The county clinic, located a quarter-mile south on Highway 76, was a cinder-block building wedged between a house and abandoned garage. David Tanner kept regular office hours on weekdays, mostly caring for native villagers and their families. His nurse, Elaine Beasley, rented an adobe behind the clinic. She was available on weekends and evenings to contact the doctor in case of emergency.
“Buenas tardes,” Elaine said to August.
“Hey,” he mumbled, trying to hold his eyes open.
In the mountains Elaine saw many strung-out youth. She kept tabs on their missteps. In her opinion, August wore the mark of a boy who would turn out well. However, today he looked quite agitated. His eyes were half-closed, his face and ponytail wet with perspiration, his feet brown to the ankles with mud.
“Is Dr. Tanner here?” he panted.
“Anything wrong?” Elaine solicited.
“I need to see Dr. Tanner A-SAP.”
“Okay, but he’s with a patient right now. Is there a problem I can help with?”
“It’s personal,” August shivered. He was cold and hot.
“He’ll be finished in a minute.”
It was long uncomfortable minute.
Finally, Dr. Tanner emerged with Marie Luisa Trujillo, Hector’s wife. Mrs. Trujillo smiled at August. David extended his hand in a strong shake, man to man. He met August when he first arrived in New Mexico. In fact, he once invited August’s mother on a date.
“Can I speak to you alone?” August asked.
Dr. Tanner led the way into his private office. He pointed to a chair. He leaned against his large roll-top desk.
August’s tongue was heavy, inert. He couldn’t make it operate.
“You wanted to speak to me?” David prompted.
“Yes,” August said, hugging his arms across his chest and searching for the right words. There were right words, but he couldn’t find them. “Ruby Ryan,” he muttered.
“Is Ruby ill?” Tanner pressed.
Those were the words.
“Really ill,” August said.