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Her half-smile, the first since he’d asked her about being an EMT, sent a cool wave of relief flooding through his veins. A moment later, she clapped a hand over her mouth to hide a yawn. “Sorry, I haven’t eaten in, well, I’m not sure... I think I had some coffee...” She trailed off and swayed on her feet.
“We’ll get out of here and let you get some sleep.” He moved toward the living area, meaning to call to Dylan, but stopped at the sight of his son stroking a worn-out Gen’s silky ears while she snored beside him.
“It’s fine,” Abby reassured him through another yawn.
“C’mon, Dylan, let’s let Abby and Gen get some rest.”
“Awww, Dad, do we have to?” Dylan whined. “I like it here.”
Abby flopped onto the couch beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and resting one hand on Gen’s delicate head. “Tell you what, Dylan. You are welcome here anytime.If,” she glanced back at Scott, “you have your dad’s permission.”
“Promise?”
Abby held out her little finger. “Pinky swear.”
Six
SCOTT FLIPPED THE pages of a magazine and shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot on the worn waiting room chairs while Dylan smashed the block city he’d built, using a toddler’s plastic airplane to strafe the buildings.
“Pew! Pew, pew!”
His son’s sound effects were more suited to some sort of epic space battle with lasers and missiles.
A nurse poked her head into the waiting room. “Dylan Edwards?”
The explosion noises broke off.
Scott stood and settled a comforting hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “We’re right here.”
“This way,” the nurse waved them down the hall. “Room three. Dr. Hastings will be with you in a moment.”
The two slipped into the small exam room and Dylan glanced around, eyes wide. “I wish Gen was here.”
Scott groaned. He hadn’t even thought to ask Abby to come, though they’d seen her and Gen a few times at the park in the last couple of weeks. She always paused her run to say hello, and once or twice he’d even gotten her to stick around for a short conversation, usually while Gen squirmed on her back in doggy bliss, Dylan scratching her exposed belly.
“Sorry, kiddo, maybe next time.”
A few moments later the door swung open, and Dr. Hastings breezed in. Tall and lanky with dark-skin, he pushed wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Coarse gray hair curled close to his scalp. He carried a folder under one arm and wore scrubs with multi-colored dinosaurs printed all over them. Glancing at Dylan, he winked before offering his hand to Scott.
“I’m Dr. Hastings.” He rotated to face the boy and continued, “You must be Dylan. Let’s have a peek at your arm.”
Scott couldn’t help immediately comparing this new doctor to the old one. Dr. Cunningham had spoken exclusively to Scott, except for when he had talked about cutting Dylan’s arm off. Dr. Hastings began by asking his son what TV shows he liked, and Dylan didn’t hesitate to burble excitedly about his favorites. Even after the doctor had finished a cursory exam of Dylan’s arm and cast, he continued to pay careful attention until Dylan dragged in a long breath, gearing up for another round.
Scott caught himself smiling. Of course, Abby had known exactly the right doctor to recommend.
Dr. Hastings, engrossed by the battle between the good guys and the bad guys, nodded as Dylan prattled on. “You said the yellow one got broken...”
“Ripped apart.”
“Sorry, ripped apart. Sounds like he needed a mechanic to help put him back together, right? Well, I’m kind of like a mechanic for humans. Shall we take a look at what you need put back together?”
Dylan swallowed hard and dropped his eyes to his lap. He picked at a thread on his jeans, then scratched a nail across his cast. Scott nudged him, bumping Dylan with his elbow, “Dylan? Did you have a question for the doctor?”
Dylan swallowed again, then, taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage. “Will you have to cut off my arm?” It came out as little more than a whisper, but Dr. Hastings paid close attention.
“Absolutely not! When we get there, I’ll tell you more about how it works, but for now, rest assured young man, I won’t leave a single mark on you.” When Dylan’s forehead still furrowed, Dr. Hastings crouched down until he could catch Dylan’s gaze. “I promise you; I won’t hurt you or your arm.” He paused, then held up one pinky. “I pinky swear.”
A moment later, Dylan smiled. They shook on the deal and Scott let out a sigh of relief.