Free Disaster Status by Candace Calvert Page A

taking water samples not far from there. The river runs to the ocean, you know.”
    “Ah,” Leigh said as empathetically as she could. Deep breath . . . Patience, patience. “And exactly what kind of fish did you eat last night?”
    “Rock cod. Battered and deep fried. And clams. We had our five children over for the annual Alton fish fry. The neighbors too. You’ve never seen so much food—homemade onion rings, buttered garlic bread, cheese fondue, Boston cream pie. Oh, please, it’s really hurting again.” She squirmed on the bed, her skin paling. “And it’s aching in my back now, up in my shoulder blade.” She clutched at the gown over her right breast. “It’s just like that pain I had a few years ago. Oh, Doctor, please help me.”
    “Nice slow breaths.” Leigh lifted her stethoscope away from the woman’s abdomen. “Did you say you’ve had this pain before?” And didn’t tell me or the triage nurse?
    “Oh yes. From my gallstones. I have one of them at home in a little jar.”
    Leigh nodded, trying not to imagine how someone would display a gallstone. HGTV would cringe. But the old med school gallbladder aphorism certainly fit here. The five Fs: fair, fat, forty, female, and fertile. Elaine Alton embraced them all with gusto—and a side of coleslaw.
    The privacy curtain parted a few inches, and Arlene, the admitting office clerk, peeked in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Stathos, but you have a phone call on line one. It’s—”
    “I know who it is,” Leigh interrupted before Arlene could reveal the details. “I’ve been expecting this . . . consultation.” With the stable manager about my horse . It wasn’t a complete lie. “Transfer the call to my office and ask them to hold for a few moments, would you? I’m going to order some medication for Mrs. Alton’s pain and nausea, and then I’ll take the call.”
    Leigh exhaled softly, realizing that her call to Beachview Stables had little to do with serious concern over Frisco’s health; the boarding stable drew its water from a tank filled prior to the accidental pesticide spill. And the big bay gelding was strong and healthy and completely full of himself these brisk spring mornings. No, this call to the stables was more about a connection to the peaceful, pastoral world that was Leigh’s respite from the turmoil of her chaotic work . . . and her wounded heart. It had become a lifeline. After the events of the last twenty-four hours, she needed it more than ever.
    In less than three minutes she was reaching for the phone, already imagining the sweet scent of alfalfa and pine shavings, the low snuffling of the stabled horses, and the chirps of barn swallows nesting in the rafters. Except that it wasn’t the stable manager on the other end of the line. It was . . . Nick. Leigh’s heart slammed against her ribs at the sound of her husband’s voice.
    “Leigh?” he repeated, his voice low and sleepy as if he were a rookie coming off a bruising night shift. She could almost see his sleep-tousled black hair, those heavy-lidded brown eyes, and the dark shadow of beard stubble. “Are you there?”
    “Yes.” She reached past her knitting tote and grabbed a bottle of water, hating that he had this effect on her. Still had the ability to turn her world upside down and fill it with a toxic mix of anger, pain, and hopelessness. There is no hope for us. “But I’m busy. Why are you calling?”
    “I—hold on a minute.” There was a muffling of the phone as if he’d pressed it to his shoulder and then whispered voices, one deep and one very insistent . . . and unmistakably feminine.
    She’s there with him? Leigh’s stomach lurched until the familiar anger rose to shield her, like Nick’s police-issue vest that had hung in the closet next to her scrubs for three long years. Thick, insulating anger. It was all she had. “No,” she said after taking a sip of her water, “I won’t hold on. I can’t.”
    “Wait, please.”