Free Different Paths by Judy Clemens Page A

turned her frown toward Lucy. “Nope. Last I heard was yesterday. My truck’s totaled.”
    I thought of my visit with Willard. “So no information about the guy who did it?”
    “Nope. They don’t seem to know anything about him at all.”
    “Except,” said Lucy, “that he is definitely not a gentleman.”
    Neither Carla nor I argued with that.

Chapter Twelve
    There were no irate men in Dr. Peterson’s waiting room this time, and we were immediately sent back to her office. Lucy wheeled me in, and stayed. I guess she was afraid I’d cry when I heard the results of the x-ray.
    Dr. Peterson swiveled her computer monitor around so we could see it. “Straight metatarsal fracture.”
    I looked at her, then back at the x-ray. “Huh?”
    She smiled. “That’s good news. It’s a non-displaced break. Nothing is out of alignment. Just fractured. Which means it should heal easily and I can do a walking cast right here in the office.”
    A cast. I must’ve looked upset, because she added, “You’ll be able to get back to work in a day or two. With some restrictions, of course.”
    I didn’t say anything, because whatever came out wouldn’t be nice.
    “So,” Dr. Peterson said to Lucy, “if you could please wheel her out and into exam room three. I think I have an old pair of sweats in my trunk she can use.”
    She did, and I was soon wearing them, my jeans folded into a Landis’ Supermarket bag.
    After I was situated on the exam table, Lucy looking anxious, like she might need to hold my hand, Dr. Peterson got to work rolling an elastic stocking type thing onto my foot, and then wrapping it in batting.
    “I didn’t know you were a quilter,” I said. “With the batting and all. Can I pick the colors?”
    It was supposed to be funny, but Dr. Peterson—now in full doctor mode—didn’t laugh. I watched as she finished up with the padding, then filled a bag of something with warm water. She mushed it around a bit, then emptied out some of the water before pulling out a roll of sticky material.
    “This is the cast,” she said. “So hold still while I wrap it around.”
    I wasn’t about to disobey. She was scary when she became “The Doctor.”
    I watched the top of her head as she worked. “So what’s up with the angry patients in the waiting room?”
    There was a hitch in her movements, but she didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”
    I glanced at Lucy, and she gave a brief shake of her head. I chose to ignore it. “While we were waiting some guy came in. Threw a hissy fit because your dad’s not working today. Your receptionist said it wasn’t the first time.”
    Dr. Peterson finished up the roll of material and added water to another bag. She squished it around, let out the water, and pulled out a new roll. “My dad’s retiring. He figures he’s put a good forty-five years into this practice, he deserves some time off. So he’s been weaning the patients off of him. He hardly has office hours anymore. Saturday mornings. Some Mondays, to help when it’s really busy.”
    “And the patients?”
    “Aren’t taking it well.” She bent back over my leg and began wrapping. “The men I guess I can understand. It’s embarrassing for them to come to me. They’re men, after all, and I’m a young woman.” She gave me a quick grin. “Relatively young, anyway. They feel strange talking to me about their physical problems. The women…I thought they’d be glad. You know, to have a female as their doctor. The younger women are fine. No problems with them. But the older ones? They’re almost as bad as the men. If not worse. They act like I’m a little girl and there’s no way I can know as much as my father.” She smacked the end of the roll onto my calf.
    I jumped. “Hey!”
    “Sorry. It gets to me.”
    Lucy clicked her tongue. “I can see why.”
    I held out a hand, palm out. “Just don’t take it out on me.”
    “I said I was sorry.”
    The cast material was already beginning to harden.