to change into his scrubs. The patients weren’t critical, and Dr. George would want to finish his own sutures. “Thanks, Judy. I’ll be right back.”
He glanced into the emergency room and glimpsed the director bent over his patient. Jarvis George’s graywhite hair, army-cut short, could have depicted a kindly older gentleman who loved his patients and whose patients trusted and loved him. Maybe that was the case. Lauren’s warning about Dr. George echoed from last night.
When Lukas walked into the laceration room a few moments later, he was friendly and upbeat.
“Good morning, Jarvis. Do we have any patients you want me to take?” He glanced at the elderly female who lay prone on the table, her nearly fleshless tailbone and hip exposing a small gash beside a partially healed bedsore.
The older man straightened from his work and pierced Lukas’s friendliness with a glare. “I don’t know how you were taught to address your superiors in your Kansas City hospital, Dr. Bower, but I prefer a little less familiarity, if you don’t mind.”
Lukas managed not to stare. “Excuse me, Dr. George. I meant no disrespect. I guess I am accustomed to a more casual atmosphere.” Wow, Lauren was right. There seemed to be a problem here.
Dr. George returned to his sewing. “You can see to the whiny kid in five. He’s got an earache. The patient in seven has a probable sprained ankle. I’ve been busy sewing, and since you came in late, I haven’t had a chance to—Ouch!”
Lukas had watched it happen, had seen the needle pierce the glove in the palm of the man’s left hand, and winced as he imagined the puncture.
“Can’t believe I did that,” the director muttered to himself. He shot a quick look toward Lukas, as if blaming him for the distraction.
Lukas stepped out of the room. “Nurse,” he called and found redheaded Beverly coming from the child’s room. “We need a needlestick protocol in here, please.”
“I beg your pardon,” Dr. George rumbled as he stepped around the laceration table and out toward Lukas. “Nurse, ignore that request,” he said, not taking his gaze from Lukas.
Lukas cleared his throat, staring back at his new director in dismay. “I’m sorry, Dr. George, I didn’t mean to offend. I’ve just been reading about protocol, and—”
“I’m aware of protocol, Bower,” Dr. George snapped. “I helped write it.”
Lukas winced. He was not winning a friend here.
The director waved Beverly away, still glaring at Lukas. “If you will kindly take care of your patients and leave me alone with mine, I’ll be able to get home sometime this morning.”
“Yes, Dr. George. Sorry. I’ll go see my patients now.” Lukas hustled away, resisting the urge to ask the director if his tetanus was at least up-to-date.
The sprain turned out to be a hairline fracture. The earache did not require antibiotics. After Lukas had splinted the ankle and convinced a distraught mother that the medicine she requested could actually set her child up for a more resistant strain of ear infection later, Lukas finished his charts and checked for more arrivals.
“Think I’ll go to breakfast now, Beverly,” he said when he found no other patients listed on the schedule board. He started down the hallway, then turned back. “Oh, by the way, where are the incident report forms kept?”
Beverly raised a brow at him. “They’re filed in the secretary’s cabinet. Tell me you’re not going to report Dr. George.”
“Rules are rules. Even if he doesn’t follow protocol, I’m required to make a report. It’s plainly listed in the little booklet I received the other day.”
“You’re going to find that we don’t always follow the rules to the letter around here.”
“Thanks, Beverly, but safety comes first. There’s a good reason for those rules.” He’d gotten into trouble before when he’d been lenient with a nurse and overlooked a break in protocol when she had violated a direct order from him. It gave her a chance to falsify the record.
“He’ll find out. He knows everything that goes on around here,” Beverly warned.
He waved and left for breakfast.
Theadra Zimmerman—Tedi to anyone who valued life—couldn’t concentrate. She could barely keep her eyes open even to look outside, where the rain fell as if God had decided to wash off the new leaves and speed the growth of the grass.
Good thing she sat behind Jeff McCullough in class. His broad shoulders would cover her from Mrs. Watson’s probing eyes and catch-you-off-balance questions. The fifth-grade teacher always seemed to ask Tedi more questions than anyone, and she even expected better answers from Tedi than she did from Abby Cuendet, who always got straight As.
Tedi leaned her chin down onto her fists on the desk as Mrs. Watson droned on about new discoveries regarding the rings of Saturn.
Dad and Julie had fought last night, the first time Tedi had heard them fight since they’d begun dating two months ago. Julie didn’t like Dad drinking so much. Big surprise. Tedi didn’t like it, either, but that didn’t stop him. Last night she’d sat up in the hallway, eavesdropping, wondering if maybe he would listen to Julie, even though he wouldn’t listen to anyone else.
When Julie finally left, she’d slammed the front door behind her. Apparently Dad had not listened to her, either.
Tedi felt a weird combination of disappointment and satisfaction. Why should a near stranger be able to do something she herself had tried to do for such a long time?
And what made Julie think that just because she was blond and pretty and wore a lot of makeup…
“Tedi Zimmerman, I asked you a question,” came Mrs. Watson’s sharp voice.
Tedi jerked. Her chin slipped off her fist.
Jeff’s shoulders shifted as he turned to look at Tedi along with the rest of the fifth-grade class. This gave Mrs. Watson a clear view of Tedi trying to straighten up and look alert.
Mrs. Watson gave her that “I’ve had it with you, kid” look and shook her head.
“Class, I want you to read the next few pages on Neptune. No talking while I’m gone. Tedi, come with me.”
For a moment Tedi sat and stared at Mrs. Watson. “Where?”
“Now, Tedi.”
This was new.
“Theadra Zimmerman—”
“Okay.” Tedi didn’t look at anyone else as she got up and followed Mrs. Watson out the door. She could imagine Abby’s smirk behind her back, but who cared? Nobody liked Abby.
Mrs. Watson closed the door on the classroom and turned to face Tedi, arms folded in front of her. “Ordinarily I would send a sleeping child to the nurse’s office to take a nap, but you are not an ordinary child. I’ve had high hopes for you, but you’ve done more daydreaming, talking and disrupting than you’ve done homework in the past few weeks. I want to know why.”
Tedi stared at her teacher’s frowning face. She didn’t look mad, but she wasn’t happy.
“Are you taking me to the principal’s office?” Tedi asked in a meek voice.
Mrs. Watson sighed and leaned against the hallway wall. She studied Tedi’s face. “Does your father help you with homework?”
Uh-oh, she is going to drag Dad into this. “He’s been really busy lately.”
“How about your mother?”
“I don’t see her every night.” And she wasn’t about to waste time on homework during visitations.
Mrs. Watson put a gentle hand on Tedi’s shoulder. “What’s going on at home?”
Tedi