Free Urgent Care by C. J. Lyons Page A

about it. Want to trade places? Trey has me signed up for a cookie-baking marathon with his mother.”
    “It’d be different if I had a date. And”—Nora shook her head, a frown creasing her eyes—“getting all dressed up seems so frivolous after what happened today.”
    Lydia watched the expressions flit across Nora’s face. Something beyond Karen’s death was troubling her. Lydia wasn’t sure whether to push the issue or let it be.
    Nora solved the problem by standing up. “I’m going to look for that rape kit. It has to be around here somewhere.”
     
     
    AMANDA PULLED THE CURTAIN ASIDE AND WAS immediately struck by the delicate beauty of the girl sleeping in the bed beyond it. High cheekbones that would put even Gina’s to shame; an ebony complexion so dark it was almost blue; small, delicate hands with long fingers. Wow. And Narolie was only thirteen—wait until she came into her own as an adult.
    The girl was alone. She looked so peaceful that Amanda hated to wake her. But as Amanda approached, a spasm of pain contorted the girl’s face and she clutched her belly, arching up as if about to vomit. Amanda rushed to grab the emesis basin from the girl’s bedside, holding it at the ready.
    Sweat coated Narolie’s face as the pain racked her body. Then she relaxed and pushed the basin aside. “I’m okay,” she said in a strangled whisper, eyes still closed. “I’ll be okay.”
    “Narolie? I’m Amanda Mason. I’m here to see about getting you a bed upstairs so we can find out what’s wrong with you.”
    Narolie opened her eyes fully and turned her gaze to Amanda. “And heal me, yes? Please, I need to be healed. I have prayed and prayed and now you are here, the answer to my prayers.”
    Another wave of pain brought tears to the girl’s eyes as she clutched Amanda’s hand with crushing strength. “Please,” she repeated.
    “I’ll do the best I can,” Amanda vowed. After the spasm passed, she kept hold of Narolie’s hand. The girl was so young, so alone. “When did the pain begin?” she asked, settling in to take Narolie’s history.
    They’d barely begun when the curtain parted and a man in a dark blue suit entered. “I was told we have a mystery patient here,” he said, extending a hand for Narolie’s chart.
    Amanda held on to the chart and stood up. Before she could ask, he said, “I’m Dr. Frantz, and you, I believe, are Amanda Mason?”
    “Yes.” She stood up straighter. Dr. Frantz was one of the private pediatricians with attending privileges at Angels. He never let medical students or residents near his patients. And he never, ever saw clinic patients—his patients were the elite of Pittsburgh. “Can I help you?”
    “Actually, I think I can help you. The nurses said you were having a hard time getting an attending for your case.” He nodded at Narolie as if she were a lab specimen. “I’m here seeing one of my patients and while I’m waiting for a few consults, I thought I’d see if I could help out.”
    “Uh—sure, that would be great.” This wasn’t the Dr. Frantz she’d heard about—the man who called medical students “scut-monkeys” and residents “gorillas.” She handed him the chart. “This is Narolie. She began to experience dizziness, headaches, and vomiting—”
    “No need for the full history, I have it all right here.” He gestured with the chart, motioning for her to join him outside in the hall. “What’s your plan?”
    “Admit her for pain control, IV fluids, and further testing. CT should be ready for her shortly. If that’s negative, I’d like to also do an MRI, rule out any mass—”
    “Evidence of increased intracranial pressure on exam?”
    “Well, no, but—”
    “Then a brain tumor that wouldn’t be seen on CT is highly unlikely. I see she’s from Africa—stool studies?”
    “The clinic has already done them four times. No evidence of parasites. And she’s never had any diarrhea.”
    “Still, those can be pesky