information. That thought seemed too heinous for serious contemplation.
Susan stared at her Vox, driven to call John Calvin and straighten out the situation as swiftly and decisively as possible. In the end, logic won out over impatience. It made far more sense to wait for a face-to-face confrontation, where she could read his every expression and prevent him from disengaging until she had her answers.
For now, Susan Calvin returned her attention to her palm-pross and to her patients’ diagnoses and histories, hoping no emergencies cropped up during the night. It seemed the one advantage of starting her residency on a chronic ward with numerous rigid protocols. She would, almost certainly, get a full and good night’s sleep.
As Susan expected, the other R-1s came in early the following morning to cram their patients’ charts before Dr. Bainbridge arrived for morning rounds. Later in the month, the chain of command would go in the opposite direction, but for now, the residents remained mostly silent as the nurses made tactful “suggestions” for changing orders and ways to handle patients they already knew well.
Having done her patient research the previous night, Susan found time to make brief visits to her charges. She began with Monterey Zdrazil, knocking on the child’s door. As expected from a traumatic mute, Susan received no answer. She edged the door open a crack and peeked inside to make certain she had not caught the girl in an inconvenient stage of dress.
Skinny and chalky white, the twelve-year-old sat in bed, her back rigid against the headboard. She wore her brown hair short, hacked into a functional, masculine style. Dressed in a red T-shirt with a rainbow motif and faded blue jeans, she stared solemnly at the far wall, which was decorated with a collage of colorful get-well cards and children’s drawings.
Uncertain how to approach such a child, Susan smiled broadly. “Hey, Monterey!” Realizing she had just rhymed, she carried it further. “What do you say? How’s your day?”
Monterey’s hazel eyes rolled toward Susan, but she did not speak. That did not surprise Susan; the girl had not said a word in more than six years. The doctors had tried a myriad of medications and combinations, play therapy, group therapy, regression therapy, and others. Her single mother had subscribed to special diets, spinal manipulation, herbal remedies, and other desperate measures, all without result. Susan had not expected an instant breakthrough.
“I’m Dr. Susan Calvin. You’re my very first patient, Monterey, which makes you extra special to me. If there’s anything I can do to make you feel better, you just let me know, okay?”
Monterey only stared.
“Now,” Susan continued, catching herself about to ask if Monterey would mind an examination. Susan realized she had best avoid phrasing things as questions that she planned to do anyway, in case the children answered “no.” “I’m going to look you over a little bit. If you have a problem with that, let me know.” Susan took her stethoscope off her neck and headed toward Monterey, who made no protest. The R-1 listened to the girl’s heart, lungs, and abdomen, finding nothing amiss. A flashlight shined in the eyes revealed normal pupillary function. Reflexes responded appropriately, liver and spleen were the proper sizes, and Monterey was closing in on the fourth Tanner stage of pubertal development. Susan hoped someone had explained menstruation to her, because it would be coming soon.
Susan put her penlight back in her pocket and slung her stethoscope across her neck. “Great. You’re a normal almost-teenager, except you don’t sass your mother enough. If you’re going to develop into a proper teen, you have to practice your sarcasm, eye rolling, and door slamming.”
Susan thought she saw a ghost of a smile cross Monterey’s face, but the girl did not speak.
Susan waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, don’t worry. You’ll get it. We all do.” With that, she exited the room and headed to visit the second patient on her list.
She found Dallas Moore sitting in the common room with several other boys, watching a video on the enclosed screen. She recognized him at once, the only African-American in the group. He had close-cropped hair and pudgy cheeks. He looked younger than his ten years, notably short for his age, and as round as a basketball. Legs like tree trunks jutted from his shorts, the skin ashy dry and in need of lotion. He breathed loudly, almost snoring, though clearly wide-awake.
“Dallas Moore?” Susan asked.
The deep brown eyes darted toward her. “Call me Diesel.”
“Diesel, okay.” Susan remembered seeing the nickname on the sheet Stony Lipschitz had given her. “I’m Susan Calvin, your new doctor.”
The boy nodded, clearly more interested in the television screen than in her. “Hopefully, I’ll be out of here before you are.”
Susan smiled. “That is precisely my plan. You mind if I examine you?”
“Here?”
Susan chuckled. “In your room. I can wait until after the movie, if you prefer.”
“Thanks.” Diesel’s gaze went back to the screen.
Susan left him there and started looking for her other charges. She expected to find Sharicka first. The only preschooler in the mix, she ought to stand out jarringly. Instead, Susan found a girl standing in clear confusion, as if she had just awakened in an unfamiliar body in a strange location. She shuffled a few steps, stopped, and looked around with her brow furrowed. She went to take another step, staggered, and fell.
A nurse ran toward her, but Susan arrived first. “Here, let me help you.” She took the girl’s hands and gently helped her to her feet. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” The girl clung to Susan’s arm, her fingers like ice cubes. “I get dizzy sometimes. And confused. But I’m all right now.”
The description sounded familiar. “Would you happen to be Starling Woodruff?”
“Yep, that’s me.” The girl sounded shaken. “Would you mind helping me to my room?”
“Not at all,” Susan said. “Which way?”
Starling pointed down the back corridor. Knowing the doors had patient names on the jambs, Susan headed in the indicated direction, reading as she went. She found Diesel’s room, then, two doors down, Starling’s.
“I’m Dr. Susan Calvin, Starling. I’m your new resident physician.”
“Of course,” Starling said. “First of the month.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Which month?”
“July.” Susan helped Starling to her bed. “And it’s the third. The first was a Sunday, and I got here too late to bother you yesterday.” As Starling let go, the frigidness of her touch remained, engrained on Susan’s flesh. “Your hands are really cold.”
“They always are.” Starling leaned her back against the wall. “Feet, too. I suppose you want to examine me?”
Susan closed the door. “If you don’t mind.”
Starling made a gesture to indicate she did not.
Susan performed a slightly more thorough exam on Starling, including a check of all four lower extremity pulses. She had just finished confirming Starling’s cold feet when someone knocked on the door. Susan made sure Starling’s body was appropriately covered before answering. “Yes?”
Kendall Stevens pushed the door open a crack. “Time for rounds, Calvin.”
“Excuse me,” Susan said to Starling. “Will you be all right now?”
“I’m fine.” Starling rose carefully, walked to her shelf, and pulled down a Nancy Drew book. “I’ll just sit here and read for a bit.”
Susan headed out the door. “Do you want it open or closed?”
Starling nestled back on the bed, book in hand. “Open, please.”
Susan left the door open, then trotted to the staffing room, where she could just see Kendall’s back disappearing. As she rounded the corner, she noticed all of the R-1s sitting in chairs along with Clayton, the R-2. Stony perched on the edge of a desk, and Dr. Bainbridge sat on another, looking around the clustered group. The nurses hovered on the fringes, working and listening simultaneously.
Dr. Bainbridge addressed Stony. “Are they all here?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bainbridge nodded briskly. “Let’s start with . . .” His gaze wandered over the group and landed back on the R-3. “Which one took call last night?”
