One Day Soon by A. Meredith Walters Page B

wasn’t fine?” Yoss lifted one of his bandaged hands and waved it in front of my face.
    “This isn’t going to work,” I said, closing the file and getting to my feet.
    “Excuse me?” Yoss said, his anger replaced by surprise.
    “I can’t work on your case. I’ll transfer you to one of my co-workers. It’s obvious you have some problem with me now, though I don’t get it. But whatever, I want you to get the help you need, and obviously that’s not going to happen if I’m your caseworker.” I felt sick.
    Was I going to walk out that door and turn my back on him?
    Could I really do that?
    “Imi—”
    “No, it’s for the best. It’s obvious the past fifteen years haven’t been good to you. God, I wish they had been. But I’m not going to be able to do anything for you apparently.”
    How I wished that wasn’t true.
    “Imi, wait,” he called out as I made to leave the room.
    I hesitated, my hand on the curtain.
    “I’m just—I’m not being fair to you. I’m sorry,” Yoss said softly. “Please don’t go. Don’t transfer me to someone else.”
    “You don’t want me here, Yoss,” I argued, dropping my hand to my side.
    “I do. But—” he cut himself off and I turned to look at him again. He was exhausted. His eyes were unnaturally bright. His face flushed. He looked as though he had a fever.
    I walked back to his bedside and without asking permission, I put my hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up. Let me call the nurse.”
    Yoss reached up and grabbed my hand. “I’m angry, Imogen, but not with you. Please don’t leave.”
    I nodded. “Okay. But you have to talk to me, Yoss.”
    “I will. I promise,” he said emphatically.
    I promise.
    How many times had he said those words to me?
    I pushed the call button on the side of his bed and Cheyenne came in a few minutes later, a small woman with an air of efficiency.
    “Mr. Frazier, you’re awake,” she said with a smile.
    “I think he’s running a fever,” I told her.
    Cheyenne came over and touched his forehead. “I’d say so. Let me grab a thermometer.”
    I waited with Yoss until Cheyenne came back in to take his temperature. He had dropped my hand, but his eyes kept finding me again. And again.
    “101 degrees. That’s not too high. You most likely have some sort of secondary infection, but I’ll page Dr. Howell so he can reassess the situation,” Cheyenne said. “Imogen, you should probably let the patient get some rest. You can do your paperwork later.”
    “Okay, I should go see the rest of my clients,” I said.
    “You’ll come back though, right?” Yoss asked, sounding so much younger than he was.
    I ignored the strange look Cheyenne gave me and instead concentrated on Yoss.
    “I’ll come back later this afternoon,” I told him.
    “Do you promise?”
    “I promise.”

    I wasn’t able to get back to Yoss’s room until late in the afternoon. When I arrived a woman I recognized was sitting in the chair by his bed.
    Yoss looked irritated, his lips pinched, his brow furrowed.
    Which wasn’t surprising, given whom he was speaking to. Tracey Higgins glanced up from the pile of papers in her lap and gave me a tight smile.
    “Imogen, hello,” she said with a sour expression. Her lip curled as though she smelled something bad and I wanted to roll my eyes.
    Tracey had never learned how to play well with others.
    We butted heads early in my career. It all started over a homeless woman who had been admitted to the hospital for pneumonia. She had been hesitant about going to the local shelter. After doing some digging I found out that the woman had been assaulted by another woman at the shelter several months before, though she had never reported it.
    When I had suggested the woman be transported to a shelter in the next city, Tracey had taken offense. As though I were insulting her program. She took everything personally and because of that she had been a pain in my ass ever since.
    Yoss’s eyes followed me as I