Page 22 of Protecting What's Mine

“Yeah, hey, Gloria. How do you feel about making up one of those pretty bouquets for me?”

8

Dunnigan and Associates was located in a barn red single-level building on the way out of town past the high school. The concrete ramp and steps that led to the front door of the office were clean enough to eat from. Inside, the waiting room smelled faintly of fresh paint.

The chairs were the standard kind found in family doctor waiting rooms around the country, wooden legs with mint green cushions. A tiny table and chairs topped with coloring books and fat crayons sat in a corner next to a fish tank. Some little colorer had gotten overzealous and scribbled orange zigzags on the off-white wall.

There was a mother holding a flush-cheeked toddler on her lap. She was reading aFrog and Toadbook to him.

The girl behind the front desk looked up. She had the cheerleader look. Bright eyes. Bouncy curls that went from warm brown at the roots to glossy caramel at the ends. Perfect shimmery makeup. And a beauty queen smile.

“Hi! You must be Dr. O’Neil,” the girl said, rising. “I’m Tuesday, and I’m so happy to meet you.”

Oh, boy. A sincere cheerleader.

Well, Mack wanted different. So rather than a military pilot nicknamed Buzz who spit tobacco out the chopper door, she now had Tuesday. This was already a significant step up.

“Hi. Yes. Tuesday.” Years of dealing with unconscious patients had apparently rendered her unable to communicate with the conscious.

Nerves. It was vaguely funny that the big, bad helicopter doc was nervous about practicing a little ol’ family medicine.

A woman, short, comfortably round with a close-cropped cap of jet-black hair and more eye makeup than Cruella de Vil, bustled out of a doorway. She wore unsullied white orthopedic sneakers and purple scrubs.

“Freida, Dr. O’Neil is here,” Tuesday announced cheerily. Mack wondered where Tuesday had been in the pyramid foundation.

“Dr. O’Neil. Nice to meet you,” Freida said. Extending a hand. Her nails were short and polish-free, but she wore four jeweled rings to make up for it.

“Call me Mack,” she said, remembering to make eye contact with both of her new co-workers.

“Dr. Mack then,” Freida compromised. “You can follow me.”

Mack didn’t know where she was going or what was waiting for her. But the unknown had been a familiar comfort up to this point. She never knew exactly what she was going to find when the helicopter touched down. She’d just treat this entire experience as one small, odd emergency call.

Freida led her to the end of a hallway and down another shorter one before pausing to rap lightly on a closed door.

“Yo,” was the energetic response.

Freida opened the door. “Dr. D., Dr. Mack is here.”

Dr. Trish Dunnigan was unapologetically wiping powdered sugar off her coat. Mack liked her already.

She stood up, brushing the crumbs into the trash can before wiping her hand on her pants and extending it to Mack.

“Great to meet you. Welcome aboard,” she said heartily. The handshake was firm and a little sugary. Dr. Dunnigan was tall and on the stocky side with a spectacular head of frizzy red curls. Her smile was confident.

“Thanks, Dr. Dunnigan. I’m happy to be here.” Happy. The word echoed in her head and she briefly wondered if she really had any idea what happy felt like.Great. Now she had to worry about an existential crisis as well as staving off burnout.

“Call me Trish. I planned to start with pleasantries, but I’ve got a walk-in. If you’re up for observing, we can dive in from there.”

“Fine by me.”

Mack left her bag, keys, and phone in her office and followed her back into the waiting room.

“Hey there, Colleen. How’s our little guy today?” Trish asked.

“Fever again. And that means he’s back to not sleeping,” the mom answered.

“And that means you aren’t either, poor thing. Come on back, and we’ll see what we can do.”