Free Secret Santa by Cynthia Reese Page A

can’t afford any more test strips. He ran out of the ones we gave him. And it doesn’t do any good, he says, because he can’t afford the insulin, either.”
    Shame coursed through Charli. Of course the man couldn’t afford test strips. Most likely, just like all the other patients she’d seen that evening, he worked for less than minimum wage and had a houseful of children to feed.
    “Does the clinic have any more test strips and insulin? He’s got to have a shot now. But he’ll need some to take home—after the hospital.”
    “You’re still going to send him to the hospital?” Louredes made it sound as though Charli was getting ready to deport him.
    “One night. He can leave in the morning. Tell him to go to the emergency room, that they can’t turn him down there. No, wait. Let me call.”
    She used her cell phone to call the hospital administrator, Walter Campbell, and explained the situation. “He needs help. One night won’t break us, and we’ll discharge him back to the clinic, and they can―”
    Louredes’s alarmed face stopped her from making too many promises, but Walter grabbed hold of the implied assurance. “One night. And don’t make this a habit!” he told her.
    “I’ll donate my care, so the hospital won’t have to bill the E.R. docs. And I’m faxing over a copy of the labs so the hospital won’t have to duplicate. Deal?”
    “Deal. What are you doing there, anyway?”
    She was taken aback by the question. “They were in a jam.”
    “Ha! They’re always in a jam. If you want to donate your time, you can start right here. We’re open to any volunteer hours you can give. You know how Lige is always going on about how tight our budget is.”
    It was delivered in a “just joking” way, but Charli heard the bite in his words.
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” she told him.
    “Oh, and, Dr. Prescott? I wouldn’t advertise the fact you’re donating care to the community clinic. Your paying patients wouldn’t cotton to subsidizing other people’s medical care. Folks are real sensitive about that around here these days,” he told her.
    “My goodness. Thanks for the warning.” She hung up before the odious little man could give her any more words of wisdom—or her sarcasm could get her in hotter water.
    Once Louredes had translated the deal Charli had worked out, and that she was personally treating him at no charge while he was in the hospital, the man’s face lit up.
    “¡Madre mia!” he burst out, and he followed it with several sentences of Spanish she couldn’t understand, along with much gripping of hands and many, many repetitions of “¡Gracias!”
    The day done and the patient packed off to the hospital, Charli sagged in her squeaky chair. Louredes beamed at her, as though Charli had sprouted a halo or an S on her chest.
    “You are incredible!” the woman said. “I can’t believe you stayed so long! And you’re such a good doctor!”
    “You buttering me up for another run?” Charli’s stomach rumbled. It surprised her, because, really, she wasn’t in the mood to eat. Maybe she should stop for a pizza on the way home.
    Louredes dipped her head a little. “No. I hate to say it, but this is really like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. A big donation fell through. Unless we get a miracle, we’ll have to close the doors on January 1.”
    “What?” Charli thought about the huge number of people she’d seen that evening, patients who’d had no money, no insurance and nowhere else to go for care. “Closed? What happened to your grant?”
    “It wasn’t a grant, exactly.... The donor who’d said he’d help... He can’t now.” Louredes busied herself with cleaning up the exam room.
    “Who was the donor? Maybe I can talk to him. Or maybe there’s someone else?”
    Louredes closed the cabinet door and stared at the painted wood as if trying to decide what to say. “I don’t think so. I mean, who’s got a cool hundred thousand dollars lying