"Austin." I keep my voice professional. "If you gentlemen would kindly leave, I’ve other patients this afternoon."
EJ climbs down from the table and walks straight to me and puts his arms around my waist and squeezes, the uncomplicated full-body hug of a child who has decided he likes you. "Thank you, Dr. Savannah. You're much nicer than Dr. Foster. See you soon."
I put my hand on the back of his head for a second. "Take care of that side."
"I will." He looks up at me. "Can I come back?"
"For the stitches. Yes."
He nods, satisfied, and goes to Austin. Austin picks him up without looking at me again and carries him out of the treatment room. I listen to the sound of them going down the corridor, through the front door and then silence.
The waitingroom is not silent.
I need to get a fresh dressing from the supply cupboard, which is unfortunately through the waiting room, and when I push the door open I stop.
There’re three men I don't know in the waiting room, one with the kind of easy grin that means he finds most things at least mildly entertaining, and one who is standing in the corner watching the door like he's waiting for something to come through it. They are large men in a room that was designed for normal-sized people, and the effect is something between a waiting room and a very quiet siege. They’re all here tosupport EJ and Austin. I remember Austin telling me about the brotherhood in the MC, I think I’ve just witnessed it for the first time. They’re like one big family, all looking out for EJ.
Millie is behind the reception desk with the expression of a woman who is professionally calm but personally overwhelmed.
"Is there coffee?" the grinning one says. He looks at me when I appear in the doorway. "Sorry. Hi. Is there coffee?"
"Cash," the quieter one says, without looking at him. "Sit down."
"I've been sitting down. I sat down for ten minutes and now I'm asking about coffee."
"There's water," Millie offers, in the tone of a woman offering a peace treaty.
"Brilliant," Cash says, in the tone of a man for whom this is not brilliant.
The man in the corner, the one watching the door, turns and looks at me briefly and then looks at the door again. He hasn't said a word. Somehow he's the most unnerving person in the room.
I reach past Cash for the supply cupboard, get what I need, and go back through the door. As I close it behind me I hear Cash say to the room, "Nobody is even going to acknowledge that there’s no coffee?"
I almost laugh.
Almost.
I keep seeingpatients until six. Two ear infections, a sprained wrist, a man in his seventies who needed a prescription renewed and spent forty minutes telling me about his garden. I sit with all of them properly, I ask the right questions, I do the job. On the inside I feel like a robot that's been reprogrammed to look human.
When the last patient leaves, Millie starts closing up the front desk. I go back to the treatment room and I start cleaning. Methodically. Every surface, every tray, every instrument back in its place. I need something to do with my hands.
"Savannah." Millie appears in the doorway.
"You can head off. I'll finish up."
"I know, I just." She pauses. "Are you okay?"
"Fine. Long day."
She's quiet for a second. "You know him." It's not a question.
I keep wiping the treatment table. "He's an old friend."
"Okay." She says it in the way people say okay when they mean something else.
"Millie."
"He called you Sav," she says. "Not Savannah. Sav. Like he's been calling you that his whole life."