LITMIR.BIZ

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shrugged. “Since both ambulances were tied up and it’s only three blocks, I brought her in.”

      Anne quirked a brow and looked past him to the parking lot. “What’s the situation?”

      “I’m not sure. Caucasian female. Around nine or ten years old. Can’t put my finger on it, but she’s lethargic and she smells funny.”

      “Drugs or alcohol?”

      “She’s a baby, and this is Paradise,” Sam objected.

      “Yes, and in a perfect world I wouldn’t be asking you that. You’re much too nice to be sheriff. You’ve got to get a little more cynical, like me.”

      “My deputy would argue that point with you. He says I need to lighten up.”

      She laughed. “Do you have a name for your admission?”

      “No ID on her. She was with a black Lab whose collar says he’s Stanley. They’re both sleeping in my car. I’m taking the dog over to the vet’s to board and check the tag registration.”

      “Why was a nine-year-old wandering around Paradise alone?” Anne mused. “I mean, where are her parents?”

      “Must be tourists because I’ve never seen her or the dog before.”

      She shook her head and walked to the left of the admissions counter where a row of wheelchairs was neatly parked. “Okay, let’s get your Jane Doe in here.”

      An hour later and Anne was recalling Sam’s advice about more prayer being needed on a Thursday.

      She sat on a leather stool next to an emergency room bed while the girl Sam had brought in dozed. Anne flipped open the chart. Her stomach growled and she ignored the plea for sustenance, instead choosing to spend her lunch break with her youngest patient. The kid would be terrified if she woke up in a hospital all alone. Anne knew that feeling all too well.

      The night she’d lost her both of her parents in a car accident remained etched in her mind forever. It was probably the reason she had chosen a career in medicine. The kindly nurse who had stayed with her in the hospital that night had made a huge impact on her. Now it was Anne’s turn to return the favor.

      A preliminary glucose check on the girl showed elevated levels higher than the meter could read. Anne monitored the child’s neuro status closely as they awaited lab results.

      All indications were that the girl was well fed and cared for. Her jeans and shirt were clean, as was her long tawny-brown hair, parted neatly down the middle. So why was she sleeping on a public bench in the middle of the day? Alone. And who was she? What was her story?

      The girl opened her eyes wide and immediately began fiddling with her hospital identification band and then with the IV tubing attached to her arm.

      “Careful,” Anne said gently. “We need that line. That’s how we give you medicine.”

      The round honey-colored eyes stared through Anne as though she wasn’t there.

      “Can you tell me your name?” Anne asked.

      “Claire” was the girl’s thick reply. Her lids fluttered closed as though she had no more energy, her long lashes resting on pale skin accented by a sprinkling of light freckles. Rounded cheeks held the last evidence of childhood baby fat.

      “Your last name?”

      “Griffin.”

      “How old are you, Claire?”

      “Nine.” She blinked. “Where am I?”

      “In the hospital.”

      Claire’s eyes widened. “Am I going to die?”

      “No. You’re going to get better and go home. Can you tell me what happened today?”

      The girl swallowed, as if her tongue was thick, but didn’t answer.

      Leaning forward, Anne offered her chilled water from a plastic cup with a straw. The girl eagerly drank and then leaned back again.

      Anne lowered her face closer to the bed. “Claire, what happened today?” she repeated softly.

      “I took Stanley for a walk and then I started feeling funny. So I sat down on the bench. I feel better now.” She raised her head and glanced around. “Where’s Stanley?” The whispered words were laced with panic.

      “Stanley is fine. He’s at the vet’s. They’re taking good care of him.”

      Claire’s head sank back against the pillow.

      “I need to contact your mother,” Anne said.

      One by one, a silent trail of tears rolled down Claire’s cheek. She didn’t wipe at them. It was as though she didn’t even realize they were there.

      Tightness pressed Anne’s chest as she waited for the words she didn’t want to hear.

      “My mother is... She died,” she said, her voice heavy and slow.

      Oh, Lord. Not this little girl, too?

      “I’m so sorry,” Anne murmured, knowing the words were ineffectual at best. Before her brain registered what she was doing, she reached out to hold Claire’s free hand and give it a squeeze. “My momma died when I was your age.”

      “Maybe they’re in heaven together,” Claire whispered.

      Anne nodded, surprised yet pleased at the words.

      The girl was silent, as though considering the possibility.

      “Where’s your father, Claire?”

      “Call Delia. I stay with Delia during the day. She lives on Maple Street by the church.”

      A knock on the door to the exam room preceded Marta’s entrance. Anne stood and joined Marta in the hall, leaving the door ajar so she could watch Claire.

      “Labs?” Anne asked.

      Marta nodded. “Tox screen came back negative. Blood alcohol negative. Glucose six hundred.”

      Anne shook her head. “Thanks, Marta. Tell Nelson we need insulin dosing ASAP.”

      “Done. He’s on the way.”

      “You’re good,” Anne commented.

      “I sit at the feet of the master.” Marta quietly chuckled as Anne slipped back into the room.

      “Claire, has anyone ever told you that you’re diabetic?”

      “I don’t know what that is.”

      “You haven’t been to the doctor recently?”

      “No. There’s nothing wrong with me. I never get sick.”

      “Phone for you, Anne,” Juanita called from the open doorway.

      Anne stood.

      “No. Don’t go.” Claire voice was laced with panic and she reached out a hand to stop Anne, her fingers clinging to the scrub shirttail.

      Juanita lifted her brows.

      “I’ll be right back. I promise.” Anne held the girl’s hand for a moment and smiled.

      “She likes you,” Juanita said, confusion in her eyes as she glanced from the bed to Anne.

      “Thanks for the vote of confidence there, pal,” Anne returned.

      “The kids usually bond with Marta. She’s the mothering type. That’s all I’m saying.”

      Anne’s head swiveled to Juanita. “Excuse me?”

      “Sorry, boss. I just meant...”

      “This one has been through a rough time. I can relate. She reminds me of myself at her age.”

      “Now you’re going to try

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