She hadn’t screamed, or even yelped, but she looked petrified. Disregarding the frenzied dog, he put the truck into gear and executed a three-point turn so the vehicle was facing out.
Moving only her head, she turned to him, a question in her eyes. He said, “A precaution. In case we need to leave in a hurry.”
A piercing whistle brought the barking to an abrupt stop. The elder brother had come out onto the porch. The yellow light bulb shining down from under the eaves cast deep shadows on his face, emphasizing his glower.
“That’s Norman.”
Responding to another sharp whistle, the dog backed off, but it retreated only a few feet and stood just beyond Emory’s door, rigid and alert, ears twitching, as though anticipating a command to tear their throats out.
He leaned across Emory and pressed his hand against her thigh for reassurance as he shouted through the passenger window. “Call off your damn dog.”
Norman shaded his eyes against the porch light glare. Seeing Emory, he said, “Who the hell is she? You were supposed to be bringing a doctor.”
“This is Dr. Smith.”
Norman clumped down the steps and sauntered over to the pickup. Through the window now smeared with canine slobber, he gave Emory a once over. “She’s a doctor?”
“She is.”
Smirking, Norman drawled, “Too bad I ain’t sick.”
To her credit, Emory didn’t flinch or give any other indication of fear. But the contempt in her voice could have chiseled ice. “I understand that you neglected to get medical treatment for your sister. So I came to see about her. But I’ll leave right now if you don’t restrain that animal.”
Amused by her feistiness, Norman gave her his stupid grin and said, “Yes, ma’am, doctor ma’am,” then turned and took the dog by the collar. He dragged it over to a tree and clipped a chain to the collar. “Lay down,” he commanded, throwing in a kick that sent the dog sprawling in the muddy snow. It sprang up immediately but stayed where it was, sitting on its haunches and panting hard.
Emory turned her head and spoke in an undertone that Norman would be unable to hear. “Are you sure your gun is loaded?”
“Always.” After a beat, he added, “I’ve got your back, Doc. You can count on it. I would kill them before I let them touch you.”
Their faces were very close, so he could see the bewilderment with which her eyes searched his. Then she assumed an expression of determination. Turning away from him, she opened the passenger door and got out. “Where is Lisa?”
Norman bowed from the waist and swept his arm wide toward the house. “Back bedroom.”
The dog growled as they filed past. They trooped up the steps and across the porch and went inside, stepping directly into a living room. He’d seen it this afternoon when he brought them home. Nighttime hadn’t improved it.
It was filthy from the moldy ceiling to the stained rug. Sections of wallpaper had been peeled away, exposing the Sheetrock. A tent made of newspaper was acting as the shade for the floor lamp, the stand of which was bent.
Will was sprawled on the sofa watching a wrestling match on TV. The shotgun was propped, barrel up, against the cushion beside him. Upon seeing Emory, he raised his eyebrows. “You shittin’ me? What the hell’s goin’ on?”
His brother said, “Neighbor man here brought us a lady doctor. Ain’t that a stitch?”
Norman’s moniker grated on him, but he let it pass because he wasn’t about to tell the Floyd brothers his name. Furthermore, they were appraising Emory like hungry jackals, which made him feel all the more protective of her.
Ignoring the uncouth pair, he took Emory’s arm and guided her toward the bedroom where he’d left Lisa earlier. Her mother was standing in the open doorway of the room, twisting the hem of the soiled apron tied around her waist.
Pauline Floyd was skinny to the point that her shoulder bones poked up like drawer pulls against her faded dress. Her hair was so thin that scalp showed through the frizzy gray tuft on top. Her face said that she’d seen plenty of hard times, and that this was another of them.
“Pauline,” he said, “this is Dr. Smith. Dr. Smith, Mrs. Floyd.”
Emory murmured an acknowledgment to the introduction.
Pauline addressed her anxiously, “Can you help my girl? She’s carrying on something awful. Says her belly hurts, and she’s bleedin’.”
Emory looked into the room toward the bed, where the small mound beneath the frayed bedspread lay perfectly still. “I hope to help her. Where can I wash my hands?”
The old woman tilted her head quizzically. “The bathroom, I guess.” She hitched her thumb.
Emory excused herself and followed the direction Pauline had indicated.
The old woman watched her until she disappeared through a doorway, then came back around to her neighbor. “How long you been living down the road from us?”
“A while.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glanced toward the bathroom. “She a real doctor?”
“She’s an excellent doctor.”
“I don’t know of any lady doctors ’round here. Where’d you get her at?”
“In town,” he said, hoping that would be all the explanation required.
Emory emerged from the bathroom looking pale but full of resolve. She walked past him and Pauline into the bedroom. They followed her over to the bed. Lisa lay on her side, knees to chest.
Emory took a box of latex gloves from the trash can liner she’d carried in with her, pulled on a pair, then touched the girl’s shoulder. “Lisa? I’m Dr. Char—Smith.” She applied gentle but insistent pressure until the girl rolled onto her back.
She was very pretty, with delicate features and silky blond hair. By contrast, her eyes were so dark, the irises were indistinguishable from the pupils. Looking beyond Emory toward him, she smiled shyly. “You came back?”
“I promised you I would. I brought the doctor.”
She shifted her gaze to Emory. “It hurts.”
Emory patted the girl’s slender hand. “I hope to relieve that soon, but first I’ll have to examine you. All right?”
Lisa glanced at her mother, then tentatively nodded.
Emory straightened and turned. “We’ll need privacy.”
He said, “I’ll be right outside the door.” But when he motioned for Pauline to go ahead of him, she protested.
“She’s my daughter. I’ve saw everything.”
“Dr. Smith will call us as soon as she’s completed her examination. Right, Dr. Smith?”
“Certainly,” Emory replied.
Silently she telegraphed to him the urgency of the situation. No longer giving Pauline a choice, he took her arm and propelled her toward the door. When he looked back, Emory was bending over the bed, talking softly to her patient.
He closed the door and put his back to it. Pauline told him that she would be in the kitchen and headed in that direction. She walked with the skittishness of a mouse, keeping close to the wall as though afraid of being seen and raising ire. She disappeared through an open doorway.
Will hadn’t moved from his place on the sofa. On the TV, two women wrestlers were throwing each other against the ropes, but the volume had been lowered. Norman sat in an upholstered chair that at one time had matched the sofa, but it was now haphazardly striped with silver duct tape that held together rips in the stained fabric.
He had their undivided attention.
Norman said, “Sit down and take a load off.”
“I’d rather stand, thanks.”
“What’s your name, anyhow?”
“What difference does it make?”
Norman copped some attitude. “You’re messing in our business, that’s what difference it makes.”
“All I’m doing is getting medical treatment for a sick girl.”
“Sick my ass.” Will rolled off his spine, picked up a can of beer from the scratched and rickety coffee table, and took a swig. “She should’ve known better than to get herself knocked up.”
Earlier, when he’d first seen her in the wrecked truck, he’d noticed that Lisa’s lips were white with pain, but when he’d asked her the nature of her ailment, she hadn’t been forthcoming with an answer.
Since her brothers had seemed indifferent to her condition, he’d consented to drive them home. He’d helped Lisa into the house and, after making a hasty explanation to Pauline as to why he was there, he and the old woman got Lisa into the bedroom.
Sensing the girl’s reluctance to discuss her problem with members of her family, he sent Pauline out of the room to get Lisa a glass of water. Only then had she told him in confidence that she had miscarried. Shamed, she begged him not to tell her mother.
“You shouldn’t go through this alone. Have you told anyone?” he’d asked.
“My aunt and uncle—I live with them in Drakeland—or did. They kicked me out of the house when I told them what was happening. I had to tell my brothers so they would come get me. But I don’t want my mama to know.”
She had started to cry and had been so distraught, he’d given her his word that he wouldn’t tell her mother, but he had impressed on her that if she was in that much pain, she should be seen by a doctor. Either he would drive her or she could call nine-one-one. “The EMTs will keep it confidential. They have to. They’re professionals.”
She wouldn’t hear of it. That’s when he’d offered to bring medical help to her. Knowing what the frightened girl had suffered—and continued to—physically as well as emotionally, her brother Will’s “knocked up” remark infuriated him. He curbed the impulse to yank the younger Floyd off the sofa by his stringy hair and throw him through the window.
He asked, “How old is Lisa?”
Will shrugged and looked over at Norman. “How old is she? Fourteen?”
“Fifteen.”
Will turned back to him. “Fifteen.”
“She and your mother seem to have a close relationship.”
“You know women,” Norman said with a snort. “They stick together.”
“Then why is Lisa living with relatives in Drakeland?”
“None of your friggin’ business,” Will said.
Norman replied more civilly. “Better schools down there.”
“Lisa’s in high school?”
“’Course,” Norman said. “What do you think, she’s a retard or something?”
“I was just wondering if the father of the baby she lost is as young as she is.”
“She works at a Subway on weekends,” Will said. “Who knows who all she’s fucked.” He took another slurp of beer, eyeing him over the top of the can as though hoping he would take umbrage.
He did, but he kept his expression impassive and addressed his next question to Norman. “Have you lived here all your lives?”
“Yep. Well, ’cept for a time a few years ago. Me and Will heard about work up in Virginia. Went up there for a spell.”
“How’d that go?”
Norman scratched his armpit. “Not so good. No sooner got there than the economy went to shit. We both got laid off.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Not really. Mama wanted us back home, and anyway Virginia ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“What kind of work did you do up there?”