Libby’s cell rang with Nick’s ring tone so as soon as she’d said farewell to Lucinda Trioli, she called him back. For years, Nick had only ever phoned during clinic hours if there was a domestic crisis, but these days, most of his calls had nothing to do with the girls and everything to do with him telling her how much he loved and appreciated her. They’d taken up the suggestion of their counselor, who’d pointed out that as they both put notes of love in their daughters’ lunchboxes, why not extend it to each other? Initially, it felt forced, but now instead of dread, Libby got a buzz of anticipation whenever Nick texted or rang her at work.

“Hi.” Nick’s voice was unexpectedly serious. “Mom and Dad are here and they’re pretty upset. They’re saying when they picked up Leo, Jess was drunk.”

Libby’s hand tightened around the phone. For weeks, Nick had honored her request that she didn’t want to hear any details about Thursday afternoons. Although the girls sometimes chattered about seeing Leo, the topic died away quickly enough once she redirected the conversation. Now, despite their agreement, that child and his mother were being shoved into her face.

“And you’re telling me this why?”

“Leo might not be safe.”

“Call child protective services then.”

“That’s a big leap, isn’t it?”

“You just said he might not be safe.”

He was silent for a moment and then he said, hesitantly, “Can’t you—”

“No!” Angry and devastated that Nick was asking her to intervene, she hung up and strode down the corridor to the waiting room. “Mr. Tran?”

Libby threw herself into work, thankful it kept her too busy to think of anything other than the patient in front of her. Three hours sped past and she was just following up on some results when Ramesh stuck his head around the door.

“Sorry to disturb you. I have sent Jess Dekic to Bairnsdale Hospital for tests.”

“She’s not my patient.”

“Ah, no.” He looked uncomfortable. “But she was very insistent that Nick is her next of kin.”

In her dreams! The urge to scream, hit, punch and destroy had her gripping the edge of the desk. “Tell me you didn’t call him on her behalf?”

“I told her I would contact him. I did not specify how I would do this,” he said in his precise English.

“Thank you. Was she drunk?”

“I did not do a blood alcohol reading. However, she has a UTI, is febrile, dehydrated, nauseated and has abdominal guarding. I inserted an IV, gave her an antiemetic and analgesia and started her on antibiotics. I am certain BRHS will keep her in overnight.”

“As I said before, I’m not her doctor. I don’t need to know the ins and outs of her treatment plan.”