"Thanks," Kim said.

"Don't mention it," the orderly said.

Kim hurried back the way he'd come. Tracy and Becky were still in line although they had moved up a few feet. Becky had her eyes shut tight. Tears streaked her face.

Kim handed one of the plastic bags to Tracy. "Cramps?" he questioned.

"Of course, you lunkhead," Tracy said. Tracy grabbed Becky's hand and led her back to the restroom.

Kim held their place in line as it advanced by one more patient. Now there were two check-in clerks. Apparently the other had been off on break.

By nine-fifteen the ER waiting room was filled to overflowing. All the molded-plastic chairs were occupied. The rest of the people were leaning up against the walls or sprawled on the floor. There was little conversation. In one corner, a television hung suspended from the ceiling. It was tuned to CNN. A number of unhappy infants drowned out the newscaster. Outside it had started to rain; the smell of wet wool filled the air.

Kim, Tracy, and Becky had eventually found seats together and had not moved, except for Becky, who'd made several more trips to the restroom. Kim was holding the stool-sample container. Although there had been some spots of bright red blood originally, now the contents appeared a uniform light brown. Becky was miserable and mortified. Tracy was exasperated. Kim was still seething.

"I don't believe this," Kim said suddenly. "I truly don't believe this. Every second I think we'll be called, but it doesn't happen." He glanced at his watch. "We've been here an hour and a half."

"Welcome to the real world," Tracy said.

"This is what Kelly Anderson should have done her merger story about," Kim said. "This is ridiculous. AmeriCare closed the ER at the Samaritan to cut costs and make everyone come here. It's all just to maximize profits."

"And maximize inconvenience," Tracy added.

"It's true," Kim agreed. "AmeriCare definitely wants to discourage emergency-room usage."

"I can't think of a better way," Tracy said.

"I can't believe that not one of the staff people has recognized me," Kim growled. "It's incredible. Hell, I'm probably the best-known cardiac surgeon in the department."

"Isn't there something you can do?" Tracy pleaded. "Becky's miserable."

Kim stood up. "All right," he said. "I'll try."

"But don't lose your temper," Tracy admonished. "It might make everything worse."

"How can it be worse?" Kim replied.

Kim walked out of the waiting room on his way to the nurses desk. He'd gone only a few steps when the wailing of an ambulance siren reverberated through the main swinging doors to his left. A moment later a flashing red light was seen through the doors' glass panels. The siren died off and soon the doors burst open. Several bloodied people – apparently auto-accident victims – were rolled in and whisked into the ER proper.

Kim could not help but wonder if these new arrivals meant Becky would have to wait that much longer.

Kim approached the nurses' desk. Again he looked for Molly McFadden, but she was still out of sight. The people there were a clerk, who was on the phone transcribing laboratory values, and a solitary nurse doing paperwork while sipping coffee. Her name tag read: MONICA HOSKINS, ER Staff Nurse.

Forcing himself to be civil, Kim got her attention by gently tapping the countertop.

"Good evening," he said when she looked up at him. "Perhaps you recognize me?"

Monica narrowed her eyes slightly as she gazed at Kim.

"No, I don't think I do," she said. "Should I?"

"I'm on the surgical attending staff," Kim said. "But right now I'm here with my daughter, and we've been waiting for over an hour and a half. Could you tell me when she'll be seen?"

"It's been a busy night, especially with auto accidents," Monica explained. "What's the name?"

"Dr. Reggis," Kim said. He squared his shoulders.

"No, the patient's name," Monica said.

"Rebecca Reggis," Kim said.

Monica picked up a stack of ER sign-in sheets. After wetting the tip of her index finger with her tongue she rapidly flipped through the papers.

"Okay," she remarked as she withdrew one of them. "Here it is." She read the chief complaint and then raised her face to Kim. She arched her eyebrows.

"Diarrhea, two days' duration," she commented. "Not exactly a four-plus emergency."

Kim lifted the stool-sample container to bring it into her line of sight. "She's been passing a little bit of blood this afternoon," Kim said.

Monica leaned forward. "Doesn't look like blood."

"It did earlier." Kim said. "And it has her mother upset."

"Well, we'll get to her as soon as we can," Monica said noncommittally. "That's about all I can say." She replaced Becky's sign-in sheet to its former location in the stack.

"Listen," Kim said in a deliberately controlled voice. "As a member of the staff, I expect some consideration, and after waiting this long already, I want her to be seen shortly. I hope I'm making myself clear. She's in considerable discomfort."

Monica treated Kim to a patently false smile. "As I said a moment ago, we'll get to her as soon as we can. We have limited resources. If you've been here for an hour and a half, I'm sure you've seen the auto accidents that have come in, and now the police have alerted us a shooting victim is on his way.

No sooner had these last words escaped from Monica's lips than the familiar sound of an arriving ambulance could be heard.

"In fact, I'd wager that's them now," Monica said as she got to her feet. She moved over to an intercom and pressed a button. Talking to someone in one of the trauma rooms she informed them to get ready. Then she herself disappeared back into the depths of the ER.

With little satisfaction for his latest efforts, Kim headed back to the waiting room. As he passed by the main entrance doors, a team of EMT's rushed in with the shooting victim on a gurney. The patient had an oxygen mask strapped over his face and an IV running. His color was ashen.

"Well?" Tracy asked as Kim reclaimed his seat.

"They said they'd see her as soon as they could," Kim said. He was embarrassed to relate the rest of the conversation. He noticed that Becky had curled up in her seat as best she could and had her eyes closed.

"That's pretty vague," Tracy said. "What does it mean? Fifteen minutes, an hour, tomorrow morning?"

"It means exactly as soon as they can," Kim snapped. "A shooting victim just came in and victims from an auto accident came in a few minutes ago. It's a busy night."

Tracy sighed and shook her head in frustration.

"How's Becky doing?" Kim asked.

"She just had another bout of cramps," Tracy said. "So, you guess. You're the doctor."

Kim looked away, gritting his teeth. It was hard not to lose his temper. And on top of everything else, he was hungry.

For the next hour Kim was sullenly silent. He was busy brooding over this ridiculous ER experience and eager to complain to his colleagues about it. They would understand. Tracy and Becky seemed more resigned to the wait.

Every time one of the nurses or residents came to the waiting-room threshold to call out a name, Kim expected it to be Rebecca Reggis. But it never was. Finally Kim looked at his watch.

"It's been two and a half freaking hours." He stood up. "I truly can't believe this. If I were the slightest bit paranoid, I'd think it was some kind of screwy conspiracy. This time I'm going to make something happen. I'll be right back."

Tracy glanced up at her former husband. Under more normal circumstances, she'd be concerned about Kim's temper, but after having been kept waiting so long, she didn't care. She wanted Becky seen. She didn't comment as Kim stalked off.

Kim marched directly back to the nurses' desk. A number of the ER staff was scattered about the station, engaged in desultory conversation punctuated by laughter.