Fools Rush in(93)

“I will.” I closed the door after her and looked at Sam. His face was pale, and he was favoring his right side. His expression was grim. “Did she get it about right?” I asked him, writing something—I know not what—on a paper. My own hands were shaking.

“Yeah, yeah, that was it. Not a huge deal. Just a punky kid.”

“He hit you with a tire iron?”

“Yup.”

I swallowed loudly.

“Millie, if you start crying, I’m going to strangle you. Just get the damn exam over with. The union says I have to be cleared by a doctor before I can go home. Can you just do that for me?”

“Why so ornery, Officer?” I asked, hoping to get a smile.

“Because my shoulder is killing me, damn it!” he yelled.

“All right, all right. Settle down. Jeez, you sound like my dad.”

“Is this your bedside manner, Millie? Because it sucks.” A ghost of a grin slipped across his face. I smiled back, though the smile wobbled.

“Okay, Officer,” I said. “Let’s get that shirt off and have a look.” I sounded like a  p**n o movie.

“You sound like a  p**n o movie,” Sam said, fumbling with his uniform buttons.

“Here, you jerk, let me help you.”

“Now that’s my Millie.”

Those words caused my throat to close with a muffled click. Eyes stinging from tears, I undid the buttons and gently tugged the shirt tails out of his pants, hoping that Sam didn’t notice my flushed face.

“Please stop crying,” my patient sighed.

“Sorry.” I slipped the shirt off his hurt shoulder, wincing as I did. White scars crisscrossed his skin from the surgery he’d had in college.

“I forgot this was your bad shoulder,” I whispered, biting my lip.

“Millie! Snap out of it and get me out of here.”

I jumped. “Right. Okay. It’s just that…you know, Sam. It’s you. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“Well, fix me up and get me home, then. For God’s sake.”

I was grateful for his irritation because if he hadn’t said that, I’d probably have sobbed out my love for him. I did snap out of it, gently examining his shoulder, moving it carefully to test for range of motion, extending his arm.

“Did you get hurt anywhere else?” I asked as I took his blood pressure on his good arm.

“No,” he said, looking steadily at me. We were only an inch or two apart, and suddenly the air seemed very thick.

I stepped back fast. “Okay. I don’t think it’s broken, but let’s x-ray you to be sure.”

I helped him off the table and over to the X-ray area, had him lie down in the appropriate positions. I didn’t usually do this part of an exam, but I knew how. I went through the steps and tapped a few keys at the computer. Sam sat up on the table and waited for the verdict as the images came up on the monitor.

“Nothing broken. Got a nasty bone bruise, though. And your old fractures are stable. See the screws there? You got lucky.”

“So what do you do for a bone bruise?” he asked.

“Motrin, a sling, no work for a week. I’m going to write you a scrip for Vicodin in case the Motrin isn’t enough.” I scrounged around the desk, looking for the prescription pad.

“Okay.” He groped at his shirt, trying to get it around him and onto his right side.

“Here, let me help you with that.” I reached around, slipping the sleeve gently onto Sam’s hurt arm, then buttoned him up carefully. My fingers seemed to be having trouble getting the job done. I eased the sling onto his arm and tightened the strap so it would be comfortable. Sam had grown very still. I glanced up at his face.

He was looking at me. Not over my shoulder, not at his shirt. At me. Then his eyes dropped down to my mouth. And then, very slowly, Sam leaned forward and kissed me, a gentle, soft kiss as if I were the most precious thing in the world. And when I didn’t pull back, he kissed me for real.

His good arm slipped around my waist, under my white doctor’s coat. His mouth was so warm and soft and fit against mine so perfectly that my knees softened in a rush. My brain stopped registering everything but Sam, his kiss, his warmth and his lean solidness, his arm pressing me closer against him.

“Holy motheragod!”

I leaped away as if I’d been electrocuted, jostling Sam’s bruised shoulder in the process. He winced, I winced, Ethel winced.

“Oh, shit on salad, I am so sorry! Fuck me! I’m leaving. Sam, don’t worry about anything, not that it looks like you are. Everything’s called in. Wellfleet PD caught the kids up near Moby’s. Lieutenant says just go home and he’ll call you tomorrow. Crap! I guess you don’t need a ride. Shit. Sorry.” Ethel gave a meaty cough and left. We listened to the cruiser squeal out of the parking lot at about thirty miles an hour.

Which left just Sam and me. His face said it all. He looked like a baby harp seal, freshly clubbed.

“Millie—”

I drew a shaking breath and pressed my fingers to my mouth. I tried to say something, but I couldn’t.

“Oh, Millie, I’m so sorry.” He, too, was breathing rather heavily. “Mil, say something. Please.”

What could I say? I was speechless, maybe for the first time in my life.