Page 63 of Meet Me on Greenwood

I looked at the chart. The notes were thorough and precise. The temperature was logged, fluid intake recorded, a treatment adjustment made at noon with a brief explanation of the reasoning written in the margin.

At the bottom of the page in the same clean hand:

Mother won’t eat. Please ensure she is seen by volunteers before end of evening and sent home with a bag of food.

I set the chart down.

"She told me he was going to be all right," the mother said, watching my face. "She said it like she meant it. Not like the others who say it to make you feel better."

"I am certain she meant it," I said.

I moved through four more beds before I found Gema at the far end of the ward. Her back was to me and she was leaning over a little girl named Susan who was trying to tell her something, but couldn’t catch her breath. Gema just waited. She didn't fill the silence or move the little girl along, as I’d often done, in order to see the next patient. She just waited until the girl found the words.

I stood there watching her when Susan finally got out, "You’re pretty."

Gema smiled, smoothing down Susan’s hair. The little girl had been found on the edges of town after her family had been attacked, and she’d managed to survive alone in the woods for days. It had been a long process to get her to eat solid food.

Gema leaned down. "I think you’re pretty."

Susan giggled, catching my eye. "He thinks you are pretty, too," she said pointing.

Gema straightened and turned towards me. Something moved across her face, surprise maybe. Her cheeks began to redden, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t please me.

"Dr. Whitaker."

"Dr. Cross," I said. "I see you have met my best patient, Susan."

"Do you have it?" Susan asked excitedly. "You promised!"

I shrugged. "It depends. Did you do what we agreed on?"

"Yes, I ate all my food."

"All?" I asked doubtfully, looking towards Gema.

Susan looked like she’d been caught. "I might have left a few pieces of corn."

"Tsk, tsk," I said peering into her eyes. They were no longer dry or jaundiced. "Well, if you’ve been good—" I unwrapped a piece of pound cake Lettie had given me out of my lap coat.

"Yay!" she said, taking the cake and devouring it immediately.

"Hey, I wanted a piece," Gema teased the girl.

"Eat all your food," Susan said between bites, "and he’ll give you some."

Gema patted her knee. "I’ll do that."

After we finished with Susan, we walked out of the ward together. It was the first time I’d seen Gema since the carnival, and I was suddenly at a loss for words.

She ran a hand through her loose curls as if looking to do something. "Your eye is healing nicely," she said.

"Lettie prescribed frozen peas."

"And Paul? How is he?"

I sighed, looking down. "He is in the hospital for now. His symptoms haven’t improved. I’m afraid he may be senile."

"Dementia?" she asked.