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“Don’t you think that at all, Theresa Anne Flanagan. You’ve got a warm heart, and if that sometimes leads you into trouble, it’s far better than armoring yourself like a—like an armadillo.”
Terry grinned. “Do you have any particular armadillo in mind?”
Siobhan gave a rueful chuckle. “That was a mite unchristian, I guess. I’m trying to make up for it, though. I’ve invited Dr. Landsdowne to your brother’s for the picnic on Sunday.”
“You’ve what?” She could only hope her face didn’t express the horror she felt. The Flanagan clan gathered for dinner most Sunday afternoons, and it wasn’t unusual for someone to invite a friend. But Jake wasn’t a friend—he was her boss, in a way, and also an antagonist. She wouldn’t go so far as to think of him as an enemy, and she certainly didn’t want to think of those moments when she’d felt, or imagined she’d felt, something completely inappropriate.
“What’s wrong?” Her mother crossed to Terry, her face concerned. “I know you think he’s a bit officious about the clinic, but if we get to know him better—”
“I already know him. From Philadelphia.” Her throat tightened, and she had to force the words out. “He’s the one I told you about. The one who blamed my team for the death of the woman he’d been seeing.”
The words brought that time surging back, carrying a load of guilt, anxiety and the overwhelming fear that perhaps he’d been right. Perhaps she had been responsible.
“Oh, Terry, I didn’t realize.” Her mother gave her a quick, fierce hug. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “It’s all right. I didn’t tell anyone because—well, it didn’t seem fair to me or to him.”
Mom sat next to her on the desk. “Has he talked to you about it, since he’s been here?”
“Only to say he thinks we should leave the past alone.”
“But the inquiry cleared you of any wrongdoing. He should apologize, at least.”
Terry’s lips quirked at the thought of Jake apologizing. “He probably doesn’t see it that way. Anyway, if anyone’s guilty—” She stopped, regretting the words already.
Her mother just looked at her. Better people than she had crumbled at the force of that look.
“We’d been called to the woman’s apartment before. Two or three times. Always the same thing—she’d taken an overdose of sleeping pills or tranquilizers. We figured out finally that she was being careful. Never taking enough to harm herself. Just enough to make people around her feel guilty.”
“And Dr. Landsdowne was the person she wanted to feel guilty?”
She nodded, remembering the gossip that had flown around the hospital. “They’d been dating, but I guess when he wanted to break it off, she didn’t take it very well.” A brief image of Meredith flashed through her mind—tall, blond, elegant, the epitome of the Main Line socialite. “I don’t suppose anyone had ever turned her down before.”
“Poor creature.” Her mother’s voice was warm with quick sympathy. “And him, too. What a terrible thing, to feel responsible for someone committing suicide. But what happened? You said she was careful.”
“She took something she was allergic to.” Terry’s throat tightened with the memory. “We couldn’t save her.”
Her mother stroked Terry’s hair the way she had when Terry had been a child, crying over a scraped knee. “That’s probably why he blamed you. He couldn’t face it.”
Or because he did believe she was inept and incompetent. “I don’t know, Mom.” She pushed her hair back, suddenly tired. “I just know I’ve got to figure out how to deal with him now.”
“Do you want me to cancel the invitation?” It was a testament to her mother’s concern that she’d be willing to violate her sense of hospitality.
“No.” She managed a smile. “I’ve got to get used to his presence. At least I’ll be on my own turf there.”
Her mother laughed. “And surrounded by Flanagans, all prepared to defend you.”
“I don’t need defending.” The quick response was automatic. Her brothers had been trying to shelter her all her life. They’d never accept that she didn’t need their protection.
“I know.” Her mother gave her another hug and slid off the desk. “They mean well, sweetheart.”
The sound of a horn turned Siobhan toward the door. “There’s Mary Kate, coming for me. Are you heading for home now?”
“I just want to make one last check, okay?” And take a few minutes to clear her head. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Walk out with me to say hi to your sister.” Her mother linked her arm with Terry’s.
Together they walked to where Mary Kate sat waiting. The back of her SUV was filled with grocery bags.
“Hi, Terry. Come on, Mom. I’ve got to get home before the frozen stuff melts.”
“I’m ready.” Siobhan slid into the car, while Terry leaned against the driver’s side, scanning her big sister’s face for signs of strain.
It had been ten months since Mary Kate lost her husband to a fast-moving cancer—ten months during which she kept up a brave face to the world, even to her own family.
“How’re you doing? How are the kids?”
“Fine.” Mary Kate’s smile was a little too bright. “They’re looking forward to seeing you on Sunday.”
“Me, too.” She wanted to say something—something meaningful, something that would help. But, as always, words faltered against Mary Kate’s brittle facade. She’d never relax it, certainly not in front of her baby sister.
Terry stepped back, waving as the car disappeared in a cloud of dust down the lane. Then she walked back into the clinic, mind circling the question she knew her mother had wanted to ask. Why hadn’t she told them the whole story about what happened in Philadelphia?
Because I was trying to prove I could accomplish something independent of my family. Because I failed.
Pointless, going over it and over it. She pushed herself into action, cleaning up the last few items that were out of place, locking the drug box, putting Jake’s list of rules in the desk drawer. The cases that had come in today were so minor she hadn’t even been tempted to bend any of the rules. Not that she would.
The door banged open. Manuela raced in. Terry’s heart clutched at the look on her face.
“Manuela, what is it?”
The girl leaned against the desk, breathing hard. “Juan. He’s sick. He’s so hot. Please, you have to come.” She grabbed Terry’s arm in a desperate grasp. “Now. You have to come!”
Jake’s rule flashed through her mind. Staff will not go to the migrant housing facility alone.
“I have to,” she said aloud. “I have to.” She grabbed her emergency kit and ran.
Manuela fled across the rutted field toward the back of the string of cement block buildings that served as dormitories for the workers. Terry struggled to keep up, mind churning. Juan’s cut could have become infected. That seemed the most likely cause for a fever, but there were endless possibilities. If she had to take him to the hospital, she’d also have to explain how she’d come to break Jake’s rules in her first day of operation.
The sun had already slid behind the ridge that overshadowed the camp. It would be nearly dark by the time she finished. She should have thought to bring a flashlight. She should have thought of a number of things, but it was too late now.
Please, Lord. Guide me and show me what must be done.
A snatch of guitar music, a burst of laughter, the blare of a radio sounded from the far end of the camp. Words that she couldn’t understand, cooking aromas that she couldn’t identify—it was like being transported to a different country.
Manuela stopped to peer around the corner of the building, her finger to her lips to ensure Terry’s silence. She didn’t need to worry. Terry had no desire to draw attention to her presence.
But why was the girl so concerned with secrecy? If she’d fetched Terry without her parents’ permission, that could be yet another complication to the rule she was already transgressing.
Manuela beckoned, and together they slipped around the corner and through the door. The room was a combination kitchen and living room, with a card table, a few straight chairs and a set of shelves against the wall holding plastic dishes and dented metal pots. An elderly woman, stirring something on a battered camp stove in the corner, stared at them incuriously and went back to her cooking.
Terry followed Manuela through a curtained door. At a guess, the whole family slept here on a motley collection of beds and cots jammed together. Juan lay on one of the cots, and to her relief, his mother sat next to him. Manuela grabbed an armful of clothes from the floor.
“Sorry.” In the dim light, it seemed her cheeks were flushed. “Mama and I try to keep it neat, but it’s hard.”
“I understand.” Six people were living in a room the size of the laundry room at the Flanagan house. No wonder it seemed cluttered. “Let’s have a look at Juan.”
Nodding to the mother, she bent over the cot. “Hi, there, Juan. Remember me?” She smiled reassuringly, trying to hide her dismay. His skin was hot and dry, his eyes sunken in his small face. She glanced at Manuela. “Any chance we can get more light in here?”
Nodding, she switched on a battery-powered lantern.
No electricity, overcrowded conditions, inadequate cooking facilities—surely someone like Matthew Dixon could do better than this for his employees, even if they were here for only a short period of time.
She checked the boy’s vital signs and cautiously removed the bandage on his head, relieved to find no sign of infection. “It doesn’t look as if his injury is causing this, Manuela. Has anyone else been sick?”
Manuela translated quickly for her mother and then nodded. “Some of the other children have had fever and stomach upsets.”
“Why didn’t their parents bring them to the clinic?”
Manuela shrugged, face impassive. If she knew the answer, she wasn’t going to tell.
“Tell your mother I’d like to have Juan checked out by the doctor.” She glanced at her watch. “Since it’s so late, maybe the best thing is to take him to the E.R.”
The mother seemed to understand that phrase. Nodding, she scooped Juan up, wrapping him in a frayed cotton blanket.
Terry followed them out, hoping she was making the right choice. Harriet would come to the camp if she called her, but by the time she’d tracked her down, they could be at the E.R. Jake wasn’t on duty tonight, so…
That train of thought sputtered out. Why exactly did she have his schedule down pat in her mind?
Mrs. Ortiz hurried outside. She stopped so suddenly that Terry nearly bumped into her. Mel Jordan, the crew chief, stood a few feet away, glaring at them.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He planted beefy hands on his hips.
Terry stepped around the woman. “Juan is running a fever. We’re taking him in to have the doctor look at him.”
“You people aren’t supposed to be here.” He jerked his head toward the building. “Take the kid back inside. You don’t want to go running around this time of night.”
Mrs. Ortiz started to turn, but Terry caught her arm. Manuela moved to her mother’s other side, so that the three of them faced the man.
“My car is at the clinic.” She tried to keep her voice pleasant, suppressing the urge to rage at the man. “I’ll run them to the hospital and bring them back. It’s not necessary for you to come.”
His face darkened. “I told you you’re not supposed to be here, interfering in what doesn’t concern you.” He took a step toward her, the movement threatening. “Just get out and take your do-good notions with you. We don’t need outsiders around here stirring up trouble.”
Her heart thudded, but she wouldn’t let him see fear. “You’ve got trouble already. The child is sick. You can’t keep him from medical care. Or any of the other children.”
It was obvious why none of the parents had brought their children to the clinic. Mrs. Ortiz trembled. Surely she didn’t think the man would dare become violent….
And if he does, what will you do, Terry? Once again you’ve leaped into a situation without thinking.
Well, she didn’t need to think about it to know these people needed help. What kind of a paramedic would she be if she walked away? One way or another, she was getting this child to a physician.
A pair of headlights slashed through the dusk as a car bucketed down the lane. Distracted, the crew chief spun to stare as the car pulled to a stop a few feet away, the beams outlining their figures.
She was caught in the act. She wouldn’t have to take Juan to a doctor. Jake had come to him.
Jake took his time turning off the ignition and getting out of the car. He needed the extra minutes to get his anger under control. One day into the program, and Terry had broken his rules already.
She’d also, from the tension in their stances when his headlights had picked them out, put herself in a bad situation. There had been something menacing about the way the crew chief confronted her, moderating Jake’s anger with fear for her.
The man—Jordan, he remembered—swung toward him. “What is this? A convention? Don’t you people have enough to do without bothering us?”
Jake let his gaze rest on the man until Jordan shifted his weight nervously. Then he turned toward Terry.
Her shoulders tensed, as if expecting an assault. But no matter how tempted he might be, he owed Terry a certain amount of professional courtesy.
“What do we have, Ms. Flanagan?”
Her breath caught a little. “Juan Ortiz, age six. You’ll recall he was treated in the E.R. Temp 103, upset stomach, dehydrated. I was about to bring him to the E.R. when Mr. Jordan intervened.”
He knew enough about Terry to know she couldn’t turn away from a sick child. His gaze sliced to Jordan. “Why were you trying to keep them from taking the child to the hospital?”
Jordan’s face twisted into a conciliatory smile. “Look, it was just a misunderstanding. I’d never do a thing like that.”
He felt Terry’s rejection of the words as if they were touching. Well, they’d deal with Jordan later. The important thing now was the child.
“Let’s go inside and examine Juan. Then we can see what else is necessary.”
The girl, Manuela, explained to her mother in a flood of Spanish, and they all trooped into the cement block building that appeared to be home.
A few minutes later he tousled Juan’s hair. “You’re going to be fine, young man.” He glanced at Terry, naming the medications he wanted. “You have all that at the clinic?”
She nodded. “I’ll run over and get them.”
“Wait. I’ll drive you.” And we’ll talk. He turned back to Manuela. “I’m writing down all the instructions for you. It’s very important to give him liquids, but just a little at a time. A couple of sips every ten or fifteen minutes. You’ll make sure your mother understands?”
“Yes, doctor.” She straightened, as if with pride. “I will take care of Juan myself. Everything will be done exactly as you say.”
“Good girl. You sound as if you’d make a good doctor or nurse one day.”
He saw something in her face then—an instant of longing, dashed quickly by hopelessness. He’d seen that look before. It shouldn’t be found on children’s faces.
“I would like, yes. But it’s not possible. This is my life.” Her gesture seemed to take in the fields, the building, the people.
“But, Manuela—” Terry began.
He shook his head at her and she fell silent. Now was not the time. But her expression made him fear Terry was taking off on another crusade.
“Well, you can practice your skills with your little brother.” He handed her the instructions. “Do you understand all that?”
