Free Monday's Child by Patricia Wallace Page A

smile.
    He took a prescription pad out of the pocket of his lab coat, and in the process dislodged a stethoscope which he managed to catch before it hit the floor.
    “I’m going to give you a prescription for an iron supplement for Jill,” he said, not missing a beat, “and I want you to make sure she takes it. She’ll need to be examined by your family doctor in about two weeks, to make sure we’re on the right track here, that we’re not missing anything.”
    “You mean, it could be something else? Other than her diet?”
    “It could be.”
    She watched him as he wrote out the prescription. She kept silent until he’d finished and was tearing the sheet off the pad. “Dr. Costa, what else could it be?”
    He gave her a stern look. “I don’t want you imagining the worst.”
    “I won’t—”
    “Mrs. Baker, I think both of you will do better if you’re not worrying. Believe me.”
    What choice did she have?
     
     
     

Sixteen
     
    “Are you finished?”
    Jill nodded, putting the cover over the plate and pushing the bed table away. She’d been sitting cross-legged while she ate, and now stretched her legs out. “Can I go home?”
    “As soon as you get dressed.” The nurse pulled the panels of the yellow curtain together. “Do you need any help?”
    “I’ve been dressing myself for a long time,” Jill said archly.
    “Of course.” The nurse went to the counter where Jill’s clothes were neatly folded and brought them to her. “Call me if you need anything.”
    Jill waited until the nurse had gone before reaching behind her neck to untie the hospital gown. She let it slip down her arms and shivered at the feel of cool air on her bare skin. Gooseflesh rose and she rubbed her arms, careful not to dislodge the small circular bandage in the crook of her right elbow.
    They’d taken her blood.
    She hadn’t much liked that.
    She touched the bandage gently and thought she could feel where the lab lady had stuck her with the needle. She bent her arm cautiously, imagining the blood spurting from the wound.
    It had taken three tries to get the blood—”You have such tiny veins,” the lady had said—and her arm was tender. Afterwards, the lady had volunteered to draw a happy face on the bandage and to “kiss and make it better,” but she’d refused both offers.
    Now she cradled her right elbow in her left hand and lifted her arm so that she could kiss the sore place. Her skin still smelled of the alcohol swab.
    Jill wrinkled her nose.
    Blood smelled better, she thought.
    She pulled her blue sweater over her head and put her arms through the sleeves. She’d never noticed before how the sleeves bunched around her elbows, and she winced at the feel of the knit material pressing on her wound. She straightened her arm and readjusted the sleeve, but every time she bent her elbow, the sleeve accordioned.
    After a moment’s reflection, Jill pushed the offending sleeve up her arm, past the elbow.
    “That’s better.”
    She wriggled into her jeans and was reaching for her shoes when the curtain was drawn back again.
    The doctor seemed to fill the cubicle.
    “What’s this?” He came to the bedside and ruffled her hair, not noticing when she smoothed it. “Need a hand, missy?”
    “No.” She tied the laces of her tennis shoe.
    “At these prices, the least I can do is tie one of those for you.” He took her stockinged foot and slipped it into the shoe. “Cinderella, I presume?”
    Jill watched him draw the laces tight, make a lop-sided bow and tie it off.
    “Your mother’s signing you out.” He winked at her. “It’s a pretty ransom you’ve fetched, but then, you’re a very pretty little girl.”
    As the doctor walked with her past the other beds, she saw Miss Appleton. Her teacher appeared to be asleep although the same lady who’d taken Jill’s blood was now taking hers.
    Jill slowed, watching with fascination as dark red blood welled into a large glass vial.
    The doctor, his big hand on her