Page 18 of Resisting You

It was also a bit lonely.

Renato came to a stop at the nurses’ station, and the woman behind the computer didn’t even look up. She just handed him a tablet. “One-thirty-three,” she said.

Fair enough. He wasn’t the kind of doctor who wore clown noses and made balloon animals, so he wasn’t going to be anyone’s favorite here. He could live with it.

He opened the chart and stared down at it. Rex Millie, aged six, possible concussion and broken collarbone. The person who brought him in was listed as a caregiver, but the events leading up to the fall were blank with a single note from triage: caregiver is deaf, communication not possible.

Communication not possible.

Renato felt something hot and angry in his chest. Even without an interpreter, communication was always possible. Either the person who brought him in was scared because it was their fault and they were trying to pretend like they couldn’t figure out a way to speak with the nurse, or the triage staff was lazy.

He was betting on option two because he’d been through this before. He was conversational in ASL because it had made logical sense to learn, but that thought rarely, if ever, occurred to any of his colleagues.

Tucking the tablet under his arm, Renato marched over to 133 and pushed on the door. Even if he hadn’t seen Frey’s surname on the boy’s chart, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find him hovering over the small boy in the large bed.

Frey glanced over at him, and it was obvious from the look on his face that he was expecting Renato. He looked wary, and he exchanged glances with the guy hunched in a chair along the far side of the room.

The caregiver. It had to be.

Renato opened his mouth to speak, then remembered the boy was Deaf. Setting the tablet on the side of the sink counter, Renato waved until the small boy looked at him. Rex was the spitting image of his dad—his wild dark blond hair, his big blue eyes, the button nose, and the soft chin.

He looked startled for a moment and glanced at his dad before returning his attention to Renato.

‘My name is Dr. Agosti.’ He spelled his name very slowly.

Rex blinked rapidly, and then his right hand lifted. ‘Sign?’

Renato looked at his left hand and the way it was curled toward his chest and the bulge near his neck. His collarbone was definitely broken. Rex’s eyes were foggy, so it was obvious he’d been drugged to oblivion because the pain would have been overwhelming.

“He doesn’t have a concussion,” Frey said, signing English at the same time.

Renato snatched the chart back up and thumbed through. Pupillary responses normal, and when they were able to speak to the child, he said he hadn’t hit his head.

‘That will make surgery easier,’ Renato signed.

Rex stiffened and tugged on his dad’s sleeve, making a distressed noise. ‘Hurt?’

Frey tucked the small boy close with one arm and looked at Renato. He seemed afraid. “How bad?”

Renato thumbed through the X-rays and sighed. ‘Two pins at least, to be safe. What happened?’

‘I fell,’ Rex signed when Renato’s gaze was on him. ‘Ears.’

“He has Ménière’s,” Frey clarified when Rex buried his face against his chest. “He experiences drop attacks quite a lot, especially when he’s had too much salt.”

The man in the corner made a soft noise, and Renato looked over in time to see him asking, ‘What’s going on?’

‘Are you the one who brought him in?’ Renato asked.

The guy lifted his fist and nodded it. ‘Yes. I’m his Deaf—’ Renato didn’t catch the last word, but he didn’t think it mattered much. ‘We were at the park, and he was walking on a tall wall. He’s done it before. He fell.’

Renato nodded. ‘I understand.’

The guy managed a slight smile. ‘You sign well.’

‘University,’ Renato told him. It was more complicated than that, but he didn’t really have the lexicon or the time. He turned when Frey tapped his arm, and he lifted his brows at him.

“I need to make a phone call,” Frey told him, stroking his son’s hair. “Are you sure he needs surgery?”

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