It's Definitely Not You - Abby Brooks Page 0,11
me a bad person? The question gave me pause. Did wishing harm on the man who might be swindling a helpless old woman mean I needed to cleanse myself of toxic energy? My subconscious heaved its shoulders. The thought was too deep and he didn’t deserve the time I’d need to follow it to conclusion.
“I am sorry I punched him in the face.” That much I could say with certainty. My hand hurt. I was sure his jaw did, too. As a doctor, it wasn’t my finest moment. As a person? That was still up for debate.
Nan chuckled. “It’ll make for a great story, won’t it? I can’t wait to tell Carl.”
We gossiped for a bit about her new, totally frivolous and fun relationship. I filled her in on the latest episode at work.
“You’re kidding me,” she said when I finished. “You’re being punished for caring too much? You’re a doctor for goodness sake!”
Which was pretty much my entire argument when my boss explained I was letting the practice down by spending too much time with my patients. Mira Dixon, the office manager who lived in pantsuits and pearls, had nodded in that understanding way of hers, but somehow my justification seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.
“They assigned me the bitchiest nurse whose last job was probably something like prison guard. Or drill sergeant. He’s this wall of a man named Emmanuel who doesn’t have a soft bone in his body.” Unless his belly counted. Then he was nothing but soft. “He scares the kids. Their parents, too. Who works in pediatrics and doesn’t make an effort to put people at ease? He sets a timer when I enter a room. A timer. The pay is good, but I like my days at the clinic way more and they don’t pay me anything.”
The mention of my second job had me checking the clock.
“Time for you to go?”
I nodded and considered apologizing for losing so much of our time to Captain Asshole. Nan seemed thrilled to know him, though, so I left it alone.
“Your grandpa would be proud of you for volunteering.” She gave me a soggy smile, nostalgia misting her eyes. “Too many people lose sight of the job in search of the dollars.”
“I’m young still. There’s plenty of time for the work to corrupt me.”
We said our goodbyes and I headed to the clinic, bopping in my seat to Collin West’s “Cruel Princess.”
“Time is a cruel mistress!” I bellowed with the significantly more talented singer. “An ice princess! Keeping me away from you! Cruel seconds slash my soul! Deeply, darkly, down I roll! Until, sweet girl, your love! Proves! True!” I punctuated the end of the hook with a solid fist to the air, earning me a strange look from the driver next to me.
I shrugged and smiled. He did the same, adding a head nod of solidarity as he turned up his own music and thrashed around until the light turned green. Encouraged, I howled and danced away the rest of the drive. A few songs later, I pulled into The Community Health Clinic. Thanks to the support of grants and individual donors—and medical doctors donating their time—anyone could get the quality care they deserved, regardless of insurance or income. And, because of government funding, that care extended to dental cleanings, obstetrics, x-rays, and other such goodies. We were a one-stop shop for anything and everything.
The clinic was little more than a squat rectangle with a gravel-littered parking lot plonked onto the side of the road. Flowers hunkered in pots beside the entrance. I pressed through the door where Dorothy, the receptionist, greeted me from behind her desk.
Her smile was so big, her eyes crinkled closed. “What’s up, Doc?”
“Hey, Dorothy. Where’s Toto?”
“Awww, shucks. I left him at home today.” We’d shared a similar joke a hundred times, but she still laughed like we deserved a Netflix special. Dorothy quirked her head, her straight, black hair grazing her shoulders. “Did you know Toto was actually a girl? And she suffered from anxiety?” She shrugged as if to say, “who knew?”
“I had no idea.” I dropped a hand on her desk before heading back to stow my things. “Hey, Tony.” I waved to an elderly gentleman with the jowls of a bullfrog stuffed into a chair in the waiting room. “Sandra. Mateo. Arianna.”
“Hey there, Doc Monroe,” Tony ribbited while the others lifted a hand in return. “Good to see your pretty face.”
“We’ll see how you feel after we go