Free Boo Hiss by Rene Gutteridge Page A

Ainsley, and in an exasperated voice said, “Cantaloupe.”
    “That’s right. Cantaloupe.” Melb crossed her arms. “With chocolate slivers on top.”
    The doorbell rang, and Oliver rushed to the door as Melb burst into tears.
    “Dr. Hoover,” Oliver said, pulling him in by the arm.
    Dr. Hoover had been retired for twenty years, but still made house calls to anyone nearby, usually at any time of the day or night. He lived twenty minutes away in the next county. He was a pretty good doctor by all accounts, except he had shaky hands, which, in some doctorly situations, could put terror into even the bravest soul.
    “Please don’t hurt me,” Melb whimpered. She was carefully eyeing the doctor’s bag.
    “Melb, Dr. Hoover is here to help you. Don’t you want to get better?” Oliver asked.
    “What are her symptoms?” Dr. Hoover asked him.
    “She’s completely irrational, crying all the time, blaming me for everything yet wanting me at her beck and call. Her fuse is the length of my thumbnail, and if I mention anything that can be construed in any way other than its original meaning, she lets me have it!” Oliver slapped a harried hand against his forehead.
    “Her symptoms, not her behavior,” the doctor suggested quietly.
    “Oh.” Oliver shifted his eyes and body away from Melb. In a more controlled manner he said, “And then there’s the nausea and the fatigue. She’s not running a fever, but she does have frequent headaches. And”— Oliver swallowed and looked hesitant—”and she seems to have developed a healthy appetite. And by healthy I mean humongous.”
    Dr. Hoover cautiously approached Melb. “Not one more step,” she said.
    “Melb, don’t you want to know what’s wrong with you? Don’t you want to feel better?” Dr. Hoover asked.
    “No,” she said, shuddering. “I just want to be left alone.”
    Ainsley stepped forward and sat on the couch with her, taking her hand. “We just all hate to see you this miserable. Dr. Hoover is a great doctor.”
    “And I promise, no shots,” he said.
    Melb looked suspicious, but it got her attention. She perused him with sharp eyes. “I’m deathly afraid of tongue depressors, and no, drawing a smiley face and making it do a little dance won’t help.”
    Dr. Hoover didn’t looked deterred. “What if I told you all I’m goingto use is this small plastic cup?” It appeared in his hand like a magic trick.
    “Are you going to fill it with chocolate milk?” Melb asked. “No. But I do have a sucker for you if you’ll be a good girl.” “Cherry?” Sure.
    Melb glanced at Oliver, then Ainsley, who nodded enthusiastically.
    Dr. Hoover opened his hand up and slowly reached toward Melb. She scowled at Oliver, looked worriedly at Ainsley, then slowly took the doctors hand. He helped her off the couch. “Lets go into your bedroom, and I assure you this won’t take longer than five minutes.”
    Melb nodded and followed the doctor down the hallway, glancing back once with wounded eyes at Oliver. When she was out of sight, Oliver let out a forceful sigh and turned to gather himself. He was mumbling and rubbing his feet against the floor.
    Ainsley stood, approached him, and patted his shoulder. “Oliver? Are you okay?”
    He gestured toward the hallway.
    “I know, I know. But she’ll be fine. She’ll see that Dr. Hoover is here to help her, and maybe he can figure out what’s wrong.”
    Oliver swiveled on his heel, and to Ainsley his face looked disproportionately terrified. “Are you okay?” she gasped.
    “You don’t understand,” he whispered.
    “Understand what?”
    “Melb’s fear of doctors is the least of my problems right now!” “What’s the matter?”
    He grew stiff as he gazed at the dark hallway that Melb and Dr. Hoover had just disappeared into. Then, in barely a whisper, he said, “See that door in the hallway?”
    “Sure. Where you keep the towels and the vacuum. Do you need me to get something?”
    He shook his head. “I