I can’t answer her proposal. I can’t even speak. There’s so much rage clogging my throat.

I fist my hands and make myself walk away from…whoever that woman is to Waylon without another word.

“So that’s a no then?” she asks behind me with a laugh that reminds me of high school girls who like to ask questions just to be mean.

When I re-enter the general store vibrating with fury, I find Lucinda at the front counter talking with Charlie.

“Hi, Dr. Amira!” she says, looking up from the conversation. “How are you today?”

I don’t answer her greeting or bother to correct her since she and the rest of the town seem hell-bent on calling me that.

I just turn to face off with Charlie.

“So, what did he say?” Charlie asks, crossing his arms over his barrel chest like he’s ready to stand his ground if my answer isn’t right.

“I need you to order me those supplies,” I tell him, barely keeping my voice level. “It's for the town. I shouldn't have to get permission from anyone."

“But Waylon said—” Charlie begins.

I slam my hand on the counter and scream, “I swear to God, if you ‘Waylon said’ to me one more time, I will lose it. Completely lose it.”

Charlie exchanges a look with Lucinda, who asks, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Don’t look at her,” I snarl at Charlie. “Look at me, the medical professional who is asking you to do your damn job, for which you, unlike me, are actually paid. I need you to put in that order. Now.”

Charlie glances nervously to the side, then has the nerve to say, “But Waylon said—”

Okay, I warned him. Before he gets his Waylon excuse fully out of his mouth, I sweep the counter, knocking all the bubblegum, cigarette, and candy displays to the floor.

“Dr. Amira!” Lucinda cries, jumping back.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Charlie demands.

I knock over a soda display next. “Open your damn computer, and….”

I spot a pyramid of Heinz beans and push my foot through it.

“Make. The. Order!” I roar as the cans go tumbling down.

“Dr. Amira?” Lucinda cries out again.

“I’m not a doctor. I'm a nurse practitioner!” I repeat for the fiftieth time this week, spinning around to confront her.

But then I freeze when I see the puddle of liquid at her feet.

“Okay, Nurse Amira,” she says, her voice small. “I think my water just broke.”

Other than her water breaking at Charlie’s general store after I throw my temper tantrum, Lucinda's birth of a healthy baby boy goes without a hitch.

Crazytown, who turns out to be a grizzled biker in his 50s, finally comes to his senses and arrives to hold Lucinda’s hand about twenty minutes before the baby's head starts to crown.