Chapter 4
The door didn't click shut. It stayed open an inch and I watched the light from the hallway cut across the white sheet.
The nurse stood. She didn't look at me when she did it. She looked at the clipboard on the counter. She picked it up and held it against her chest like something to carry.
"I need to check the next step," she said. "I'll be right outside. Okay?"
I nodded. My leg throbbed where the air hit it. The blue splint was on the counter next to the sink. It left a wet shape. I couldn't see my knee right. I kept my hands on the edge of the cot and stared at that blue.
She slipped into the hallway. Her shoes squeaked. The door stayed cracked.
I heard paper flip. I heard her voice get lower.
"Hi, it's Marisol from Westside clinic, exam room two," she said. "I have a seven-year-old, male, with a lower extremity injury, extensive bruising and open abrasion to the shin and knee. The caregiver report doesn't match. The object covering it was a blue inflatable splint, given by his dad."
I held my breath. My heart beat in my ears.
She listened. I could hear the other voice on the phone but not the words, just a thin buzz.
"Yes," she said. "Documented and photographed. Consistent with protocol. The injury's not consistent with a simple fall. And he's verbal, he's protective of the object."
Another pause. The hallway light buzzed.
"Correct," she said. "Dad is listed as primary guardian on file. That's the number I have."
My stomach dropped. Dad.
I swung my good leg off the cot. The sheet crinkled loud. I didn't stand. I just leaned toward the door.
"Please don't call my dad mad," I said. My voice came out small. "He didn't mean it. He gave me those colors."
She turned fast. She hadn't realized I could hear. Her eyes got soft and then tight again. She covered the phone with her hand.
"Hey," she said to me. "I heard you. I know those colors matter to you."
"Don't take them," I said. "Can I keep them? Please can I keep them?"
She looked at the blue splint on the counter, then back at me. She didn't answer right away.
Into the phone she said, "He's asking to keep the splint. Can you stay on?"
She stepped closer to the doorway so I could see her face through the crack. She mouthed, "One minute," and held up a finger. Not mean. Just wait.
She turned her back a little and spoke quieter, but the hallway made everything carry.
"I understand I need to call the parent for pickup," she said. "And yes, I'll make the second call to county intake as required. No, I won't mention that call in front of the child. I understand."
County intake. I didn't know what that meant. I thought she meant the front desk.
She said, "Okay. I'll document both calls. Thank you."
She hung up. She stood in the hallway for three seconds with her hand on the phone. I watched her shoulders rise and fall. Then she pushed the door open again and came back in.
She pulled the little rolling stool close to the cot and sat so we were at the same level. She didn't touch my leg.
"Here's what's going to happen," she said. Her voice was even. "I'm going to call your dad and ask him to come pick you up here at the clinic. That's the rule, we call the guardian on file. You don't have to do anything but sit with me until he gets here. Okay?"
I nodded. My hands were sweating on the cot.
"What about my colors?" I asked.
She glanced at the splint. "Your colors will stay right here with you until your dad comes. I won't throw them away. I promise they stay in this room."
"You won't tell him I'm in trouble?" I said.
"You're not in trouble," she said. "Not at all."
She picked up the clinic phone on the wall inside the room this time. She dialed in front of me. I heard the beeps.
"Hello, is this the father of—" She said my name. I didn't like hearing it like that. "This is Marisol from Westside Clinic. Your son is here with us for an exam. He's okay, he's sitting with me. We need you to come to the clinic as soon as you can to pick him up. We'll talk more when you get here. We're at 1420 Westside, exam room two."
She listened. I tried to hear dad's voice through the earpiece but I couldn't.
"Yes, the blue splint is here with him," she said. She looked at me while she said it. "We'll keep it safe."
She said thank you and hung up.
The room got quiet again except for the fluorescent hum. She wrote something on the clipboard. Her hand moved fast.
Then she picked up the phone again but didn't dial in front of me. She said, "I'm going to step right outside to confirm our pickup time with the front desk. Same as before, door open, I'll be right there."
I nodded again. I believed her about dad coming. I watched the blue splint on the counter. It looked empty without my leg in it.
She stepped into the hallway and pulled the door to that same inch. This time she turned away and spoke so low I only caught parts.
"County intake, please... seven-year-old... Westside Clinic... father notified and en route... injury as described... we'll hold the child here..."
I didn't catch the rest. The door's window showed the hallway wall and the EXIT arrow. I thought she was talking to scheduling.
She came back in after less than a minute. She smiled a little with her mouth closed.
May you like
"Your dad's on his way," she said. She sat on the stool again. "We wait together."
I pulled the edge of the sheet over my bad knee without touching it. The blue was still there on the counter. I kept my eyes on it so I wouldn't have to look at the blood.
