looked at me as if I’d lost my marbles. Joyce was far beyond pleasingly plump and she was loath to move her girth any more than necessary. “I have to run the office.”
“Felicity can handle things for the amount of time it would take you to give Hughes his antibiotics and change his dressing.” I waved toward the outer office where the secretary sat.
“Absolutely not. It’s your territory. In fact, your other patient lives in the same trailer park.” Joyce glowered.
I folded my arms over my chest. “You don’t understand. I despise the guy.”
“And you don’t understand. Take the case or you can find yourself another job.”
I shook my head. Surely, I had heard her wrong. She was willing to fire me if I didn’t go see Rockerfeller Hughes?
“I’ll switch with Yvette.”
“She’s gone to Zion Hill for the day. She won’t be backuntil five. You can switch with her for the duration of his treatment but for today, he’s yours.” Joyce waved the file in my face. She bared her teeth and shook her jowls like a bulldog.
“Oh, fine.” I snatched the file from her hand. “But if I end up killing him, then you’re responsible.”
“Thank you, Ally.” Joyce’s voice was pure NutraSweet.
I stormed from the office wondering which god I had offended to get this crap assignment.
Sissy had come home last night with hickeys tracking up and down her neck. To my disgust she said that she and Rocky had made up and he’d promised her he was going to divorce Darlene.
I had fought the temptation to get a gun and finish Rocky off so I wouldn’t have to hear for the one millionth time what a wonderful person he was for not pressing charges against her. This from the sleazebag who’d turned Sissy on to drugs, encouraged her to quit her job to sing with his band and who, upon occasion, took the back of his hand to her face.
Trying my best not to think about my sister, I got in my car and looked at my other patient file and discovered I’d been given Tim Kehaul, as well. While Cloverleaf is not huge, it’s not that small. Population seven thousand or thereabouts. What were the odds of me getting two of Sissy’s boyfriends to make home health visits to?
Rocky lived in a trailer park in Andover Bend. A particularly redneck community where the average IQ score hovered somewhere around my shoe size. Most of the people who lived there supplemented their welfare checks and unemployment income by fishing and raising vegetables to sell at a community roadside stand.
The road into Andover Bend was a narrow, one-lane affair. After a couple of miles the asphalt petered out where the county turned the road over to the development. I passed severalshotgun shacks with dirty-faced kids playing in the yard. Dust billowed behind my tires.
I wondered if they’d dismissed Rocky from the hospital with a saline well instilled in his arm or if I’d have to start one myself. The idea of prodding Rocky with a large bore needle was not entirely unpleasant.
Rounding the curve, I blew past the nine-hole golf course which was better maintained than most of the residences. Tanned guys with bellies overlapping their belts and beers clutched in their hands, maneuvered golf carts around the fairways.
The clubhouse was next and the community swimming pool, filled with kids on colorful floatation devices and mamas at poolside reading, tanning and gossiping.
Then the road arched toward the river. The farther I went, the grungier the houses grew. The area flooded frequently and since no one could afford to build to code, they couldn’t buy flood insurance. Water-level stains ringed the buildings, some waist high. The vehicles, parked in the driveways and on patches of bare lawn, were almost exclusively pickup trucks. And aged ones at that.
I crossed a small bridge so low to the ground it almost touched the water. Here, the Brazos looked swampy and brackish. Not like the healthy branch that flowed past my place.
The posted speed
“Felicity can handle things for the amount of time it would take you to give Hughes his antibiotics and change his dressing.” I waved toward the outer office where the secretary sat.
“Absolutely not. It’s your territory. In fact, your other patient lives in the same trailer park.” Joyce glowered.
I folded my arms over my chest. “You don’t understand. I despise the guy.”
“And you don’t understand. Take the case or you can find yourself another job.”
I shook my head. Surely, I had heard her wrong. She was willing to fire me if I didn’t go see Rockerfeller Hughes?
“I’ll switch with Yvette.”
“She’s gone to Zion Hill for the day. She won’t be backuntil five. You can switch with her for the duration of his treatment but for today, he’s yours.” Joyce waved the file in my face. She bared her teeth and shook her jowls like a bulldog.
“Oh, fine.” I snatched the file from her hand. “But if I end up killing him, then you’re responsible.”
“Thank you, Ally.” Joyce’s voice was pure NutraSweet.
I stormed from the office wondering which god I had offended to get this crap assignment.
Sissy had come home last night with hickeys tracking up and down her neck. To my disgust she said that she and Rocky had made up and he’d promised her he was going to divorce Darlene.
I had fought the temptation to get a gun and finish Rocky off so I wouldn’t have to hear for the one millionth time what a wonderful person he was for not pressing charges against her. This from the sleazebag who’d turned Sissy on to drugs, encouraged her to quit her job to sing with his band and who, upon occasion, took the back of his hand to her face.
Trying my best not to think about my sister, I got in my car and looked at my other patient file and discovered I’d been given Tim Kehaul, as well. While Cloverleaf is not huge, it’s not that small. Population seven thousand or thereabouts. What were the odds of me getting two of Sissy’s boyfriends to make home health visits to?
Rocky lived in a trailer park in Andover Bend. A particularly redneck community where the average IQ score hovered somewhere around my shoe size. Most of the people who lived there supplemented their welfare checks and unemployment income by fishing and raising vegetables to sell at a community roadside stand.
The road into Andover Bend was a narrow, one-lane affair. After a couple of miles the asphalt petered out where the county turned the road over to the development. I passed severalshotgun shacks with dirty-faced kids playing in the yard. Dust billowed behind my tires.
I wondered if they’d dismissed Rocky from the hospital with a saline well instilled in his arm or if I’d have to start one myself. The idea of prodding Rocky with a large bore needle was not entirely unpleasant.
Rounding the curve, I blew past the nine-hole golf course which was better maintained than most of the residences. Tanned guys with bellies overlapping their belts and beers clutched in their hands, maneuvered golf carts around the fairways.
The clubhouse was next and the community swimming pool, filled with kids on colorful floatation devices and mamas at poolside reading, tanning and gossiping.
Then the road arched toward the river. The farther I went, the grungier the houses grew. The area flooded frequently and since no one could afford to build to code, they couldn’t buy flood insurance. Water-level stains ringed the buildings, some waist high. The vehicles, parked in the driveways and on patches of bare lawn, were almost exclusively pickup trucks. And aged ones at that.
I crossed a small bridge so low to the ground it almost touched the water. Here, the Brazos looked swampy and brackish. Not like the healthy branch that flowed past my place.
The posted speed
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