Private Practices by Linda Wolfe Read Free Book Online

gift. It was audacious to imagine that there was anything he or anyone else could give her to make up for what would, most likely, soon be taken from her.
    He made his way out into the street and, too angry with himself to permit himself the solace of sleep once again, went over to his office where he read until dawn and called the pediatric intensive care unit several times to check on the Kinney baby’s progress. But each time he called, the resident on duty informed him that there had been no improvement yet.
    Cora was the first person to arrive in the morning. She saw his light on, tapped on the door, took one look at him and said, “What’s the matter? You look terrible.”
    â€œIt’s nothing,” he answered, not wanting to talk about the Kinney baby. “When’s Sidney expected?” Above all, he wanted to avoid Sidney just now. Seeing Sidney, who had never compromised a birth, would just make him feel worse. If he could feel worse.
    â€œNot till late,” Cora said. “He’s in Washington.”
    â€œOh. Right! I forgot!” Relieved, he washed and shaved in the office bathroom and prepared himself to start seeing his patients. He was sure that once he was busy he would forget about Annette Kinney for a while. But he couldn’t forget about her. As each new patient arrived, he kept seeing Annette’s disappointment anew, kept seeing disdain in each woman’s face and himself for the failure he had become.
    All morning he was regretful and disgusted with himself for having indulged in the extra pills just because Claudia and Sidney had made him feel so left out. If only he could relive last night. If only such second chances were possible. If they were, he thought once, he could have called Naomi instead of taking the extra pills.
    When the office emptied out a little he took his lunch break. Cora brought him a hamburger and a milkshake and before unwrapping them he called Pediatric Intensive Care again. But the resident’s voice was flat and thin as he said, “Still no change.”
    â€œWell, let’s give it twenty-four hours,” Ben said. “It’s still too soon to be sure the oxygen won’t make a difference.”
    â€œSure,” the resident agreed. But when Ben hung up the phone he couldn’t bring himself to eat.
    Cora, returning to clear away his lunch, insisted on his having the milkshake at least. Her face was wind-reddened and she looked angry and disapproving as she fussed over him, ripping open the paper bag and forcing a straw into the thick, dark liquid. “You need to get out more,” she muttered. “To think about other things besides work.”
    She came in again when he had seen his last patient. He was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. Cora reminded him that he had promised her the day after Lincoln’s Birthday off because she was going skiing and told him that she had found a good replacement for herself while she was on holiday. But when he simply nodded and seemed uninterested in who it was, she began to grow fiercely maternal. “You should take days off sometimes too,” she said. “All work and no play—”
    â€œI know,” he said.
    â€œDull boy,” she finished.
    When she was gone he put his head and his arms down on the desk, not expecting to sleep but intending merely to rest. He was too upset to sleep, he thought. In a few minutes he would go over to the hospital again, check with his own eyes on the progress of the baby and pay his promised visit to Annette Kinney. But fatigue overwhelmed him. Without any exertion of will, his eyes started to shut, and his ears ceased to register Cora’s footsteps in the hallway. Instead, in his mind, he kept hearing the voice of his mother, Sara. She was talking to somebody he couldn’t recognize and she was crying and saying, “He’s dull. Let’s face it. Let’s just face up to it.”
    Poor