
"What's happening here?" Principal Braggstone's deep voice booms down the hallway as he strides toward us, frowning. "I could hear raised voices all the way in my office."
"Just a small misunderstanding about presentation approaches," Maeve says quickly, her professional demeanor snapping back into place. "Dr. Reizenhart was just finishing up his visit."
“I see,” the principal says, clearly not seeing anything. He places that proprietary hand on Maeve's shoulder again, and I fight the irrational desire to rip that hand right off his body. “You’re welcome to come back anytime. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”
The dismissal is clear, and while I should feel relieved that this ordeal is ending, I find myself unexpectedly reluctant to leave. Especially with Maeve looking uncomfortable under the principal's heavy hand.
"Thank you for the opportunity," I say stiffly. "I hope the information was useful despite the, um, communication challenges."
“I’m sure we’ll stick with our regular health program from now on.” Maeve says as she takes a step to the side, effectively shaking off Principal Braggstone’s grip.
I turn to leave, but not before catching Maeve's gaze one last time. She gives me a glare that clearly communicates her opinion of me and my communication challenges.
Just as my vision begins to blue around the edges while looking at her, I force myself to turn away. As I walk stiffly out of the school, my shoes squeak slightly on the polished floors.
I can feel her gaze on me all the way until I take a turn in the hallway.
Well, this was a waste of time, I tell myself as I finally step outside under the hot May sun.
As I walk from the school all the way to the clinic, the burning feeling on my skin slowly subdues.
This isn’t what I think it is. It can’t be. I’m a reasonable man. I won’t fall victim to such things as finding my True Mate.
I step inside, walking right past the patient sitting in the waiting room, not glancing up as Mrs. Beckham waves a hand at me.
I'm only angry about having my medical expertise questioned.
I grab my white coat and pull it on. The effect on my mood is immediate and I suddenly feel much more in control.
The fiery skin, the tunnel vision. Those are just symptoms of physical attraction. It doesn’t mean anything.
It’s a lie—not even a good one and I know it. Still, I hold on to it as I adjust my tie and grab the medical file Mrs. Beckham left on my desk, flip it open, and start to read.
As I do, I certainly don’t think about the fiery nurse who shouted at me in front of the children. Or how her green eyes flashed with anger. Or how full and soft her breasts looked, trapped in that summer dress.
I don’t think about her at all.
And I absolutely don’t think about when I'll see her again.