"I'm not talking to you," Kim repeated. "You might as well save your breath."

"Oh, come on!" Kelly said. "Your having to wait hours to be seen in the emergency room will strike a familiar chord with my viewers, especially with the ironic twist that it's a doctor doing the waiting. We don't even have to discuss the assault and battery part if you don't want."

"Yeah, sure, as if I could trust you," Kim said.

"You can," Kelly said. "You see, I think having to wait so long relates to the merger story. I believe it has something to do with AmeriCare's interest in profits. What do you think?"

Kim looked at Kelly as they walked. Her bright blue-green eyes sparkled. Kim had to admit that although she was a pain in the neck, she was also smart as a whip.

"You said it, not me," Kim remarked. "So no quotes. My life right now is sufficiently screwed up that I don't need you to make it worse. Goodbye, Miss Anderson."

Kim went through a pair of swinging doors leading back into the operating area. Kelly pulled to a stop to the relief of Brian. Both were out of breath.

"Well, we tried." Kelly said. "The sad irony is that this time I'm sincerely sympathetic. A month ago I had to wait almost the same amount of time with my own daughter."

Kim entered his office complex by the back door. It gave him a chance to get into his private office without having to go through the waiting room. As he struggled out of his suit jacket he picked up his phone and got Ginger at the reception desk.

"I'm back," Kim said. With the receiver caught in the crook of his neck, he walked over to his closet. The telephone wire was just long enough.

"You've got a waiting-room full of patients," Ginger said. "Thanks to Tom's emergency surgery, you're about two hours behind schedule."

"Any phone messages of import?" Kim asked. He managed to get his jacket hung up and grabbed his short white doctor's jacket.

"Nothing that can't wait," Ginger said.

"No calls from Tracy?"

"No," Ginger said.

"Okay, have Cheryl start moving the patients into the examining rooms," Kim said.

After slipping on the white jacket and collecting the pens and other paraphernalia he kept in his pockets, Kim dialed Tracy 's number. While the call went through. he draped his stethoscope around his neck.

Tracy answered on the first ring as if she were right next to the phone.

"Well, how's the patient doing?" Kim asked. He tried to sound upbeat.

"Not a lot of change," Tracy said.

"Any fever? How about cramps?" Kim asked.

"Some' Tracy said. "But I was able to get her to take some chicken broth."

Kim was tempted to say that Ginger had tried to get her to eat chicken broth on Sunday, but then he thought better of it. Instead he said: "It sounds like you're making progress. I'll bet Becky will be feeling herself in no time."

"I certainly hope so," Tracy said.

"It stands to reason," Kim said. "With no fever and no elevated white count, her body's obviously handled the infection. But keep me posted, okay?"

"I will," Tracy said. Then she added: "I'm sorry if I was mean last night."

"You don't have to apologize," Kim said.

"I feel I said some nasty things," Tracy said. "I was very upset."

"Please," Kim said. "I was the one out of line, not you."

"I'll call if there's any change," Tracy said.

"I'll either be here or at home," Kim said.

Kim hung up the phone. For the first time all day he felt relatively content. Walking out into the corridor, he smiled at Cheryl and took the first chart.

When Kim turned off the headlights of his car in front of his garage door, he found himself in pitch dark. It was only eight o'clock, but it could have been midnight. There was no moon, and the only light was a slight smudge on the eastern horizon, where the city lights reflected off the low cloud cover. The house was so dark it appeared like a hunk of rock.

Kim opened the car door, and the interior lights came on. That gave him an opportunity to collect the cartons of Chinese takeout he'd picked up on the way back from his office. The last patient had left at seven-fifteen.

With his arms full of food containers and paperwork he hoped to complete that evening, Kim made his way from the driveway toward the front door. He had to move by feel along the flagstone walkway. As dark as it was, it was difficult to comprehend that during the summer at that very time of the evening, the sun would have still been in the sky.

Kim heard his phone even before he got to the door. It was jangling insistently in the darkness. Without knowing why, Kim felt a stab of panic. In the process of getting his keys out, he dropped the paperwork. Then he couldn't find the right key, which forced him to put down the food cartons so that he could use both hands. Finally he got the door open and rushed inside.

With the help of the foyer light, Kim dashed into the cavernous, mostly empty living room and answered the phone. He was irrationally terrified that whoever was calling would hang up before the connection went through. But it didn't happen. It was Tracy.

"She's worse," Tracy blurted. She sounded desperate and on the verge of tears.

"What's happened?" Kim demanded as his heart skipped a beat.

"She hemorrhaged," Tracy cried. "The toilet's full of blood."

"Is she lucid?" Kim asked quickly.

"Yes," Tracy said. "She's calmer than I am. She's on the couch."

"Can she walk?" Kim asked. "Is she dizzy?"

"She can walk okay," Tracy said, getting more in control of herself. "I'm glad you answered the phone. I was about to call 911."

"Get her into the car and back to the ER," Kim said. "Provided you think you can drive okay. Otherwise, we can call 911 for an ambulance."

"I can drive fine," Tracy said.

"I'll meet you there," Kim said. He hung up the phone. Then he raced into the library and tore open the central drawer of his desk. Roughly he searched through the contents, looking for his address book. When he found it, he opened it to the T's and ran his finger down until he came to George Turner. Taking out his cell phone, he entered the number and pressed SEND.

With the phone pressed to his ear, Kim retraced his route to the car. He stepped over the Chinese takeout, leaving the cartons and the paperwork strewn over the doormat.

Mrs. Turner answered just as Kim opened the car door. Without any pleasantries, he asked if George were available. By the time George was on the line, Kim was already backing out the driveway.

"Sorry to bother you," Kim said.

"No bother," George said. "What's up? Nothing, I hope."

"I'm afraid so," Kim said. "I mean it's nothing earth-shattering. It's just that Becky's sick with dysentery-like symptoms: cramps, diarrhea, and now some bleeding, but no fever."

"I'm sorry to hear that," George said.

"We never got another pediatrician after you left," Kim explained guiltily. "And the few I knew, including yourself, all left town. Last night we took her to the emergency room at the University Med Center and ended up waiting for three hours."

"God! That's terrible," George said.

"I'm embarrassed to say I punched out one of the AmeriCare administrators over it," Kim said. "Anyway, Becky was sent home with nothing. No medications. Tracy just called me to tell me she hemorrhaged. I don't know how much, but Tracy was a bit hysterical. I'm on my way to meet them at the ER. Who should I have see her?"

"Hmmmm." George intoned. "I don't think a pediatrician would be best. I guess I'd recommend either an infectious-disease specialist or a GI person."

"Well, which?" Kim asked. "And would you recommend one? The consults I deal with don't see kids as a rule."

"You've got a lot of superb people," George said. "I guess I'd recommend an infectious-disease guy, at least initially. Try to get Claude Faraday. You can't do better than Claude anyplace."