Page 9 of Lush Curves

“Can I give you one too?”

“No. Tell me about the car.”

“The one that hit the bus?”

“Yes.” Sam held the syringe up to the light. “This might hurt a bit. You ready?”

“Yes.”

“Were you on the bus alone?” Sam said, suddenly wondering if maybe Annie or Sarah had been hurt too. He shot a look around the E.R. “All alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you going?”

“To work.”

Sam paused. “Work?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, right.” Sam deftly injected the novocaine and Noah stiffened a bit, so he hurried to distract him. “Whet’s your work, Noah?”

“Painting,” Noah mumbled. “I don’t like needles, Doctor Sam.”

“Me neither. What do you mean, ‘painting’? What do you paint?”

“Paintings.”

“You’re an artist?”

“Yes.” Noah nodded earnestly. “I’m quite famous.”

Sam choked back a laugh. “Are you really?”

“Yes.”

“So… you sell your paintings?”

“Yes.” Noah furrowed his brow. “Why does my head feel funny, Doctor Sam?”

“Because I had to numb it so I can stitch up your cut.”

“Oh.” Noah stared at the suture kit. “Can I stitch up your elbow?”

“No.”

Noah huffed. “So whatdoI get to do?”

“Here.” Sam handed him a piece of gauze. “Hold that.”

Noah clutched it in a death grip. “Doctor Sam?”

“Yes?” Sam focused on the tiny pieces of glass as he carefully picked them out. “What’s up?”

“Has someone called my Mom?”

“A nurse has. Don’t worry, OK? She’ll be here soon.”

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