The Single Dad Finds a Wife. Felicia Mason

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СКАЧАТЬ smiled at the question from her small patient.

      “No, Jeremy. I’m Dr. Spring. Do you remember me?”

      The boy nodded.

      “How’s that tummy feeling?”

      He made a face. “Where’s my daddy?”

      “He’s right—”

      “Hey, buddy,” the man said, making Spring start. She hadn’t heard him approach. She edged out of the way to give him room, moving to the other side of the big chair. She watched as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’m right here, Jeremy.”

      “I wanna go home, Daddy.”

      He looked over to see what she had to say about that. “Is he all clear?”

      Spring nodded.

      “I wanna go to our real house,” Jeremy added. “Not the hotel.”

      Spring bit her lip. Her heart ached for them. This father and son needed help, the kind that Common Ground offered, but the man bristled each time she tried to assure him that it wasn’t a handout but a help up that the ministry provided.

      She had had the training offered to every volunteer and knew she couldn’t foist assistance on them. She was on the board of directors and had been one of the people who’d insisted that sensitivity training be a requirement of all Common Ground volunteers. People wanted and needed to maintain their dignity, especially when they found themselves in critical situations.

      “You’ll be feeling like your normal self in a few days, Jeremy,” she told the boy. “Your father is going to give you some medicine to take. Will you promise me you’ll be a good trouper and take it?”

      The boy nodded.

      “Good,” she said, smiling at him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pen and a small card. She scribbled something on the back and handed it to the boy. “If your tummy hurts again, have your dad call me at this number.” Spring patted Jeremy’s leg and then glanced up at his father. “Have a good evening, Mr. Camden.”

      Spring left them then, but she overheard the child’s question. “Daddy, is she a spring angel?”

      Her smile was wry as she made her way to the physicians’ office.

      It took her just a few minutes to log her new patient notes, shed her lab coat, pack up her bag and grab her keys. Shelby would be ready to go, as well, as soon as Mr. Camden and his son checked out.

      “There has to be some mistake,” she heard the man say a few minutes later as she reached the front reception area. “I must have left my wallet at the hotel. I do have insurance.”

      She started to turn and go out the back way, but the boy, in his father’s arm and peering over his shoulder, had seen her.

      “Dr. Spring.”

      She waved at him. Uncertain about how Mr. Camden might take her overhearing his financial problems, Spring hastened toward the door.

      “Mr. Camden, don’t worry about it. Really. We don’t need an insurance card or payment,” Shelby said. “All you have to do is take this to the pharmacy. They’ll fill it no questions asked. Here are the directions to an all-night drugstore.”

      “But...”

      Spring’s heart broke for them. She’d heard plenty of hard-luck stories in her time volunteering with Common Ground. She had also learned that she couldn’t make people’s problems disappear the way she could with an illness. A bandage, shot or lollipop could not and did not solve the troubles the clinic’s patients faced once they left Common Ground.

      Not able to bear hearing any more, she hurried out the doors toward her car.

      They obviously needed help, and she was glad she’d used the ploy of giving the Common Ground business card to the child. Handing it to a child patient eased any potential embarrassment of the parent while still getting the necessary contact information into the parent’s hands.

      Because in addition to a toll-free after-hours clinic number, the contact numbers for both the soup kitchen and homeless shelter were on there. She hoped Mr. Camden wouldn’t be too proud to seek the assistance he obviously needed.

      She sat in her car for a moment, tears inexplicably welling in her eyes.

      She had been blessed with so much. And there were people like Mr. Camden and Jeremy who were just struggling to make it. The News & Observer, the daily newspaper out of Raleigh and Durham, was filled with stories about families who’d lost everything in the recession, who were victims of layoffs or downsizing. Of others forced into foreclosures or short sales on their homes. She wondered again what category the Camdens fell in, what had happened to them that put their stability in jeopardy.

       I wanna go to our real house.

      “Not a hotel,” Spring said, sadness seeping into her bones.

      She started the car, a sensible and dependable late-model Volvo.

      At least Jeremy had a hotel room to sleep in, she thought. That meant they weren’t living in a car like so many of the region’s homeless population were.

      Suddenly not feeling much like an indulgent six-or seven-course gourmet dinner with her friends, Spring pressed a button on her dash panel and told the car phone system to “Call Cecelia.”

      She’d cancel on the Magnolia Supper Club tonight and just go home. A bowl of soup, some tea and a good book would suit her just fine.

      As she drove out of the parking lot, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Mr. Camden emerge from the clinic holding Jeremy in one arm, the Common Ground Free Clinic tote in the other.

      Seeing that made her feel a little better.

      Shelby had somehow gotten him to take the bag of supplies, samples, coupons and information that every new client received.

      The car’s remote phone system connected. “This is Cecelia Jeffries,” a husky voice said.

      “Hey there, Cecelia. It’s Spring.”

      “Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” her friend said. “You’re calling from that car phone again. I didn’t recognize the number and thought one of my students had somehow gotten my personal cell. What’s up, girl?”

      Spring smiled, her friend’s voice lifting her spirits. “I’m going to have to cancel on the supper club tonight.”

      “Cancel? It’s already canceled. Didn’t you get the messages?”

      “Messages? No, I’ve been at the clinic. We had a late walk-in.”

      “There was a break-in at the store. Gerald is falling apart.”

      “Is he okay?” Spring asked, alarmed. Gerald Murphy did not do well with deviations from the norm. “I can head over there right now.” Spring turned toward Main Street instead of the street that would lead to her house across town.

      “He’s СКАЧАТЬ