Chapter 4: The Six-Bed ER

Harlow Creek was one main street, a feed store, a diner and a hospital the size of a large house.

I parked in the ER lot at five minutes to ten.

The building was brick, with a flat roof and a sign out front that had lost its second "o".

A man was waiting under the ambulance bay awning with two paper cups.

He was tall enough that he had to turn his shoulders to get through his own door.

His dark hair had gone grey at the temples, and his nose had been broken at least once.

He wore scrubs that were clean and a white coat that wasn't.

"Ms. Holzer," he said, and held out a hand.

"Dr. Roark."

His hand was warm and dry and he let go a beat before I expected.

He held out one of the cups.

"Coffee," he said. "I didn't know how you take it."

I looked at the lid, and then I looked at him.

"Black is fine."

"Good." He turned away to open the door. "That's what we have."

The department had six beds, one trauma bay and a supply closet he called the pharmacy.

Everything was clean. Everything was old.

He showed me the crash cart, the one working ultrasound and the sink where the hot water took a full minute.

"Two nurses on days," he said. "One at night."

"Two of the three have been here since the nineties and want to retire. My assistant nurse manager left in June."

"Why?"

"Her husband got a job in Boise."

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