The Homecoming (Thunder Point #6)(31)

“As fun as that sounds, I think I’m done here,” Troy said. “I’m sure the two of you will be fine. I’m going to stay and finish my beer. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of dinner.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Seth said. He raised his hand to flag a waiter. “You know what, Iris? You’ve always been very bossy.”

“Oh, Seth, I don’t think that’s true.”

He asked the waiter for the check and the young man shook his head. “Cliff says there’s no check for this table tonight, Deputy. We appreciate the help.”

Troy sat back and sipped his beer. “So, there is an advantage to sharing my date with you.”

“Yeah, well let’s not make it a habit, okay?” Seth stood and dug into his pocket. He fished a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to the waiter. “Tell him thanks, and here’s a little something for the tip bucket.”

Then with his ice on his lip, he escorted Iris out of the restaurant.

“Are you going to be good and follow me to the clinic?” she asked.

“What if I just drive out of town?” he asked.

“I’ll call your mother,” she threatened.

“You know, Iris, I had hoped to use this lip tonight....”

“Well, get over it, Seth. You didn’t have a hope of using it on me, so drive to the clinic and I’ll be right behind you. Then you can go home, where I hope you have some ice cream.”

Seven

Peyton’s car sat in front of the clinic—she’d beat them. The lights were on and the door was unlocked when they arrived. “Oh, boy, I bet that hurt. Do you have any loose teeth?” were her words of greeting.

“No,” Seth said.

“Well, if they don’t get punched out, they’ll usually tighten back up. Come on back. Iris, will you lock that door, please? And we’ll leave the Closed sign as it is.”

Seth followed Peyton and Iris followed Seth. Peyton led them to a room, the largest patient room, where there was an exam table, a sink and a cupboard that reached from floor to ceiling stuffed with supplies. It also came with two little kids in their pajamas. The boy was sitting on the doctor’s stool and the little girl was on the only chair in the room.

“Will and Jenny, what are you two doing in here?” Peyton asked. “You’re supposed to be in the lunch room.”

“Can we watch?” Jenny asked.

“If we’re quiet?” Will added.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking at Seth.

He shrugged.

“Okay. Seth, sit on the table for me. This isn’t going to take much. Or long. You’ll be done in ten minutes.” She put on a pair of rubber gloves and touched the laceration. “Not too bad. But it definitely needs a few stitches. Maybe five or six...”

“Six?” he asked loudly.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to clean it—just a little Betadine, a surgical disinfectant. Then I’ll put a couple of stitches on the inside where your teeth cut it and then a couple outside on your lip and skin. That way the wound won’t heal on top first and leave scar tissue underneath that will give your lower lip a misshapen look. A lump. You don’t want to look like you’re pouting for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t care,” he said, clearly pouting.

Iris crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. She was sending him a message not to be juvenile, but she had no confidence he was receiving it. Men were all alike in so many ways—he could take on a couple of big men who wouldn’t mind beating him to a pulp, but the idea of a few little stitches had him running scared.

Peyton put a drape around Seth and swabbed his lips with brownish-red liquid. Then she drew a syringe and Seth went completely pale. Iris wasn’t the only one who saw it. Everyone saw it.

“I’m just going to numb it,” Peyton said.

“Just a little stick,” Jenny said.

“Like a mosquito bite,” Will said.

“You know what?” Peyton said. “I’ll have a better angle if you lie down here. Go ahead, just lie down.” While she was talking, she was holding the syringe behind her back. She eased him back and suddenly snaked the syringe out. Holding his head down with one hand, she gave him a little stick with the other.

“Ouch!” he said.

She gave him two more sticks in a rapid movement, then pulled his lip out and gave him two more before he could complain. She put the syringe on a tray. “You’ll be out of here in a few minutes,” she said. Opening a sterile package containing her materials, she picked up a hemostat and touched Seth’s lip. “How is it? You feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Never mind. If you’ll just be still for another minute...” She picked up a curved needle with the hemostat and stitched—one, two, three—on the inside of his lip. She knotted and cut. Then one, two, three on the outside, knotted and cut. A small bandage was applied, she snapped off her latex gloves, all her accoutrements were tossed on the tray and covered with the drape that had protected his shirt. “You can remove that bandage in the morning. Be careful shaving. Come in and get the stitches out in seven to ten days. You’re good,” she said. Almost as an afterthought, she touched the scar on his cheek. “Whoever did this did a beautiful job.”