Chapter 18
eighteen
GREER
As I replace the cuff on the stand, I explain, “He’s practicing at the Houma office exclusively now. If you’d like to reschedule to see him, I’m sure our receptionist can help.”
“No, I’ve already gotten my daughter to drive me here. Guess I’m seeing Fiddler Bergeron’s boy?”
“You are scheduled with Dr. Bergeron,” I confirm. Who the hell is Fiddler? Is that one of those weird southern names, or was he a member of the Bayou Dogs, too?
After showing her into an exam room, I place her chart in the slot by the door. I steal a glance at my phone, hoping for a dose of my own personal heroin. I hit paydirt, a huge smile finding my face.
Jude
So what color are your scrubs today?
And does it match what’s under your scrubs?
Greer
Dark grey with pink piping, and no, they don’t- you flirt.
Jude
Hey, a man needs something to think about while riding. I drove for five hours today, and I was thinking of that baby pink manicure of yours wrapped around my cock the whole time.
Greer
Positively shameless.
Jude
For you, always.
He says it so flippantly that I know he thinks it’s true. I slide my cell back into the square pocket of my scrub top and peek into the physician’s office. ”Patient is ready in room one.”
“Did Angeliqué Landry call for her blood test results?”
“Not yet. They came back normal.”
Sully’s expression shifts from deep contemplation to placidity. I can sense a glimpse of the inner biker peeking through a professional facade. “I need to see her this afternoon to discuss the results.”
But they’re fine? Maybe he’s worried about something else? I’m not comfortable questioning him too much yet. Angeliqué has walking pneumonia, but unrelated bloodwork was ordered. Anemia, maybe? Her son is being treated for a bad ear infection.
“She can only do morning appointments. Her husband insists on coming with her,” I recall.
“How doting of him,” Sully drolls. “Tell her it’s urgent. Have her bring the baby so I can recheck his lungs while we’re at it.”
“I’ll make the call now.”
I’m still trying to figure out my new boss.
Why does he want to see Angeliqué so soon before her recheck?
Outside of the patients, Sully doesn’t chit-chat and never risks physical contact.
If we’re alone, there’s a good bit of space left between us.
If Jude hadn’t discussed it with me, I’m not even sure I’d have thought much of his behavior.
It makes it hard to get a good read on the doctor’s personality, though.
After going back to my corner desk, I dial Angeliqué’s number. She refuses to come in until I promise she’ll be home in plenty of time to bring her husband a hot lunch at two pm.
The overflowing waiting room is a cold shower. “Is this for real?” I whisper to Jenn.
“We’re going to be here late tonight. Someone from the oil refinery is on their way for stitches, too.”
The downside of working at a rural clinic is that we’re often general practitioners and urgent care providers. I can only imagine how bad the days were when the clinic was only open part time. As it is, the parish sometimes has to send Life Flights for the seriously ill and fragile.
Those patients keep us busy, but it’s the female population of Parran, giving me a headache today.
The young, single women, to be precise. The phone has been ringing nonstop, each demanding to be seen without delay.
Jenn explained that Sully is the most eligible catch in the town now that Odin is engaged.
As new as our acquaintance is, I’m fairly certain the doctor doesn’t want to be put on a hook. He’s refusing any and all social invites, leaving the clinic as the only way to bump into him.
“How did they even find out about him? He didn’t move back until this past weekend,” I grouse. Is the town of Parran this devoid of eligible bachelors?
“Word got out he’s single with a new baby. It’s like catnip,” Jenn remarks.
“He has a kid?” I ask, more out of surprise than curiosity.
“Lyla Mae Arceneaux says he got touchy when she asked about the baby’s mama.”
Not my business.
Gossip ruins lives. They may dress it up in the military and call it scuttlebutt, but it’s just as ugly. It’s never the full truth either, but overdramatized nonsense.
Dad had a soldier once who was showing up red eyed and jittery.
When he was sent to medical, the private said he just couldn't sleep. Fast forward a week, and more people have noticed his behavior. Even though the urinalysis was negative, people were still saying he was being investigated for cocaine. He was nineteen years old and had just found out his mom was sick. When the truth came out, it didn’t clear the air, nor did the stain that infected his reputation.
He was seen as a dirtbag…all because he was worried about his mother.
It’s the same with alleged cheating on base.
Although with that one it’s more often true than not.
If you have a platonic friend of the opposite gender and you’re married, you have to be very careful, or gossip will embarrass your partner.
There’s a lot of heartache and drama because people can’t mind their own damn business.
I reach for the file Jenn hands me and scoff at the summary.
Molly Dupré, age twenty-three. Concerned about a change in color to her areola.
Seriously? I check her chart for marital status.
Yep, single. The reasons for the appointments with the bachelor physician are never short of creative.
“Let me know when Angeliqué Landry comes with the baby, please?” I ask Jenn.
This can’t go on forever. Either Sully will start seeing someone, or the women of Parran will give up.
As Dr. Sully emerges from his office, it reminds me that anyone single and female is unlikely to raise the white flag until the ink is dry on his marriage license.
He has a mess of chestnut hair, a perpetual four o’clock shadow, and these broody brown eyes that a lot of women would moon over.
I understand the appeal, but I prefer hazel eyes that dance with the promise of mischief.
After taking the vitals for the patient, I show her into room one, and repeat the process for another young female with a strange mole in her nether regions.
While the exam rooms are full, it’s a rush to answer messages.
After clarifying what pills an elderly lady needs to take “for her sugars”, Jenn pops her head in and tells our boss, “Hey, Angeliqué is here with the baby.”
Sully doesn’t look up from his phone. “If her husband turns up, don’t let him in the back.”
And now it all makes sense. There’s only one reason to separate partners. When you give bad news, you want the patient to have their support system. When you make sure the spouse isn’t with them, or removed from the bedside, there’s a good reason.
“I understand,” Jenn answers.
I rush to tidy after the last patient and bring a frazzled Angeliqué to the back. Her son, Landon, is asleep on her shoulder. “Did the doctor give you any clue what’s wrong?”
“He didn’t, I’m sorry.”
As I close the door to the exam room behind me, the rumble of tailpipes grows closer, then dies in the back parking lot. I’ve grown used to it, especially since we’re so close to Biker Boy HQ.
The door opens faster than I expected, and Dr. Sully rushes out with a scowl.
“Need any follow-ups?” I can’t help but tease.
Sully’s been very vocal about his feelings on the unnecessary visits, calling them a waste of valuable clinic time in an underserved area.
As true as this is, it would be natural to feel like you’re being hunted.
One of the women in the waiting room brought her mom and a casserole.
Shaking his head, Sully snarks, “Pretty sure she’s already seen a surgeon.”
As he heads to the room where Angeliqué waits, he pronounces, “Don’t put anyone else in the vacant rooms.”
With so many people waiting?
The back door to the building opens abruptly, and heavy boots thump on polished linoleum.
Folgers, whom I recognize from the rainy escort, zips across the hallway with his wide stride.
How did he get in? Sully must have unlocked the back door at some point.
His eyes are dark, body tense as he comes to stand nearby without a word of greeting or explanation.
“Are you waiting for Dr. Sully, or did you need help with something?” I inquire.
“Something like that,” Folgers dismisses.
No one uses the back door except the employees, and it’s kept unlocked during the day.
He’s waiting near where Angeliqué and Sully are still talking, so I can only assume he’s here for them.
Folgers has a distant air about him, so I don’t bother with polite conversation and wait a few feet away at my desk.
Long moments pass with Sully alone with Angeliqué.
I keep looking towards Folgers for an explanation, but he just stands still as an apex predator getting ready to pounce.
I try to occupy myself with a game on my phone, but I’m too fidgety.
There’s no crying or loud noises from the room.
Not even the physician's baritone carries through the walls.
The door finally opens, and Angeliqé walks out looking shell-shocked, her son's head still resting cheek down on her shoulder.
Her face is red and blotchy, slender hands trembling.
“Can I go home to pack?” she asks Folgers in a tiny voice. “I need his blanket and a few of my things.”
“It’ll be a while until you can get into the house, but then you’ll have as long as you need.” Folgers voice is softened for the new mom, understanding and soothing.
Sully hands me a phone in a pink case. “Put this on my desk, please?”
I nod in understanding as Folgers leads Angeliqué down the hall and unlocks the back door.
I don’t see the men waiting in the back, just flashes of large bodies covered in black leather as Angeliqué and Landon are loaded into a black sprinter van.
Sully slams the back door closed and locks it again before nodding at me congenially.
“I’ll be ready for the next patient in five minutes. ”
The phone starts vibrating angrily in my hand, each new message dragging me further to the ugly truth. My feet feel bolted to the ground as the messages keep coming. Thank God she can’t see them.
It serves to confirm my new understanding.
About Angeliqué.
The club.
Dr. Sully.
I’m naive for not seeing it before now. Not in this picture perfect little town that reminds me of a modern day Mayberry. The thought hits me like a fist to the face. Abuse happens every day, in every circumstance.
When I show Sully the text messages, he doesn’t spare me a glance before explaining, “Long sleeves in summer and heavy make-up are a dead giveaway. Remember that.”