Free What Matters Most by Gwynne Forster

office, you have ice cream.”
    “Yes, I did. I remembered that you like raspberry. It’s my favorite, too. Where do you hurt?” She pointed to her chest, and he took out his stethoscope and examined her. “Does it hurt especially when you cough?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He knew she had a fever, but he took her temperature nonetheless. “Well, Midge, I have to give you some medicine, and it comes in a needle. It didn’t hurt much the last time, did it?”
    “No, sir, but can I have the ice cream first?”
    “Absolutely.” He gave it to her and prepped her arm while her eyes gleamed in anticipation of enjoying her favorite treat. After giving Midge the antibiotic and taking her temperature, he gave the thermometer to her mother and showed her how to use it. “She’s at a hundred and one degrees. It should drop now. If it doesn’t, or if it climbs the slightest bit, call me.” He handed her his card. “We’ll have to work out a plan for her. In the meantime, give her two of these tablets every four hours and one of these vitamin compounds each morning at breakfast. If she’s feeling well enough, bring her to my office tomorrow during office hours.”
    He gave Midge the other cup of ice cream, patted her hand, turned to leave and stopped. Alice Hawkins trembled and tears cascaded down her face. “Now, now, Mrs. Hawkins. Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.”
    The woman shook her head. “You’re the only doctor who’s ever been in this apartment. Doctors don’t visit the sick, Dr. Ferguson. When I called, I just wanted to ask you what I could do for Midge, and when Miss Sparks said you’d come if I needed you and asked me if I wanted you to come here, I almost said no. I won’t even try to thank you. You know I don’t have any money and no insurance. I don’t want public assistance, so we live off what I can make with bake sales, but with Midge so sick these past few days, I haven’t been able to bake a thing.”
    Her eyes nearly doubled in size when he gave her two twenty-dollar bills. But he quickly explained. “Ms. Sparks orders four cranberry scones and four doughnuts—two plain and two chocolate—every Tuesday and every Thursday, and we’d as soon have you as our supplier.”
    “I’ll do that gladly, Doctor, but I can’t let you pay me, not after the way you’ve been taking care of Midge for nothing.”
    “Put it in Midge’s piggy bank, then. I refuse to take it back. See you tomorrow night.”
     
    The following day, Thursday, he arrived at the South Baltimore office a few minutes before five o’clock, having decided to keep his emotions in check where Melanie was concerned. That morning, he had performed a difficult operation that had exhausted him so much he canceled his Bolton Hill office hours and went home to rest.
    As he opened the door of an examining room, having told the patient to dress and come to the office, he noticed a young boy whose age he estimated to be around nine come into the waiting room carrying a baseball bat as if it were buried treasure.
    “Ms. Sparks, can I see Dr. Ferguson?” he heard the boy say.
    “All right,” she told him, “but he has a patient. He can see you in half an hour or so. How are you feeling?”
    “Oh, I’m not sick anymore, but I want to see Dr. Ferguson.”
    Jack went into the waiting room. “What may I do for you?” he asked the boy, looking down at the sketch pad in the boy’s hands. He recognized the beginnings of real talent. “Nice drawings.”
    “Thanks. I guess you don’t remember me, sir. My grandmother—actually, she’s my great-grandmother—told me you saved my life. She said everybody at the hospital ignored her but you. I brought you this.” The boy handed him the baseball bat. “My name is Tommy.”
    Jack scrutinized first the boy and then the bat. “Oh yes, I remember you, Tommy, but I can’t accept this. It’s very valuable.”
    “I know that, sir. Derek Jeter signed it for me one day when it was raining, and you