I’m thinking we have the word Mother this week because it’s mother’s day soon. I have no idea if that’s the reason but that’s my speculation anyway. I’m still sharing from Til Murder Do Us Part even though I finished the first draft on April 15th. Be sure to check out the other entries here.
The nurse turned on the overhead light, took Margot’s blood pressure and pulse then checked her wristband before handing her a small cup with a couple of tablets in it. “This is an antibiotic in case of infection from your wound site and a pain pill.”
“I don’t think I need anything for pain. I’m feeling all right without it.”
“I’m a doctor myself and I don’t want to take it.” Margot crossed her arms.
The nurse looked at Richard. “Doctors are the worst patients.”
“She told me the other day that her name was Miss Jenkins. Don’t doctors usually insist on being called doctor?” Richard was using that smile he seemed to save for when he wanted women to melt at his feet and it was working on the nurse. It was also working on Margot herself but she tried to deny it.
“Very funny, Detective Higgins.”
“So we’re back to our formal titles, Miss Jenkins?” He winked.
“No, you’re not to call me Miss Jenkins anymore. It’s Doctor Jenkins.”
He nodded then turned to the nurse. “Leave the pill, I’ll make sure she takes it.”
“I shouldn’t but I will. If she doesn’t take it, let me know because I’ll have to chart it that she didn’t.” The nurse hung Margot’s chart on the end of the bed and left.
“I think you should take the pain pill. You’re going to be sorry if you don’t. You’ve had a transfusion and trauma to your body. You need to follow your doctor’s orders.” Richard held up the little cup. “Please. As a favor to me?”
She smiled a little. He did seem concerned about her. She took the cup, swallowed the tablet and chased it down with water.
“What’s the deal with suddenly deciding you’re a doctor again?”
“Funny thing about that.”
“After Geneva died, I quit being a doctor because I was shattered. Both personally and professionally. I’d gone to medical school as a way of proving I was smart and capable and worthy of my parents’ love. It wasn’t because I had some burning desire to practice medicine. That’s why I chose to work in the morgue. It wasn’t about patient care, it was about proving to them that I was worthwhile.”
“Why wouldn’t they think that any way? You were their child. Of course they were proud of you.”
“There’s a funny thing about that as well. One of the things I learned from Paul Murdock in that dark place was that my parents played my sister and me against each other. It seems my mother spent her life telling Geneva how wonderful I was for being her doctor daughter and then making sure I knew how marvelous Geneva was for being an Olympic level swimmer. Neither one of us was the favored child.” Margot barked out a laugh. “When I think about all the time I spent—no, wasted—on fretting over who mom loved best and trying to earn her love, it gives me chills. I should’ve lived my life as I saw fit not as I perceived someone wanted me to.”
“And now you’ve decided what?”
“That I really did enjoy being a doctor and I want to practice medicine again but this time I want to deal with the living, not the dead.”
Richard reached over and took Margot’s hand from where it lay on the bed. He brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Bravo.”