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"What happens now?" Tyler Braden asked after a deep sigh.
He picked up a patient's chart on the table. Over the course of his three days in Dixie Ridge, Tennessee, Ty had learned an important lesson about Nurse Payne. No matter what she thought, she spoke loud and clear.
Are you going to wear your Sunday best all week, doctor?
Ty opened his lab coat to look at his white shirt, striped tie, and dark pants.
What's wrong with the way I dress?
Martha looked at him over the rims of her glasses as if she thought he was a little simple.
People around here don't dress like that unless they're going to their wedding or funeral.
Ty raised an eyebrow.
And what would you suggest I wear, Martha?
The nurse patted the thick gray bow at the base of her neck, a gesture Ty had come to recognize as a preamble to one of her lectures. When Martha came out from behind the table and stood before him to look him up and down, Ty felt the urge to reach down and make sure his fly was zipped up. A quick glance at the end of his belt confirmed that he was.
First of all, you should forget the tie and white shirt. They make you look like you're about to drown. A sweater or T-shirt would suit you.
"That's better," the nurse pointed at her trousers. "And while you're at it, you could buy some jeans and leave those serious trousers for when you go to mass." She shrugged. "It's up to you, of course, but I warn you that people around here don't like people who put on airs."
But I don't...
"If you don't want to know, don't ask." Once she'd made her judgment, Martha circled back around the desk to answer the phone. "Dixie Ridge Health Clinic."
Ty bit the inside of his cheek to suppress the epithet on the tip of his tongue. When he'd called Dr. Fletcher to discuss a temporary replacement at the clinic, the old doctor had warned him about his grumpy nurse.
Old Martha will be of great use to you, but she'll also be your harshest critic. Make sure you have her on your side.
But a few simple words could never have prepared Ty for the reality of Martha Payne. With her pleasant, motherly face and drill-sergeant's voice delivering instruction, the clinic ran under her tutelage like a well-oiled machine. She served as both receptionist and nurse, and her efficiency astounded Ty as her directness irritated him. Since his arrival, he'd been subjected to lectures ranging from the waste of gauze and tape to the proper way to answer the clinic phone. And to make matters worse, Martha's opinions seemed to be taking on an increasingly personal slant.
He had sensed a certain reserve in the patients, but, concerned by their symptoms and complaints, he had assumed it was because they didn't know him. It had never occurred to him that it might be due to their way of dressing. He tugged at the knot of his tie, removed it, and put it in his coat pocket. Fortunately, when his six months as a substitute were over, he would return to Chicago and would no longer have to listen to Martha's repeated criticisms.
He picked up a patient's chart on the table. Over the course of his three days in Dixie Ridge, Tennessee, Ty had learned an important lesson about Nurse Payne. No matter what she thought, she spoke loud and clear.
Are you going to wear your Sunday best all week, doctor?
Ty opened his lab coat to look at his white shirt, striped tie, and dark pants.
What's wrong with the way I dress?
Martha looked at him over the rims of her glasses as if she thought he was a little simple.
People around here don't dress like that unless they're going to their wedding or funeral.
Ty raised an eyebrow.
And what would you suggest I wear, Martha?
The nurse patted the thick gray bow at the base of her neck, a gesture Ty had come to recognize as a preamble to one of her lectures. When Martha came out from behind the table and stood before him to look him up and down, Ty felt the urge to reach down and make sure his fly was zipped up. A quick glance at the end of his belt confirmed that he was.
First of all, you should forget the tie and white shirt. They make you look like you're about to drown. A sweater or T-shirt would suit you.
"That's better," the nurse pointed at her trousers. "And while you're at it, you could buy some jeans and leave those serious trousers for when you go to mass." She shrugged. "It's up to you, of course, but I warn you that people around here don't like people who put on airs."
But I don't...
"If you don't want to know, don't ask." Once she'd made her judgment, Martha circled back around the desk to answer the phone. "Dixie Ridge Health Clinic."
Ty bit the inside of his cheek to suppress the epithet on the tip of his tongue. When he'd called Dr. Fletcher to discuss a temporary replacement at the clinic, the old doctor had warned him about his grumpy nurse.
Old Martha will be of great use to you, but she'll also be your harshest critic. Make sure you have her on your side.
But a few simple words could never have prepared Ty for the reality of Martha Payne. With her pleasant, motherly face and drill-sergeant's voice delivering instruction, the clinic ran under her tutelage like a well-oiled machine. She served as both receptionist and nurse, and her efficiency astounded Ty as her directness irritated him. Since his arrival, he'd been subjected to lectures ranging from the waste of gauze and tape to the proper way to answer the clinic phone. And to make matters worse, Martha's opinions seemed to be taking on an increasingly personal slant.
He had sensed a certain reserve in the patients, but, concerned by their symptoms and complaints, he had assumed it was because they didn't know him. It had never occurred to him that it might be due to their way of dressing. He tugged at the knot of his tie, removed it, and put it in his coat pocket. Fortunately, when his six months as a substitute were over, he would return to Chicago and would no longer have to listen to Martha's repeated criticisms.
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