But she’d stuck, and gradually she’d begun to use those pencils to note down appointments. A baby with the croup, an old woman with arthritis, a child spiking a fever with roseola.
It had been the very young or the very old who’d trusted her first. Then others had come to have their stitches sewn, the aches tended, their stomachs soothed. Now she was Doc Kirby, and the clinic was holding its own.
Kirby scanned her appointment book. An annual gyn, a follow-up on a nasty sinus infection, the Matthews boy had another earache, and the Simmons baby was due in for his next immunizations. Well, her waiting room wasn’t going to be crowded, but at least she’d keep busy through the morning. And who knew, she thought with a chuckle, there could be a couple of emergencies to liven up the day.
Since Ginny Pendleton was her gyn at ten o’clock, Kirby calculated she had at least another ten minutes. Ginny was invariably late for everything. Pulling the necessary chart, she stepped back into the kitchen, poured the last of the coffee from the pot she’d made early that morning, and took it with her to the examining room.
The room where she’d once dreamed away summer nights was now crisp and clean. She had posters of wildflowers on the white walls rather than the pictures of nervous systems and ear canals that some doctors decorated with. Kirby thought they made patients jumpy.
After sliding the chart into the holder inside the door, she took out one of the backless cotton gowns—she thought paper gowns humiliating—and laid it out on the foot of the examining table. She hummed along with the quiet Mozart sonata from the stereo she’d switched on. Even those who eschewed classical would invariably relax to it, she’d found.
She’d arranged everything she’d need for the basic yearly exam and had finished off her coffee when she heard the little chime that meant the door at the clinic entrance had opened.
“Sorry, sorry,” Ginny came in on the run as Kirby stepped into the living room that served as the waiting area. “The phone rang just as I was leaving.”
She was in her middle twenties, and Kirby was continually telling her that her fondness for the sun was going to haunt her in another ten years. Her hair was white-blond, shoulder-length, frizzed mercilessly, and crying out for a root job.
Ginny came from a family of fishermen, and though she could pilot a boat like a grinning pirate, clean a fish like a surgeon, and shuck oysters with dizzying speed and precision, she preferred working at the Heron Campground, helping the novice pitch a tent, assigning sites, keeping the books.
For her doctor’s appointment, she’d spruced herself up with one of her favored western shirts in wild-plum purple with white fringe. Kirby wondered with idle curiosity how many internal organs were gasping for oxygen beneath the girdle-tight jeans.
“I’m always late.” Ginny sent her a sunny, baffled smile that made Kirby laugh.
“And everyone knows it. Go ahead in and pee in the bottle first. You know the routine. Then go into the exam room. Take everything off, put the gown on opening to the front. Just give a holler when you’re ready.”
“Okay. It was Lexy on the phone,” she called out as she scurried down the hall in her cowboy boots and shut the door. “She’s feeling restless.”
“Usually is,” Kirby replied.
Ginny continued chatting as she left the bathroom and turned into the exam room.
“Anyway, Lexy’s going to come down to the campground tonight about nine o’clock.” There was a thud as the first boot hit the floor. “Number twelve is free. It’s one of my favorites. We thought we’d build us a nice fire, knock off a couple of six-packs. Wanna come?”
“I appreciate the offer.” There was another thud. “I’ll think about it. If I decide to come by, I’ll bring another six-pack.”
“I wanted her to ask Jo, but you know how huffy Lex gets. Hope she will, though.” Ginny’s voice was breathless, leading Kirby to imagine she was peeling herself out of the jeans. “You seen her yet? Jo?”
“No. I’m going to try to catch her sometime today.”
“Do them good to sit down and tie one on together. Don’t know why Lexy’s so pissed off at Jo. Seems to be pissed off at everybody, though. She went on about Giff too. If I had a man who looked like Giff eyeing me up one side and down the other the way he does her, I wouldn’t be pissed off at anything. And I’m not saying that because we’re cousins. Fact is, if we weren’t blood-related, I’d jump his bones in a New York minute. All set in here.”
“I’d give odds Giff will wear her down,” Kirby commented, taking out the chart as she came in. “He’s got a stubborn streak as wide as hers. Let’s check your weight. Any problems, Ginny?”
“Nope, been feeling fine.” Ginny stepped on the scale and firmly shut her eyes. “Don’t tell me what it is.”
Chuckling, Kirby tapped the weight up the line. One thirty. One thirty-five. Whoops, she thought. One forty-two.
“Have you been exercising regularly, Ginny?”
Eyes still tightly shut, Ginny shifted from side to side. “Sort of.”
“Aerobics, twenty minutes, three times a week. And cut back on the candy bars.” Because she was female as well as a doctor, Kirby obligingly zeroed out the scale before Ginny opened her eyes. “Hop up on the table, we’ll check your blood pressure.”
“I keep meaning to watch that Jane Fonda tape. What do you think about lipo?”
Kirby snugged on the BP cuff. “I think you should take a brisk walk on the beach a few times a week and imagine carrot sticks are Hershey bars for a while. You’ll lose that extra five pounds without the Hoover routine. BP’s good. When was your last period?”
“Two weeks ago. It was almost a week late, though. Scared the shit out of me.”
