Anaheim General

                       She sat down at the table and introduced herself to everyone. “I’m doctor Kelly Porter.” She said. I’m on ward three, she continued.” She worked on the same ward as Devon and Olga.

               At lunch one of the older nurses told Devon all about doctor Kelly Porter. Kelly is an Angel, hiding a brilliant brain behind the conduct of a buffoon at times. She had a tanned face and an athletic body. Kelly’s temper is angelic, unless she encounters a case of a battered baby, when a red light comes into those hazel eyes, and her fists clench as though she had the guilty party in front of her.

               Patients find her irresistible, and children love her. She’s a good ventriloquist, in great demand at fundraisers in aid of Anaheim General. Her white coat pocket bulges with a small puppet called Spots, who comes out to amuse any depressed patient, with remarkable results.

              “Just before his shift ended Kelly came up behind him and whispered,” come on, Devon, my pet, when is it going to be Kelly’s turn to take you out? When’s your next day off?”

               Naturally, she didn’t know about Kathleen. Anyway, he was no longer engaged, so there was no need. Why not accept her invitation? She seemed genuine.

                Devon gave himself a little look in the mirror. Adequate. Helping patients on the ward, finding reasons why every woman he met wasn’t good enough, didn’t meet his specifications. A feeling of panic rushed over him, reddening his cheeks. Had he made a terrible mistake, breaking up with Kathleen?

                 Had he been to hasty, Devon knew himself well enough to realize that if he never had children he’d be desperately unfulfilled, no matter how high he got in his new profession. “He didn’t give Kelly an answer.”