On cue, a loud wail sounds through the office. Lucas’ last patient was a pediatrics case: a six-month-old due for a round of shots.
“He’s in with Mrs. Heckmann and her little baby. He asked for you to come, quick.”
Could this day get any better?
My heart flutters and I yank the now useless stopwatch from around my neck. Mariah might as well have announced that Christmas came early.
You see, since the very dawn of our strife, we’ve each adhered to a solitary unspoken rule: never ask the other for help. Got sick, missed school, and need a copy of the day’s notes? I would walk for miles to another classmate before calling next door. Bloody nose right as the curtains go up at the school play? I didn’t care if Lucas was the president of a tissue factory, I’d have bled out before asking for one. So, if Lucas is truly calling in a lifeline, I won’t need muffins or Rubik’s Cubes anymore. I’ve already won.
The wailing is getting louder, and I don’t have time to change. I yank my white coat off the back of the door and drape it over my workout attire. The white coat extends a foot past my short-shorts and I’m aware how pornographic the effect is. I am suddenly Dr. Sexy, right off the rack at the Halloween superstore. I smile to myself.
Mariah leads me to exam room one and the door is open, beckoning me in. There’s a fretting mom sitting up on the table, holding her child in her lap. Her worry lines are so deep, she doesn’t even notice my inappropriate garb. I explain it anyway.
“Mrs. Heckmann, I was heading to the gym when I heard the commotion,” I say with a sugary smile. “Dr. Thatcher, need my help?”
Lucas turns over his shoulder at the sound of my voice and like a cartoon, his tongue rolls out to carpet my entrance into the exam room. It’s an involuntary, caveman reaction, one he overrides almost immediately. I almost feel badly, as if I’m cheating. His jaw locks tight and his large hands turn to fists.
I know what he needs me to do, but I wait for him to say it anyway. I wouldn’t want to presume.
“I’m having trouble with these shots.”
And, I say with my eyes.
“And I think the patient might be more comfortable if you do them.”
I walk up to the metal tray he has set up in front of his lap. I could move it, but where’s the fun in that? My spandex-clad ass is less than a foot away from his face. He could roll his chair away, but I guess there’s no fun in that either.
“What’s her name?” I ask, mining vast deposits of untapped motherly mojo.
“Ava,” Mrs. Heckmann replies shyly as I pop the lid off the first syringe. Lucas has already loaded the shots for me, so all I have to do is a little sleight of hand.
“How pretty!” I turn to Mrs. Heckmann. “Is it a family name?”
During my pediatric rotation years ago, I learned the trick in administering shots to babies is to distract both the child and the mother. Lucas probably neglects the second part. If mom is tense, the baby is tense, and the positive feedback loop gets ugly.
I talk, make faces, play peekaboo, and perform a magic act that starts with a handful of shots and ends with a smiling, inoculated baby.
“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Heckmann says, staring up at me from the exam table like I am the messiah come to set her people free. She tries to spare Lucas’ feelings. “Sometimes she gets nervous around men.”
When we’re back out in the hall, Lucas strips off his thick-framed glasses. He is no longer the mild-mannered Clark Kent, but intimidating and evil.
In my head, I tell him to chin up before patting him on his white coat, right over the Lucas Thatcher, M.D. embroidery. I tell him, I’m more than happy to help you any time you need it.
In real life, Lucas tails me back to my office. His arms are crossed in my doorway and I feel like a caged animal with him blocking my exit. He is too big for his own good—poor Ava probably thought he was a bear. He never used to work out in high school, staying long and lean from cross country. Now he is tall and made of brick. The big bad wolf could not blow him down.
I hesitate before stripping off my white coat. I want to put my blouse and pencil skirt back on over my workout clothes, but I’ve gained too much ground to retreat now.
“You’re good with kids,” he says, and in the warmth of my victory, I foolishly take the bait.
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be—their innocent minds are probably easier for you to manipulate.”
“Ha ha, Lucas. Is that why your mind is so hard to crack into? Lack of innocence?”