A Little Country Christmas - Carolyn Brown Page 0,125
Lessie said with a hostile lift of her chin.
“I guess I want to speak to Doctor Jim then.”
“He’s downstairs seeing patients at the clinic.” Lessie paused a moment before adding, “Which depends on the funds raised at the Christmas Gala.”
Brenda backed away from the reception desk. Did everyone in town think she hated sick children?
Nothing could be further from the truth. She’d been a teacher for two decades. She cared about children. But she didn’t have to direct the Christmas Chorale. And besides, wouldn’t it be better for Doc Killough to choose a Christmas-loving choir director?
She headed down the stairs and into the clinic, which was surprisingly crowded with preschool kids and their mothers. By the number of runny noses, it looked as if an upper respiratory infection was running rampant through the community.
She stepped up to the reception area where a harried Nita Morrison was juggling files. “Take a number,” Nita said without looking up. She nodded toward the bright red ticket dispenser near the door.
Clearly, Doc Killough was too busy to talk right now, and Brenda wasn’t about to cut in line when so many kids needed medical attention. So she helped herself to a number and took a seat beside a woman with a little boy of about six on her lap and another one a couple of years younger playing on the floor with a Matchbox car.
The older child was obviously ill. He rested his head on his mother’s shoulder, and even at a distance, Brenda could hear the rattle in the kid’s chest. His little brother looked like the only healthy kid in the waiting room. He was making little-boy motor sounds as he drove his car around the end table. When Brenda took her seat he turned and gave her a big smile.
“Are you sick too?” he asked.
“Hush, Donovan. Don’t be asking strangers about their health. It’s not polite,” his mother said, turning toward Brenda, her expression a study in anxiety. “I’m sorry. He has no boundaries.”
“It’s okay.” Brenda gave the kid a smile. “I’m not sick. I just need to talk to the doctor. But he’s pretty busy right now.”
The boy nodded. “Yeah, ’cuz there are lots of kids like Harper who have asthma ’n stuff. I don’t have asthma. I’m not the sick one.” He said this last bit in a little whisper, as if he’d heard grown-ups talking about his older brother.
“What did I just say, Doni?” The boy’s mother glared.
The kid turned his back and flopped down to the floor, sitting tailor-style, with his elbow on one knee and his chin in his hand. “How much longer, Momma? I’m bored,” he said.
“I don’t know.”
An ancient memory stirred in Brenda’s mind, of that long winter when Ella had been five and had suffered one ear infection after another. At the time, Brenda had been working two menial jobs and going to school. She hadn’t had health insurance in those days. She was a lot like the mothers in this room. She and Ella used to sing kid songs to make the time pass on those days when they’d ended up at the emergency room. Ella had loved music from the first moment she’d drawn breath.
Brenda squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed back a knot of longing, just as little Doni got up and started jumping around the room like a puppy who hadn’t been allowed to run free in a long time.
“Doni, please,” his mother said.
“Hey Doni,” Brenda said. “Do you know the song about the wheels on the bus?”
The kid shook his head.
“Come here. I’ll teach it to you.”
The kid was ready for any kind of distraction, and Brenda reached back into her memory from the years she’d taught elementary music.
By the time Nita called Doni’s mother’s number, they had sung the song at least half a dozen times. “Bye,” the little boy said with a wave as he followed his mother into the examination room. To her surprise, after Doni and his mother and brother left, Brenda got smiles from several of the other mothers in the room. It was the first time anyone had smiled at her all day.
Brenda remained in the waiting room until almost six o’clock because, every time someone new showed up, she traded her ticket for the newest one. So when Nita finally called her number, the waiting room was empty.
The receptionist gave her a frown. “Brenda, you know you shouldn’t be here. This is for people who—”