Chapter Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
KIRBY checked Yancy Brodie’s temperature while his mother looked on anxiously.
“He was up most of the night, Doc Kirby. I gave him Tylenol, but the fever was right back up this morning. Jerry had to leave before dawn to go out on the shrimp boat, and he was just worried sick.”
“I don’t feel good,” Yancy said fretfully and looked up into Kirby’s eyes. “My mama said you were gonna make me feel better.”
“We’ll see what we can do about that.” Kirby ran a hand over four-year-old Yancy’s straw-colored tuft of hair. “Did you go to Betsy Pendleton’s birthday party a couple of weeks ago, Yancy?”
“She had ice cream and cake, and I pinned the tail on the jackass.”
“Donkey,” his mother corrected.
“Daddy calls it a jackass.” Yancy grinned, then laid his head on Kirby’s arm. “I don’t feel good.”
“I know, sweetie. And you know what else, Betsy doesn’t feel good today either, and neither do Brandon and Peggy Lee. What we’ve got here is an outbreak of chicken pox.”
“Chicken pox? But he doesn’t have any spots.”
“He will.” She’d already noted the rash starting under his arms. “And you’ve got to try really hard not to scratch when it starts to itch, honey. I’m going to give your mom some lotion to put on you that will help. Annie, do you know if you and Jerry ever had the chicken pox?”
“We both did.” Annie let out a long sigh. “Fact is, Jerry gave it to me when we were kids.”
“Then it’s likely you won’t get it again.
Yancy’s incubating now, so you want to keep his exposure to other kids and adults who haven’t had it to a minimum.
You’re quarantined, buster,” she said, tapping Yancy on the nose.
“Tepid baths with a little cornstarch will help once it breaks out, and I’m going to give you both topical and oral medications.
I’ve only got samples here, so you’ll have to get Jerry to fill some prescriptions over on the mainland.
Tylenol for the fever’s fine,” she added, laying a cool hand on Yancy’s cheek.
“I’ll drop by your place in a few days to take a look at him. ”
Noting the look of distress on Annie’s face, Kirby smiled, touched her arm. “He’ll be fine, Annie. The three of you are in for a couple of tough weeks, but I don’t foresee any complications. I’ll go over everything with you before you take him home.”
“I just . . . could I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure. Hey, Yancy.” Kirby removed the stethoscope from around her neck and slipped it around his. “You want to hear your heart go thump?” She eased the earpieces in place, guided his hand. His tired eyes went big and bright. “You listen to that for a minute while I talk to your mom.”
She led Annie into the hallway, leaving the door open. “Yancy’s a strong, healthy, completely normal four-year-old boy,” she began. “You have nothing to worry about. Chicken pox is inconvenient, irritating, but it’s very rarely complicated. I have some literature if you’d like.”
“It’s not . . .” She bit her lip. “I took one of those home pregnancy tests a couple of days ago. It was positive.”
“I see. Are you happy about that, Annie?”
“Yeah. Jerry and me, we’ve been trying to make another baby for the best part of a year now. But ... is it going to be all right? Is it going to get sick?”
Exposure to the virus during the first trimester carried a slight risk. “You had chicken pox when you were a child?”
“Yeah, my mother put cotton gloves on me to stop me from scratching and scarring.”
“It’s really unlikely you’d contract it again.
” If she did, Kirby thought with a tug of worry, they would deal with that when it happened.
“Even if you did contract the virus, the odds are the baby will be fine. Why don’t you let me run a backup pregnancy test now, just to confirm?
And give you a quick look. We’ll see how far along you are. And go from there.”
“It’d make me feel a lot better.”
“Then that’s just what we’ll do. Who’s your regular OB?”
“I went to a clinic over to the mainland for Yancy. But I was hoping you could take care of things this time.”
“Well, we’ll talk about that. Irene Verdon’s in the waiting room. Let’s see if she can keep an eye on Yancy for a few minutes. Then I want the two of you to go home and get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
“I feel better knowing you’re looking after us, Doc Kirby.” Annie laid a hand on her stomach. “All of us.”
* * *
BY one o’clock, Kirby had diagnosed two more cases of chicken pox, splinted a broken finger, and treated a bladder infection. Such, she thought as she grabbed a jar of peanut butter, was the life of a general practitioner.
She had thirty minutes before her next appointment and hoped to spend it sitting down and stuffing her face. She didn’t groan when her door opened, but she wanted to.
This was a stranger. She knew every face on the island now, and she’d never seen this one. She tagged him immediately as a beach rover, one of the type who popped up on the island from time to time in search of sun and surf.
His hair was streaky blond and skimmed his shoulders, his face was deeply tanned. He wore ragged cutoffs, a T-shirt that suggested she sun her buns in Cozumel, and dark-lensed Wayfarer sunglasses.
Late twenties, she judged, clean and attractive. She set her sandwich aside and returned his hesitant smile.
“Sorry.” He dipped his head. “Have I got the right place? I was told there was a doctor here.”
“I’m Doctor Fitzsimmons. What can I do for you?”
“I don’t have an appointment or anything.” He glanced at her sandwich. “Should I make one?”
“Why do you need one?”
“I just have this, ah ...” He shrugged his shoulders, then held out a hand. The palm was badly burned, with a red welt across it oozing with blisters.
“That looks nasty.” Automatically she stepped forward, taking his hand gently to examine it.
“It was stupid. Coffee was boiling over and I just grabbed the pot without thinking. I’m down at the campground. When I asked the kid at check-in if there was someplace I could get some salve or something, he told me about you.”
“Let’s go in the back. I’ll clean and dress this for you.”
“I’m horning in on your lunch.”
“Goes with the territory. So you’re camping,” she continued as she led him back to the examining room.
“Yeah, I was planning on heading down to the Keys, doing some work. I’m an artist.”
“Oh?”
He sat in the chair she indicated, then frowned at his palm. “I guess this will put the skids on work for a couple of weeks.”
“Unless you want to paint left-handed,” she said with a smile as she washed up, snapped gloves on.
“Well, I was thinking about hanging out here longer anyway. Great place.” He sucked in his breath as she began to clean the burn. “Hurts like a bitch.”
“I bet it does. I’d recommend aspirin. And a potholder.”
He chuckled, then set his teeth against the pain. “I guess I’m lucky there’s a doc around. This kind of thing can get infected, right?”
“Mmm. But we’ll see that it doesn’t. What kind of things do you paint?”
“Whatever strikes me.” He smiled at her, enjoying her scent, the way her hair swept down gold over her cheek. “Maybe you’d like to pose for me.”
She laughed, then rolled her chair over to a drawer for salve. “I don’t think so, but thanks.”
“You’ve got a terrific face. I do good work with beautiful women.”
She glanced up. His eyes were hidden by the lenses. Though his smile was wide and friendly, there was something around the edges that made her suddenly ill at ease. Doctor or not, she was a woman and she was alone with a stranger. One who was watching her just a little too closely.
“I’m sure you do. But being the only doctor on the island keeps me pretty busy.” She bent her head again to coat the burn with salve.
Foolish, she told herself. She was being ridiculous. He had a second-degree burn on his hand and he was letting a stranger treat it. And he was an artist. Naturally he was watching her.
“If you change your mind, I guess I’m going to be hanging here for a while. Jesus, that feels better.” He blew out a long breath, and she felt his hand relax in hers.
Feeling even more foolish now, she offered him a sympathetic smile.
“That’s what we’re here for. I want you to keep this dry.
You can put a plastic bag around it when you shower.
I wouldn’t try swimming for the next week.
The dressing should be changed daily. If you don’t have someone around to help you with it, just come in and I’ll do it. ”
“I appreciate it. You’ve got good hands, Doc,” he added as she wound gauze around his hand.
“That’s what they all say.”
“No, I mean it—not just good doctor hands. Artistic hands. Angel hands,” he said with another smile. “I’d love to sketch them sometime.”
“We’ll see about that when you can hold a pencil again.” She rose. “I’m going to give you a tube of salve. And I want you to check in with me in two days unless you leave the island. In that case you’ll want to have it looked at elsewhere.”
“Okay. What do I owe you?”
“Insurance?”
“No.”
“Twenty-five for the office visit and ten for the supplies.”
“More than fair.” He got up, tugged his wallet out of his back pocket with his left hand. Gingerly he plucked bills out with the fingers of his wrapped hand. “Guess it’s going to be awkward for a while.”
“They’ll help you out at the campground if you need it. It’s a friendly island.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“I’ll get you a receipt.”
“No, that’s all right.” He shifted, and she felt that little jolt of nerves again. “Listen, if you’re over that way, maybe you could stop in. You could see some of my work, or we could—”
“Kirby! You back there?”
She felt a warm rush of relief, so fast and full it nearly made her giddy. “Brian. I’m just finishing up with a patient. You be sure to keep that gauze dry,” she said briskly and pulled off her gloves. “And don’t be stingy with the salve.”