Читать книгу Because Of The Baby - Anne Haven - Страница 12

ON SATURDAYS Kyle usually spent a couple of hours at the clinic. He arrived a bit later than planned, having overslept and then losing a good thirty minutes at the breakfast table, staring off into space. Barely touching his food. Thinking about marriage.

If nothing else it would please his mother. Like many parents she wanted her children to settle down—something neither of her sons had done with much success.

And six years had passed since Felicity. He knew his mother thought it was time to try again.

She adored Melissa, whom she’d met on her yearly trips to Portland, though she’d long since stopped dropping hints about their relationship. If Kyle and Melissa got married his mother would be overjoyed. Not a reason to do it, of course, but it was another factor to consider. He wouldn’t mind giving his mother something to be happy about. She’d suffered enough in her life.

Kyle parked his car around the corner and walked to the clinic, greeting a few of the people he met on the sidewalk. This area of Portland, called Old Town, had a lot of residents—both the indoor and outdoor variety. After working here six years Kyle recognized most of them, and was friendly with many of them.

He wanted to do his part to help make the community a safer, healthier, more hopeful place. Slowly that seemed to be happening, but a lot of work remained to be done. And Old Town would never be the kind of carefree, complacent neighborhood like the ones in the west hills. Too much poverty here, for one thing.

But you couldn’t let it get to you. Not too much. That was a sure way to burn out. Then you were no good to anyone.

Reaching the clinic, he pushed the door and stepped inside. Barbara had arrived a couple of hours earlier and opened up shop with the blond lawyer who volunteered most weekends. Kyle nodded at her and glanced around the waiting area, where a few people already sat.

His gaze landed on Zita, who’d already had an appointment a few days ago. He raised an eyebrow. “How’s it going?”

She gave him a sour look. “Yeah, whatever. Trouble with my foot.”

Her high-top sneakers had several large holes in them, affording him a glimpse of a dirty bandage on one heel.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I’m sure Barbara will help you take care of that.”

“Where’s Doc Lopez?”

For some reason she’d taken a shine to Melissa, even though she ended up yelling at her more often than not during her regular checkups for hypertension and a few other conditions.

“Sorry. She only works Wednesdays.”

“Damn it! Oh, well, Barbara’s cool, too. It’s that other one—” She snapped her fingers in front of her forehead a couple of times.

“Dr. Griffin?”

“Yeah, him. He’s a pig.”

Ross Griffin was a very nice young resident who worked with Melissa up at Northwest Hospital and volunteered whenever his schedule allowed. He was hardly “a pig,” but Kyle refrained from pointing that out. He wouldn’t be able to change her mind.

“Lucky for you he’s not in today,” he said, turning to go to his office. “See you around, Zita. I hope your foot gets better.”

“Sure, fine. Whatever.”

He smiled as he let himself into his office. Coming from Zita that was pretty polite.

He made slow but steady progress on his paperwork, despite his preoccupied state. At one point Barbara dropped in and shared a cup of coffee. She watched him a little more closely than usual, he thought, but she didn’t refer to the previous night.

A little before noon he glanced up from his desk to see a boy, maybe sixteen, standing in the doorway to his office. His light-brown hair hung in greasy tangles around his face and his clothes looked as if they hadn’t seen a washing machine in months. His left wrist was in a splint. He carried an army-surplus duffel bag over his shoulder.

Street kid. He didn’t appear drugged out, Kyle noted—good sign for his future health and safety.

“That black lady said you had some stuff you could give me.” His voice was only slightly sullen.

Kyle stood. “Okay. Personal supplies, that kind of thing?” he asked, walking to the wall shelves.

The boy shrugged, staring down at the peeling linoleum floor. “Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered.

Kyle pulled out a couple of cardboard boxes. “Why don’t you come see what you can use.”

The kid hesitated.

“My name’s Kyle. What’s yours?”

More hesitation. Then, “Blue.”

A street name. Not surprising that he wouldn’t trust Kyle, a stranger, with his real name.

“Nice to meet you, Blue.” He held up a packet with a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and soap. “This look like stuff you need?”

Blue took a few steps into the room. “It’s free, right?”

Kyle nodded.

“Yeah, okay. I guess I could use that.” He walked over and accepted the packet.