Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(13)

He looked up, and his eyes narrowed with challenge. He almost dared me to continue, and I was happy to defy his warning.

"You have a good woman, and you treat her like this?" I said from between gritted teeth. "Do you enjoy hitting a woman?"

He didn't answer.

I had the attention of everyone in the waiting area, which was what I wanted.

"She deserved it. The bitch's got a mouth on her."

"And I've got a temper," I said and shocked myself by grabbing his collar and lifting him off the ground so that he stood on the tips of his toes. I knew I might be asked to leave the clinic for pulling this stunt, but at the moment I didn't care. He had a wife and chose to mistreat her, while I would've given anything to have Hannah back.

"You're a little man," I spat out. "You hit your wife again and I will personally see to it that you're sorry. Do I make myself clear?" I carefully enunciated each word so there'd be no doubt in his mind that I was serious.

He fought to break my hold, but I had a firm grasp on his collar.

"Do we understand each other?" I asked, shoving him against the wall.

He managed to nod, which wasn't easy, seeing that I had his shirt wadded up to the point that he could hardly breathe.

"Good." I glared at him, our faces so close our noses practically touched.

"Dr. Everett." Mimi Johnson, who ran the clinic, had her hand on my arm. She repeated my name again and then a third time.

I didn't know how long she'd been standing there or what else she'd said.

Reluctantly, I released Kenny, but maintained my stance, glaring at the other man, letting him know I wasn't backing down. He, on the other hand, couldn't get away from me fast enough.

The piece of scum brought his hand to his throat as if he'd been in mortal danger of being choked to death. If he hurt Shamika again, I'd have no qualms about making sure he suffered. I doubted Shamika would press charges against him. I'd seen this type of situation far too often; bullies and abusers rarely got the punishment they deserved.

Under normal circumstances, I'm not a violent man, but my limit had been reached. I wanted Kenny to feel embarrassed and humiliated and at the same time I was fairly confident that he understood there'd be consequences if I ever heard of him hitting this woman again. I'd make sure a police report was filed, but it wouldn't do much good unless Shamika pressed charges.

We scowled at each other and then he turned and fled the room, slamming the door behind him.

Mimi asked me to come into her office, which I did. Needless to say, the lecture that followed was completely justified. I listened and nodded at the appropriate times. My job wasn't to judge, but to treat the sick and injured to the best of my ability. It was up to the authorities to handle cases of domestic violence. And it definitely wasn't my place to take matters into my own hands.

"Do you understand?" Mimi asked.

"Yes." Although I couldn't guarantee it wouldn't happen again.

"If this aggressive behavior is repeated," Mimi warned, "I'm going to have to suggest that you might not be an appropriate fit for our clinic."

I said nothing.

"Do you need to leave? Shall I call for a replacement?"

"I'll behave," I assured her like a repentant youngster.

"Good." She sighed with relief.

We both knew it would be difficult to find a replacement, especially at the last minute like this.

I finished the shift without incident and left with barely a word to Mimi and the others. As I pulled into the driveway, I was shocked anew by my own behavior. In all my years in the medical field, I'd never once stepped over the line the way I had that evening. It was time to bow out. Mimi realized it and I did, too. I'd send a letter of resignation on Monday.

Inside the house, I tossed my car keys on the counter and then sat on the edge of the sofa. "I lost it," I told Hannah. "I just lost it." Kenny deserved everything I'd said and done, and in that sense I didn't regret it. However, I'd been called upon to treat the sick and injured--nothing less and certainly nothing more.

Generally, I picked up something to eat on my way home from the clinic. But I hadn't thought of food all evening, although I hadn't eaten since noon. My stomach growled.

I located a can of soup, heated that and ate it over the kitchen sink. When I finished I set down the bowl and just stood there. I was still angry. My hands became clenched fists.

"I can't do it anymore," I told Hannah.

How I missed her. How I needed her. She would've been horrified by the regular attacks on Shamika and concerned about my uncharacteristic loss of control. Undoubtedly she would've found the perfect words to comfort me and ease my mind.

But Hannah wasn't here. She never would be again and I'd need to deal with instances like this on my own. I'd acted foolishly. But while I regretted cracking, I didn't regret threatening that wife-beater.

It was midnight before I'd calmed down enough to go to bed, but sleep didn't come. After tangling the sheets, rolling one way and then the other, I decided to sit up and read. That didn't help, and in an act of pure desperation, I reached for the photo of Hannah. It was one of my favorites--she was walking in an open field, carpeted with blooming wildflowers. I'd taken it on a day trip to Hurricane Ridge several years before. I kept the framed photograph by my bedside and now I set it on the pillow next to mine.