She stopped walking.
The girl clutched something in both hands.
A pair of yellow rubber gloves, old and creased.
She held them out toward the doctors like an offering.
Nobody took them.
“Excuse me,” the girl said.
Her voice cracked.
“My brother is sick.”
Dr. Harlan Greiss turned from the desk.
He was the chief of pediatrics. Silver hair, pressed white coat, a gold anchor pin on his lapel.
He looked at the girl the way a man looks at a stain.
“Who let this child in here?” he asked.
“Sir, she just walked in,” said the desk clerk, Imani Brooks. “She’s soaking wet.”
“This is a naval hospital, Ms. Brooks. We treat Navy families. We do not run a shelter.”
Greiss checked his watch.
“Call county services. Let them sort it out.”
“Her brother looks sick, Dr. Greiss.”
“Then the county can send an ambulance.”
He smiled at the other doctors.
