Page 17 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

“This is Dr. Jackson Hawk,” rattles off Jackson’s slightly distorted recorded voice. “Leave your name and number, and I’ll do my best to call you back.”

It beeps.

A female voice comes onto the phone. “Jackson,” she says. “I know that I told you it was fine for Bonnie to stay until tomorrow, and it is—only she’s sick. She’s thrown up twice, and she has a fever. I don’t mind keeping her if you’re at work, but she said that she wanted to go home. If you can call me back…” She states her number and hangs up.

I stare at the answering machine hard, trying to figure out what to do.

After a moment, I go to grab my purse from where it’s still sitting on the floor at the front door and pull the phone out. I try Jackson’s personal number first, and just get his message. “Jackson, I’m still at your house. Someone just called, asking if you can pick up Bonnie. It sounds like she’s sick. Call me back, alright?”

But that doesn’t seem like enough.

I remember being eight years old. There was literally nothing worse than getting stuck somewhere, and just hoping that your parents would come pick you up. For me, it wasn’t that they worked late hours. It was that they had to spend so much time taking care of my baby brother, it was hard for them to get away on the spur of the moment.

Sometimes, it was hard for them to get away even for something that was scheduled.

Five minutes pass and Jackson doesn’t call back, so I try the front desk instead.

Glenda picks up. “Hey, Glenda, it’s Amanda,” I tell her. “Is Jackson somewhere that he can take a call?”

“Think he’s in with a patient, honey,” says Glenda.

I nod to the empty house. “Right, well. Tell him to call me when you get a chance, alright? I’ve got to pass a message on.”

“Playing a game of telephone with the world’s most unavailable man,” clucks Glenda. “That’s bad business if I’ve ever heard it.”

“The world's most unavailable man needs to learn to keep a better eye on his phone,” I say, with a snort. “Just let him know.”

Glenda assures me that she will, and we get off the phone, but it ends up with me in the same spot as before. Standing here, in the middle of Jackson’s house, with no clue what to do and no way that I can just take off and leave Bonnie somewhere while she’s not feeling well. I’ve got to do something.

I’ve— I’ve got to pick her up.

With a heavy sigh, I go to the answering machine and play back the message so I can get the woman’s number. Thankfully, she picks it up when I call, even though she doesn’t recognize my cell number. “Melissa speaking.”

“Hi, Melissa. This is Amanda. I’m a friend of Jackson’s. He asked me to come get Bonnie for him, but I don’t have your address,” I say.

It must not be unusual for someone else to pick Bonnie up, because Melissa doesn’t have any problem rattling off her address to me. It’s not that far away, so after making sure I look presentable, I head off to it.

It’s a good thing that I decided to go pick her up too, because Bonnie looks rough by the time I get there. She’s a cute kid, though I wouldn’t be able to tell that she was Jackson’s if I didn’t already know it.

She looks just like the woman whose picture is sitting on the fireplace mantel back at Jackson’s.

I get down on one knee in front of her. “Hey, Bonnie. Your dad had to run to work, but he wanted me to come pick you up. I’m Amanda.”

“Hi, Amanda,” says Bonnie, sounding absolutely miserable. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bloodshot, and she has the most awful-sounding sniffle. “I don’t feel good. Can we go home?”

“We absolutely can. Come on, honey,” I tell her. I’m not expecting her to come over and throw her arms around my neck, but it’s fine, I can adapt. And I’ve spent enough years helping Harris in and out of the wheelchair; hefting up a little girl isn’t any problem at all.

Her legs hitch around my waist, and I wrap one arm around her upper back, securing the other beneath her. Melissa says, “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have sent her home, but—”

“I wanna go home,” says Bonnie, sounding on the verge of tears.

Melissa gives me the helpless look that all mothers are masters of. I just smile at her, hoping to look reassuring and not like I’m completely out of my depth. “It’s no problem. I’ll get her home and into bed, no worries. Thanks for calling.”

We only talk for a minute. There are four other little girls taking part in the sleepover that Melissa has to go try and wrangle back in front of their movie. And I’ve got a little girl to get into bed!

I carry Bonnie to my van and get her settled into the front seat, hooking the seat belt for her before getting into the driver’s side.

She sniffs. “You’ve got a big car.”

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