The Doctor Delivers. Judy Christenberry

      “Doesn’t that look good?” he asked, looking at Liza.

      She didn’t move, her face not reflecting pleasure. Instead, she stared at the meal in distaste.

      He ignored his own meal and lifted her fork to cut a piece of the thick meat loaf. “Let’s take a bite of this. I think you’ll really like it.”

      Holding it up to her mouth, he waited until she finally opened her lips for him to insert it.

      He kept his eyes on her as he instructed, “Chew it up, Liza. You need the calories.”

      She swallowed and he started to feed her a bite of corn. Before he could, however, she emitted distressed sounds.

      He grabbed the dish they distributed for queasy stomachs just in time.

      Two

      Embarrassed and miserable, Liza shuddered. “Too much.”

      “Lady, that was hardly enough to keep a fly alive,” the doctor muttered, clearly irritated with her.

      “No,” she protested, her throat even more raw. “Haven’t eaten since…days.”

      He stared at her as he checked her pulse. Then he punched the call button again. “Nurse, we need soup, Jell-O, things for nausea.”

      “I asked you when you last ate,” he grumbled as he sat back after disposing of the pan. Then his eyes gentled. “Want me to wipe your face?”

      She nodded, not bothering to speak. He disappeared, then reappeared, a damp washcloth in his hand. His gentleness as he cleaned her brought tears to her eyes.

      “Hey, quit worrying. We’re going to take care of you,” he assured her.

      “Have to go,” she whispered.

      “Honey, I don’t think you have enough energy to walk. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? I’ll be better able to help you if you do.”

      She couldn’t tell him about Emily. It was supposed to be kept secret. Especially what she knew.

      The phone rang, startling her.

      After raising one eyebrow at her, Nick Hathaway reached for the phone. Whoever it was could talk to him. He didn’t want his patient straining her voice any more.

      “Who’s this?” a woman barked into the phone.

      “Dr. Hathaway. Who’s this?”

      “Cynthia Turner Colton. Liza’s mother and manager. Where’s my daughter?”

      “Your daughter is here in bed, Mrs. Colton, resting. May I help you?”

      “No! Put her on the phone!”

      “I’m sorry, Mrs. Colton, but I don’t want your daughter to talk right now. Her throat has been damaged enough.”

      “Damaged?” the woman shrieked. “Damn it! You’re a doctor. Fix it!”

      “I’m doing what I can.”

      “I want her on that stage tonight, do you hear me? I will not allow her to screw up her reputation by missing concerts. People will start to whisper about drugs.”

      “She can’t—”

      “Give her whatever is necessary for her to sing! Tell her I said she has no choice!”

      “You’re wrong. She’s an adult.” Even as he said those words, he stared at his patient. He’d assumed she was. He couldn’t remember her age on the chart and she certainly looked young. When the woman on the phone didn’t contradict him, he continued, “She will choose whether or not she sings or remains my patient.”

      “You uncooperative— I’ll find another doctor. Get out of her room!”

      Big green eyes were fixed on his face and he smiled, hoping to reassure her. “As I said, Mrs. Colton, that’s not your decision.”

      “I’m her manager, damn you! Her career is my business. No two-bit country doctor is going to tell me what to do!”

      Nick did something he’d never done before. He hung up on a family member of a patient. Because of her, he had a lot more sympathy for Liza Colton. Her mother/manager had never asked how Liza felt, if she was being well taken care of, or even if she was breathing. All she wanted was for her daughter to perform, whether she could or not.

      “Your mother,” he said, looking at Liza.

      “Sorry,” Liza whispered.

      The nurse brought in a new tray and picked up the old one. Nick had slid it away from the bed when she’d gotten sick. “Thanks, Mary.”

      She left and he smiled down at Liza. “Let’s try this again with something a little easier on your system.” He lifted a spoon to dip into the chicken broth when the phone rang again.

      He had no doubt who was calling. Picking up the phone he said, “Yes?”

      “Don’t you hang up on me or I’m going to report you.”

      “Feel free. Want a number to call?”

      “I want to talk to my daughter!”

      “I’m sorry, that’s not possible tonight. You can try again tomorrow. She might be available then.”

      “Tomorrow is too late! I want her on that stage tonight!”

      “Mrs. Colton, I’ve already canceled her performance tonight. Any attempt to perform could do irreparable damage to her vocal cords. Is that what you want?”

      “How qualified are you?”

      “I’m an ear, nose and throat specialist with advanced degrees. I’ve been practicing in Saratoga Springs for eight years. I’m on the board here at the hospital and I consult around the state.”

      “So you’ll guarantee she’ll only miss tonight?”

      “I’ll do no such thing. She’ll have to rest for two weeks. Then we’ll see.” He knew his words were going to set her off again, so he held the receiver away from his ear. Liza had closed her eyes, but as her mother’s voice echoed from the receiver, she looked up at him, a sad expression on her face.

      “I have to go now, Mrs. Colton. Thank you for calling.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, but he decided she couldn’t really say he’d hung up on her again since he’d politely said goodbye. At least her call had shed a little more light on her daughter’s emotional state, if nothing else.

      He lifted the spoon half-filled with chicken broth to her lips and she slowly sipped. Then she tried to speak. “I can—” She reached for the spoon.

      Though he allowed her to feed herself, he sat beside her until she’d eaten at least half the broth. “Want some of this tasty red Jell-O?” he asked, nudging the other bowl forward.

      She frowned at the Jell-O, as if suspicious of it, but she finally slipped a trembly cube of it into her mouth. Lying back, she seemed to let it melt.

      “Has your mother been pushing you to lose weight?” He couldn’t imagine why the woman would want that. He thought Liza was too thin, but stage mothers could be crazy.

      She shook her head and closed her eyes, as if hiding something.

      “You know you’ve been playing a dangerous game not only with your health, but also your voice. The vocal cords are dependent on your overall health.”

      She nodded, but looked away.

      “Try to eat a little more.” When she picked up the spoon again, relief filled him. He was always concerned with his patients’ recovery, but Liza Colton had grabbed his heart. Maybe it was the abusive mother. Or the sadness in her eyes. Or her overall fragility.

      Several minutes later, she put down the spoon.