The Single Dad Finds a Wife. Felicia Mason
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into the waiting room toting a small canvas bag. “How’s our patient?”
“Dozing at the moment,” Spring said, accepting the bag the woman handed her.
“Everything else is all ready,” the receptionist told the doctor. “You just swing by my desk when you’re all done. My name’s Shelby,” she added to David.
“Yes, I will. Thank you,” he mumbled. Then, eyeing the bag, which he noted also sported the oval Common Ground logo, he asked Spring, “What everything else?”
“Just the file. Jeremy’s charts. She’s gotten everything logged in to our medical and service records system. When you return, all you’ll need to do is check in. You’ll only need to fill out paperwork once. And that’s for any Common Ground ministry. The medical records are, of course, only accessible to staff here at the clinic.”
“What exactly is Common Ground?”
“A perfect segue,” she said, smiling as she reached into the tote bag the receptionist had handed off to her. She pulled out a brochure and offered it to him.
“This will tell you more about the ministries,” she said. “We’re a nonprofit partnership run by three churches here in Cedar Springs. In addition to joint community service programs, Common Ground operates a soup kitchen, homeless shelter, this medical clinic and a recreation program. Once you’re registered for one service, you’re registered for all. One-stop shopping makes it easier for everyone, clients and our volunteers.”
David glanced around the waiting room. “So, this is basically a free clinic?”
That telltale tightness appeared at her mouth again, probably prompted by the frustration he had been unable to shield from his voice. What he’d suspected was true. She thought he was a freeloader looking for a handout. He didn’t know why that irked him so much. It just did.
He also got the distinct impression she was going to say something, but then the moment passed and she gave him a hospitable smile—not one of the genuine ones she’d bestowed on Jeremy, but that I’m-being-polite-because-I’m-supposed-to smile that Southern girls seemed to perfect in kindergarten, if not as early as in the womb.
“There are sliding rates, Mr. Camden. Shelby will be able to answer any questions you may have, and if she can’t, our administrator is available from nine until noon on weekdays.”
Contrite now and attributing his earlier bad attitude to stress, David ran a hand through his hair.
She was just doing her job. He didn’t need to take his frustrations or his insecurities out on her.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. I...I’ve had a lot on me these last few months. Jeremy getting sick must have just capped it all. I hope you’ll forgive that evil twin who was impersonating me a few moments ago.”
She regarded him with what could best be described as wary interest, the kind reserved for the occasion when you run across an injured animal—one that might also have rabies. Then, like sunrise after a night of storms, she smiled and patted him on the arm. He liked when she touched him, even though the touches were nothing more than human kindness, the type that typically went along with what was referred to as a doctor’s bedside manner.
“I’m going to check on Jeremy one last time before you go.”
He watched her cross the room and then bend toward his son. The shopping bag, he noticed, she’d left on the floor at his feet. He also noticed that she hadn’t accepted—or outright rejected—his apology.
* * *
As Spring tended to Jeremy she thought about his father.
She wasn’t at all sure what to make of her reaction to the man. Not to mention the little sparring match they’d engaged in. She’d sensed hostility in him, quickly followed by what she could only describe as regret.
What was that all about?
With his sandy hair and those worried brown eyes, he was attractive enough—if you went for that type. The type who listened with his whole being, whose gaze seemed to search for hidden and deeper meanings with every glance.
And do you go for that type?
She ignored the taunt of the inner Spring.
“Are you my mom?”
The small voice floated up to her in an awe-filled whisper.
She smiled at the question from her small patient.
“No, Jeremy. I’m Dr. Spring. Do you remember me?”
The boy nodded.
“How’s that tummy feeling?”
He made a face. “Where’s my daddy?”
“He’s right—”
“Hey, buddy,” the man said, making Spring start. She hadn’t heard him approach. She edged out of the way to give him room, moving to the other side of the big chair. She watched as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’m right here, Jeremy.”
“I wanna go home, Daddy.”
He looked over to see what she had to say about that. “Is he all clear?”
Spring nodded.
“I wanna go to our real house,” Jeremy added. “Not the hotel.”
Spring bit her lip. Her heart ached for them. This father and son needed help, the kind that Common Ground offered, but the man bristled each time she tried to assure him that it wasn’t a handout but a help up that the ministry provided.
She had had the training offered to every volunteer and knew she couldn’t foist assistance on them. She was on the board of directors and had been one of the people who’d insisted that sensitivity training be a requirement of all Common Ground volunteers. People wanted and needed to maintain their dignity, especially when they found themselves in critical situations.
“You’ll be feeling like your normal self in a few days, Jeremy,” she told the boy. “Your father is going to give you some medicine to take. Will you promise me you’ll be a good trouper and take it?”
The boy nodded.
“Good,” she said, smiling at him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pen and a small card. She scribbled something on the back and handed it to the boy. “If your tummy hurts again, have your dad call me at this number.” Spring patted Jeremy’s leg and then glanced up at his father. “Have a good evening, Mr. Camden.”
Spring left them then, but she overheard the child’s question. “Daddy, is she a spring angel?”
Her smile was wry as she made her way to the physicians’ office.
It took her just a few minutes to log her new patient notes, shed her lab coat, pack up her bag and grab her keys. Shelby would be ready to go, as well, as soon as Mr. Camden and his son checked out.
“There has to be some mistake,” she heard the man say a few minutes later as she reached the front reception area. “I must have left my wallet at the hotel. I do have insurance.”
She started to turn and go out the back way, but the boy, in his father’s arm and peering over his shoulder, had seen her.
“Dr. Spring.”
She waved at him. Uncertain about how Mr. Camden might take her overhearing his financial problems, Spring hastened toward the door.
“Mr. Camden, don’t worry about it. Really. We don’t need an insurance card or payment,” Shelby said. “All you have to do is take this to the pharmacy. They’ll fill it no questions asked. Here are the directions to an all-night drugstore.”
“But...”
Spring’s heart broke for them. She’d heard plenty of hard-luck stories in her time volunteering with Common Ground.