“I know. It’s just…”
“Do you have any suggestions?”
She shakes her head and opens the door to the exam room, where Kenny is awake.
“You need a doctor,” she says to him.
“You volunteering?” he says.
She doesn’t snap at him. In fact, I swear her cheeks flush.
“I can’t,” she says. “I have a job and responsibilities that I cannot ignore.”
“I’m kidding, April,” he says. “I know you’re busy. No one expects you to stay.”
She fusses with the bedside tray. “I meant that you need medical care in a place that is equipped to provide it, which this town is not. If they cannot bring you care, then you must go out and get it. While I am very busy, I would, under the circumstances, offer to accompany you to Vancouver. I’m sure the town council could arrange transport.”
“No, April,” he says, his voice low. “We’ve been through this. If I leave, they won’t let me back in.”
“You were leaving,” she says. “Your time is up.”
“My minimum time is up,” he says. “I realize now that I didn’t want to leave.”
“So you’ll stay, despite the fact that inadequate medical care might cost you your mobility.”
“We’ve been through—”
“That is ridiculous,” she says. “You cannot make these decisions while you’re on painkillers.”
“Which is why I made you stop giving them to me yesterday, and it didn’t change my mind.”
“Because you were in pain then and therefore still not thinking clearly.”
“April?” I cut in. “I understand that you’re upset—”
“I am not upset. I’m frustrated and annoyed by the patient’s illogical reasoning.”
“Kenny,” he says. “I have a name.”
“I am aware of that,” she snaps. “And if the patient would act in a mature manner, I would address him by his name, but in this context, his key identifying trait is that he is a patient, one who requires medical and therapeutic care.”
“April?” I say again. “We need to go. Either we leave, or you don’t.”
“I’ll be fine,” Kenny says.
She turns to snap at him again and then throws up her arms and stomps out.
“Goodbye?” Kenny says after she’s gone.
“Sorry,” I say.
He smiles and shakes his head. “It’s fine. That’s her way of saying goodbye. At least she cares what happens to me.”
“She does,” I say.
“I know. Now get her home before the council finds out she’s leaving.”
* * *