Ish.
“I’m the best you’re gonna get today, ma’am. And I’m not too bad. My Google reviews are mostly glowing.”
“Yeah?” She slides her tongue forward, wetting her dry, chapped lips. “Why only mostly?”
“Because when you’re the only doctor in town with his books open and a willingness to treat an aging population, and those aging folks are vocal about their dislike of bland hospital food and meds that make them constipated, a gloat-able four-point-seven out of five-star rating has a tendency to drop to three-point-two relatively quickly. It’s not that I’m bitter or anything.” I peek up at her and grin. “It’s an unfair bell curve.” I slip the needle through her flesh, drag two sides together, and tie the knot that’ll hopefully keep her in one piece after this. “Can I guess your name?”
I feel her stare on the top of my head. Her frown.Three-point-two indeed.
“It’s just that we’ve got a puzzle on our hands, and Ihatecalling anyone who isn’t eighty-five or older ma’am. Feels weird. You have dark hair, dark eyes, and, beneath the just-got-hit-by-a-car brain injury, I spy an olive complexion. Could be Greek. Or Italian. Or…”
“Egyptian.”
Surprised, I stop sewing and meet her gaze. “Is that a memory? You have Egyptian roots?”
“No. I don’t know.” She drags her hand out from beneath her cheek and studies the back. The front. Her fingers. Her brows pinch, and long, dark lashes come down to kiss her face with every blink. “I just know those characteristics you listed—hair, eyes, skin—those could describe Egyptian people, too.”
“Right.” I go back to work, tie the knot, snip the line. Then I move on to the third. “So, we could wonder if your name is…” I consider. “Isabella…. Gabriella. Julia. Any of those sound familiar?”
She swallows and digs her hand beneath her pillow. “No.”
“Daniella. Viviana, maybe. Vittoria is Italian, right? It’s a coffee brand.”
“You’re hurting my brain.” She squeezes her eyes tight and draws a shuddering breath. “Thinking hurts.”
I drag the needle through to the other side of her wound and tie a fast knot, pulling both sides of her skin into a line. “Sorry. I’ll stop talking now.”
“You're comfortable chatting to a stranger.” She exhales, blowing warm air against the side of my face. “I don’t think I’m one of those people.”
“I have sisters. Two of ‘em. And they both lack respect for boundaries and quiet spaces.” I snip the suture and peek at the small section at the end. Not quite large enough for its own stitch. Not quite small enough to let me move on without considering… thinking… wondering. “You really should take the ibuprofen. Get on top of that headache before the police arrive.”
Her eyes flick open, wide and alert.
“They’ll want to ask you questions, and a pounding headache won’t help.”
“Th-the police?” she stutters.
“Yeah. I mean… last night, you were just a woman who got hit by a car. Today, you’re a woman who got hit by a car,andyou have no clue what your name is. Or where you come from. Or where you were going. You have no ID. No insurance. No money.”
Her cheeks turn deathly pale, adding a sheen of weakness to an already battered woman. Then she shoves up to her elbow, crushing the stitches with the fold of her body and proving she’s not weak at all.
“You need to lie d?—”
“I can’t pay for this.” She pushes my hand away. Whips her gown across to cover her hide. Tears the sheet up to shield her chest. “If I can’t pay, that means you’ll kick me out, right?”
“No one is kicking you out.” I toss my supplies back on the tray, the metal needle landing with a noisyting, and peel my gloves off right after. Then, I place my hand on her shoulder and gently push her flat. “I’m a doctor, and I made a promise to helpeveryone. No matter what. I’m employed by this hospital, ma’am. I don’t work in accounts, and I don’t care if your bills are never paid. The law says I treat you regardless of your financial situation. The rest will come later.” I snag the cup of pills and force it into her palm, then I grab the cup of water and wait.
Watch.
Raise a single, challenging brow.
“The cops will be here in the next couple of hours, I imagine, and they’ll try to help you figure out who you are. Because it’s the right thing to do. And because somewhere out there—” I gesture toward the window, “—someone is looking for you. Your mom or your dad. Or maybe you havesiblings. A boyfriend. Or a colleague. You’ve been unconscious and technically missing for about twelve hours now, which meanssomeoneis completely beside themselves freaking out right now, and your phone is probably buzzing on the side of the road where Barbara knocked you on your butt and sent the device flying.” I place my fingers beneath her hand and guide the cup up. “If my sister were missing—either of them, even the annoying one—I would burn the world down to find her again. But if I knew she was being cared for by a nice doctor whoinsistedshe swallow the damn ibuprofen, then I’d feel better.” I nudge the cup higher. “While we wait for your family to find you, I’m gonna be your safe space, but I need you to work with me here and get on top of that headache before it becomes way worse. If you don’t do the easy things, I’ll sedate you. Call me unprofessional if you must, but I kinda wanna keep you awake.”
“Unprofessional.” She sets the pills on her tongue andglug-glug-glugsthe water. And when she lowers the cup again, she glowers.
She has a bad attitude under the fear. A temper under the confusion.
She’s got fire, and I’m not ashamed to admit it intrigues the hell out of me.
