The Single Dad Finds A Wife Part 3

That rich baritone was definitely not Gerald Murphy on the line. It sounded like the man with the little boy who'd been at the clinic-the man she'd spent too much time talking about with Cecelia, the man whose voice did unreasonable things to her.

She turned on the light, then put on her professional voice. "I'm so sorry," she told her caller. "I thought it was a friend. This is Dr. Darling. To whom am I speaking?"

"I'm sorry for calling so late, doctor. It's David. David Camden. I brought my son in to see you earlier this evening."

Spring ran a hand through hair that tumbled in her face. She opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out a hair tie to tame it.

Putting the phone on speaker, she gathered up her hair and tugged it into a ponytail. "Is Jeremy all right?" she asked him.

"No."

She heard the panic in the man's voice and was up and headed to her closet for clothes to wear to either the clinic or the hospital.

"What are his symptoms?" she asked as she grabbed a pair of jeans and a white b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt.

"He's burning up and throwing up. Hold on, please."

She stared at the phone for a moment. When she heard retching, her mind started running through what besides stomach flu might be wrong with the cute little boy. Spring pulled on the jeans and slipped into a pair of loafers.

"Dr. Darling? I'm back. He says his stomach hurts a lot. I didn't know who else to call."

"Where are you?"

When he told her, she was a bit surprised to hear that someone with financial troubles was living in that rather expensive hotel. There were several more economical options around town. But she said nothing about that. It wasn't her business. A sick child was her concern.

"I want you to take Jeremy to the hospital. To Cedar Springs General Hospital. I'll meet you there. Do you have something to write with? I can give you directions from where you are. It will take you less than ten minutes to get there."

She gave David the directions, shrugged on and b.u.t.toned her s.h.i.+rt and was about to grab her keys when she paused at the mirror. She made a quick detour to her large bathroom and applied a touch of powder and a bit of blush to her cheeks. She picked up a tube of lipstick, then frowned and put it back on the tray that held her makeup.

"It's a medical emergency, not a date," she said.

With her keys in hand, she grabbed her phone, the wallet clutch that held the essentials and the lanyard with her hospital IDs.

Outside, as she made her way to the garage, she noticed the lights were still on at her mother's house. Spring's home was actually a separate wing of her mother's large estate. They shared the four-car garage on the property. Lovie Darling was a consummate entertainer, and the two cars in the drive, vehicles Spring didn't recognize, were proof of that.

In her Volvo car, Spring placed her hands on the steering wheel, closed her eyes and prayed for Jeremy Camden and his father.

Then she headed to the hospital. She hated that it was under these circ.u.mstances, but she found herself pleased at the prospect of seeing David Camden again.

Hot on the heels of that came the realization that her thoughts were inappropriate on so many levels. Chief among them was that there was most likely a Mrs. Camden who loved him and that precious little boy. But the doctor's suddenly sweaty hands and that little flutter in her gut gave evidence to another diagnosis-one of a far more personal nature.

For the first time in a long, long time, Spring found herself intrigued by a man, curious about his impression of her...and she fervently hoped there was no Mrs. Camden.

Chapter Four.

Spring headed straight to the emergency department at Cedar Springs General Hospital. As one of the staff physicians at the medical center, she had a designated parking s.p.a.ce and was able to bypa.s.s the entry used by other hospital employees.

On weekends, the emergency department-typically called an emergency room by the public, as if there was just one room to it-bustled with acute trauma cases, mostly of the do-it-yourself-home-improvement variety like broken arms and legs or fractures. Then there were the asthma attacks and bee stings, as well as the usual mix of possible heart attacks, allergic reactions to everything from peanuts to sh.e.l.lfish and the occasional car crash victim. Severe trauma patients who needed advanced care were airlifted to Durham, where specialists at Duke University's emergency trauma hospital and facilities could handle burns, gunshot victims and the like. Thankfully, those cases were rare at Cedar Springs General.

Spring looked around but didn't see either David or Jeremy Camden in the emergency department's waiting room. This evening there was just a handful of people in the waiting area. Three people huddled together with a man who kept saying, "I'm not gonna let them touch me. I'm not gonna let them touch me." And an elderly woman in a light blue pantsuit sat erect in one of the chairs facing the receptionist's desk. The woman clutched her purse as if someone might try to s.n.a.t.c.h it from her grip.

The televisions were on; one wall-mounted plasma set displayed a cable news channel, while its twin depicted a late-night talk show host yukking it up with a celebrity guest.

"Hi, Dr. Darling," a man said from behind her. "What are you doing here this time of night?"

Spring turned to see Joseph Bradshaw, one of the physician a.s.sistants. Dressed in green scrubs, the uniform of most of the emergency department staff, he held a chart and was making his way toward one of the bays.

"Hi, Joseph. I got a call from the father of a patient. Acute abdominal pain that's gotten worse. They're supposed to meet me here."

"It's been pretty quiet tonight," Joseph said. "I haven't seen-"

Just then the automatic doors whooshed open and David Camden rushed in, almost running, with his son in his arms. The panic in his eyes and his bearing arrested Spring. He spotted her almost immediately.

"Dr. Darling!"

"Joseph, I'm going to need a bed."

"On it, Doc," he said, heading toward the emergency bays.

"He woke up doubled over," David said, approaching Spring. "And he threw up again."

"All right," Spring said as several emergency department aides rushed to take the boy.

"Daddy, my stomach hurts a lot," Jeremy said. Adding emphasis to just how much, the boy moaned and burrowed in closer to David's chest, instinctively seeking the protection of his father rather than the strangers with outstretched hands.

The sound tore at Spring. Little Jeremy's moan was one of the most pitiful sounds she had heard in a long, long time.

"Dr. Spring is right here," David told his son.

The boy lifted his head a bit. "Pretty Spring?"

"Yeah, buddy. It's Dr. Spring."

Despite the strain she saw evident in the worry lines at his mouth and brow, Spring heard a note of amus.e.m.e.nt in David's voice as he answered Jeremy. She'd been called many things in her thirty-five years, but this cute little boy calling her pretty just tugged at her heart.

It was clear Jeremy had more than just a bad case of stomach flu or too many jelly beans. Her mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.

"Noooo!" Jeremy cried out when David tried to place him on the gurney manned by two orderlies.

"It's okay, buddy," David a.s.sured his son, who resisted lying down. "I'm right here."

"Want Dr. Spring."

"I'm here, too, Jeremy," Spring said with a nod toward one of the orderlies. "If you'll lay back, we're going to take you into a room where I can see what's making your tummy hurt. Okay?"

The little boy nodded and did as she requested, but tears streaked down his face and he sought his father.

Spring glanced up at David.

"Can I come back?"

She nodded. "Of course."

Helpless and anxious, David watched as emergency room attendants wheeled his son into a room cordoned off with curtains and hooked him up to machines.

David was terrified, so he could only imagine how Jeremy must feel. He reached deep for the anchor that would stabilize him. He needed to be strong for his son, not show the panic that raced through him. His heart beat so fast that he feared he might end up on a gurney next to Jeremy.

A moment later, he was politely asked by one of the attendants to step back.

"I can't leave my son."

A soft hand on his arm drew his attention. Spring was there.

"David, you don't have to. They just need some room to work."

He glanced around and saw a nurse or a doctor wheeling some sort of machine. He quickly moved to a spot she indicated, where he could stand and hold Jeremy's hand and not interfere with the tests they needed to run.

"Lord, you took her. Please don't take him, too," he whispered in an anguished plea. "He's all I have."

As she'd expected, the diagnosis wasn't good. Fortunately, it was something that was fairly routine for the hospital. Spring consulted with the emergency department's attending pediatrician while David Camden remained in the emergency room bay with Jeremy.

"We have done an ultrasound and a CT scan," Timothy Paquette, the department's pediatrician, told Spring.

Worried, Spring bit her lip. "I sent him home thinking it was just gastroenteritis."

"I would have done the same thing," Dr. Paquette said. "I took a look at the lab you did at the clinic. With his other symptoms, it made sense."

Spring nodded, but his words didn't make her feel any better. She just wanted to take Jeremy in her arms and hug all the hurt away.

"You want to talk to his father, or should I?" Paquette said. "Dr. Emmanuel should be here in about five minutes. The OR is ready just as soon as he gets here and the father gives the okay."

"I'll tell him," she said, knowing from experience the reaction he would have.

David jumped up from his chair when Spring entered the waiting room. Telling him his son was so sick wasn't going to be pleasant; this part of the job never was.

"Mr. Camden-"

"Call me David," he said, grabbing her hand. "Is Jeremy all right?"

He was clutching her hand so tightly that Spring winced.

He immediately dropped it. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried about Jeremy."

Spring resisted the urge to ma.s.sage her throbbing hand. "He has appendicitis," she said. "Dr. Adam Emmanuel is ready to operate once we get your approval."

"Operate? His appendix? But he's just four," David said.

"Appendicitis is not uncommon in children," Spring said. "Toddlers, even infants, can develop it. But it's harder to diagnose in the younger ones."

David Camden looked genuinely distressed. "Are you sure?"

Spring didn't know if his question was a result of her earlier misdiagnosis or the first and typical question from a worried parent of a sick child. Either way his question reminded Spring about their precarious financial situation. This was one of those situations where the generous donations to the Common Ground ministries paid off. The surgery Jeremy needed would not bankrupt his father or leave him with the choice between paying medical bills or paying to keep a roof over their heads, even if said roof was that of a hotel.

She nodded in answer to his question. "This is something that can't be ignored," she told him. "And it can't wait. If his infected appendix isn't removed, it could burst or leak, and that would lead to peritonitis, which can be fatal, particularly in children."

She didn't want to scare him, but he needed to know all the facts to make an informed decision regarding his son's health.

David swallowed. His gaze connected with hers. She'd seen it before, the parents of her young patients looking in her eyes and trying to determine if she was leading them in the right direction.

"I..." David swallowed again, then took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. "He's never been sick. Nothing like this. I just... Is he going to die?"

Spring's heart ached. She wanted to close her eyes and cry out at the arbitrariness of illness. But she maintained eye contact with him. "We need to get that appendix out as soon as possible."

"Was it something I did? The jelly beans?"

She placed her arm on his. "Mr. Camden...David, it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. There is no way to prevent appendicitis. It happens or it doesn't. All we can do is deal with it when it does occur. And Jeremy is in good hands. Dr. Emmanuel is board certified and our top pediatric surgeon."

He nodded.

"I know he's in good hands," David said. He looked away for a moment, as if embarra.s.sed again, then met her gaze. Spring was sure he was going to ask how much the operation would cost.

"Dr. Darling, I don't know you, and I don't know if you're a woman of faith. But I need to pray right now. Will you join me?"

The question was not at all what she'd expected. But without a moment's hesitation, Spring nodded. That this man who had so much on him would ask a virtual stranger to pray with him said a lot about his character.

She bowed her head and a moment later felt his hand connect with hers. It was warm and strong and felt like an anchor in a storm. Given that he was the one in need, Spring could only marvel. When he began praying, she felt her own resolve grow stronger.

The surgery would last the better part of an hour. Parents, even the parent of a four-year-old, weren't allowed in the operating room. So rather than watch him pace the waiting room for an hour, Spring suggested they go to the hospital's cafeteria for a coffee.

Although open in the middle of the night with reduced kitchen staff, the cafeteria remained essentially empty with few people filling the gray-and-black aluminum chairs. Spring led the way across the room.

"Pardon the retro penitentiary waiting room look," she told David. "This part of the hospital, while open to the public, is used primarily by staff, so it's last on the renovation list. Patient rooms and family waiting rooms were the hospital administration's first priority."

Spring got a couple of coffees, and they settled at a table near the windows overlooking a courtyard in shadow.

"When the weather is nice," she said, "people like to go outside to eat or take a coffee break. The fresh air itself is medicinal, especially when you've been cooped up inside for hours."