Page 3 of Caleb
“It’s called parkour,” he says.
“I don’t care what it’s called!” The woman's voice sounds tired. Worried. Like she’s trying her hardest to keep it all together. “Don’t you think I have enough to worry about? Why can’t you just sit inside and play video games like all the other kids?”
Boy, I’ve never heard that one before. Most parents are desperate to get their children outside. But, I guess most kids don’t go around jumping off buildings.
“Oh, come here, you,” the woman says.
“You’re not angry with me, are you Naomi?”
She lets out a stilted laugh. Half sigh, half giggle. “No, Dylan. It’s my fault. I should have been there.”
For a moment there’s silence. I take this pause in the conversation to make my entrance. Doing my best to pretend like I wasn't just eavesdropping on what should have been a touching, private moment.
The woman has Dylan in her arms. His face pressed up against her belly. There are tears running down his cheeks and his chin is wobbling.
“Hi,” I say. For a second I’m dumbfounded. I’d expected to see a middle-aged woman. A mother. But the goddess before me is far from what I expected.
Her chestnut brown hair is tied back in a bun. She has sensuous pink lips. A cluster of light brown freckles sprinkled across her nose.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“Can I help you?” she says.
I put out my hand. “My name’s Dr. Caleb,” I say, showing her the name tag on my coat like I might be some kind of imposter.
She shakes my hand and introduces herself. But I barely hear the words coming out her mouth. It’s like I’m in a dream. Like Cupid's arrow has shot me straight through the brain and I’ve lost all control over my senses.
I imagine what it would be like to hold this woman in my arms. To run my lips across her neck. To feel her bosom pressed against my chest and her hands squeeze me closer.
She looks at me with her head tilted to the side. I realize she’s just asked me a question, but I don’t know what it is.
I shake my head and try to focus.
“Sorry,” I say. “What was that?”
“I said, how bad is it?”
“Oh!” I walk over to Jake, the boy in the bed, and check his vitals. “It’s not as bad as it looks. A broken wrist. A cracked rib. A sprained ankle and a bash to the head. He’s going to have to rest up for a while. But we’ll get him all wrapped up and taken care of. He’ll be as good as new in a month or two.”
A wave of relief spreads across her face. Tears well up in the corners of her eyes. She puts her hand to her mouth and looks away, her shoulders trembling.
I fight back the urge to coddle her. To put my hand on her shoulder, stroke her hair, and tell her everything is going to be alright.
Instead, I keep talking. Falling back into the medical jargon that rolls off my tongue so easily. “It was the head injury that made it look bad. They tend to bleed a lot. Kind of scary. You’re son…” I know I’ve said the wrong word as soon as it leaves my lips. There’s no way this woman is their mother. She’s far too young. “I mean, Dylan. He was really brave. Did all the right things.”
She turns back to me. Her eyes are a little redder than before, but a look of steely determination on her face. “So, we can take him home?”
I bite my lip and look at Jake. He's all wrapped up in casts and bandages. Half asleep and still a little dazed from his accident.
“I really think we should keep him overnight for observation. You never know with head injuries. We’ve done a scan and there doesn’t seem to be any internal injury. But the tests aren’t always conclusive.”
“A scan?” she says, her shoulders sagging. “An overnight stay? We really can’t afford that. If it’s alright with you, then I’ll take him home as soon as possible.”
“It would be against doctor’s orders,” I tell her. And then: “Are you their legal guardian?”
She straightens her back and looks me right in the eyes. “I’m their sister," she says, "and I've been looking after these two for as long as I can remember.
"Right." I fiddle with the clipboard in my hand, not sure how to proceed. "But you're not actually their legal guardian? Are you?"
