Free Petals on the Pillow by Eileen Rendahl

better.” She wiggled her fingers toward the door. “Come hold my hand, Betsy.”
    Kelly, eyes still closed, felt Betsy’s cold little fingers thread through hers and the girl’s smooth cheek against her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
    “Whatever for?” Kelly asked. “Because I’m too slow to get out of the way of an impending fistfight?”
    “Please don’t go,” Betsy begged.
    Kelly screwed open one eye, cringing again at the light. “No one’s going anywhere and no one’s blaming you, Betsy. It’s going to be fine.” She stroked the fine dark hair and was rewarded with a troubled little sigh.
    “Here, Dora,” Harrison said from behind Kelly. “I’ll deal with the ice. You go call Dr. McIntyre.”
    “I told you I don’t need a doctor, Harrison.”
    “And I told you that you’ll have one anyway. Think of it as a preventive measure on my part in case you decide to sue me.”
    “You think I’d sue you?” Kelly felt a nearly overwhelming desire to kick him in the shins, and might have if she thought she could have turned around without passing out again.
    “Not really,” he said dryly.
    “But—”
    “Kelly,” Harrison interrupted, “shut up for once.”
    So they sat and waited in silence until Dr. McIntyre came banging through the kitchen’s swinging doors, with Dora Jenkins scurrying behind him, almost exactly a half an hour later. By the time he arrived, the pounding in Kelly’s head had slowed to a dull throb, and the bright sunlight shining through the window over the big double sink no longer made her feel like a knife was being plunged into her brain.
    The doctor wasn’t exactly what Kelly had expected. Somehow she’d pictured the doctor for the little island as a kindly old gentleman with white hair and a cane. She certainly hadn’t anticipated seeing someone walk through the door, which Betsy had just been ushered out through, wearing chinos and a polo shirt and not looking any older than her own 26 years.
    “You’re sure you’re out of med school?” she asked as he peered into her eyes with a tiny light.
    “Positive,” Dr. McIntyre replied, not at all nonplussed.
    “It wasn’t one of those mail order things, was it?”
    “ Nope. Good ole U-Dub. Just a ferry ride away.” He circled around Kelly, probing her skull with his fingers. “Just a happy recipient of one of Mr. St. John’s special island scholarships.”
    “Island scholarship?”
    “Yep. He’ll pay your tuition as long as you promise to return to the island for at least five years after you’re done with your schooling.”
    “For everyone?”
    “No, but for quite a few. There’s an application process. Ms. Campbell oversees it.” McIntyre hummed as he flashed a pen- light into Kelly’s eyes. “He and Mrs. St. John used to take quite an interest in their scholarship students. Since she died, Ms. Campbell has taken it over. Not quite as personal, maybe, but it’s still a great deal.”
    “Very generous,” Kelly observed.
    “Also very pragmatic. He gets a very well-educated job force to choose from.” McIntyre continued to feel Kelly’s skull.
    “Ouch!” Kelly yelped as McIntyre found the spot where her head had connected with the stone pillar in Hawk Manor’s rotunda. He patted her shoulder and called Harrison back into the room.
    “Looks like a mild concussion,” he finally concluded. “So how exactly did this happen?
    Kelly and Harrison exchanged a long look. “It was, uh, an accident,” she said slowly. “I stumbled.”
    McIntyre looked back and forth between Kelly and Harrison. A frown creased his cherubic brow. He seemed about to speak then abruptly clamped his lips shut and shrugged. “As you wish, Ms. Donovan. Here’s the drill. Take it easy for the rest of the day. Rest, but no napping, please. Just as a precau tion, I don’t want you to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time tonight.”
    Kelly nodded. “I’ll set the alarm on my watch. It’ll go off every