“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’ve just never seen anything like that. Someone did that to him, tried to kill him. Who would do something like that?”
“I don’t know, sweetie, but unfortunately, not everyone has a good heart.”
She wiped her eyes and sniffled again. “I’m really glad you were here.”
“Me too,” I said, gently rubbing her arm.
“Excuse me?”
A newcomer poked his head around the bay’s curtain. He was wearing a long sleeve, tan button-up shirt with dark jeans and cowboy boots. A badge shone brightly on one side of his belt, a gun on the other.
“Hi . . . ah, Officer?”
“Deputy,” he corrected. A blood-soaked wrap was wound around his right hand, and blood smeared the front of his clothes.
“Deputy. Are you—” I started.
“Milo!” Maisy shrieked from behind me, then ran to his side. “Oh my god! What happened to you?”
“Maisy, calm down,” he said. “I’m okay. Got a cut on my hand that’s small but pretty deep, so I need to get a couple of stitches.”
“How’d you get that cut?” she asked.
“I cut it on some glass.”
“Where? How? Weren’t you in your patrol car all morning? What were you doing today where you had to be touching broken glass?” she asked, examining his wounded arm.
He opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off.
“Oh my god! You found the beaten man, didn’t you? He had glass in one of his legs!” She was shrieking again.
“You know I can’t answer that question or talk about work,” he said.
“Well, today you will. Tell me what happened.”
“I. Cut. It. On. Glass. End of story, Maisy.”
“Where. Was. The. Glass. Milo?”
Since Milo was bleeding and neither one of them gave any indication of backing down, I decided to interrupt their standoff.
“How about we get Milo admitted before he wrecks the floor? Then you two can continue your conversation.” I pointed to the blood spots at our feet.
They both immediately dropped their eyes, then nodded. The ER bay where we put Milo was surrounded by a long curved curtain. Closing it behind her, Maisy left me with Milo to go and call Dr. Peterson for the stitches. I pulled up a stool and snapped on some latex gloves, preparing to remove the bloody wrap from Milo’s hand and clean his wound.
“You’re new here,” Milo said.
“Yep, just started today. My name is Gigi.”
“Sorry about that scene with Maisy. Our moms are best friends so we grew up spending a lot of time together. She’s like my little sister.” Milo sighed.
I smiled. “Ah . . . hence the squabble.”
“Milo Phillips. Glad to meet you.” He smiled back.
We sat quietly for a few moments while I worked.
