Author's Notes: Sorry this update took so long. I moved from the hotel into my new apartment and then work went nuts. Again, thanks for all the comments. I hope I've responded to them all!
Thanks to May for the beta.
Chapter 4: Four Steps Up, One Step Over
None of the McFadden family got much rest that night.
Around three in the morning, about an hour after Daniel and Crane got home from Sonora, Guthrie's temperature spiked again and he started vomiting. Worried, Hannah tried to have Guthrie move into the master bedroom with her and Adam, but she was outvoted. Although Evan had been a nervous wreck earlier that evening, he and Ford insisted that they could take care of Guthrie, and Hannah and Adam should just get some sleep. But Guthrie was so feverish and so miserable that they ended up working in shifts. About four, Adam called their family doctor, Doc Meade.
"He says put him in a bathtub full of cool water, and keep trying to get liquids down him," he reported, putting down the phone.
Although Hannah had thought of the cool bath earlier, she had avoided it because it was so cold anyway and Guthrie kept shaking with violent chills. But now Evan ran to the bathroom to fill the tub while she and Adam took Guthrie's pajamas off. Crane had given up trying to sleep and he was standing in the door, an exhausted and half-asleep Daniel behind him, when he said, "What the hell happened to his back?"
Hannah saw the deep bruising on Guthrie's lower back and caught her breath. "Where did those come from?"
Ford looked ashamed. "We forgot to tell you."
"What? What happened?" Adam demanded.
"No, nothing happened," Ford inserted quickly. "We just saw them tonight. Guthrie said they were from the fall last week."
Guthrie seemed to be fading in and out, but he nodded his head at Ford's words.
"That's impossible!" Crane said. "He didn't look bruised at all afterwards."
"If they were deep bruises, they could have taken a while to come out," Hannah said. She ran light fingers over the bruises. "Why didn't you say anything?" she asked Guthrie, her worry increasing when she saw his glazed eyes.
Before Guthrie could respond, Evan came down the hall. "The bath is ready."
"No…" Guthrie protested.
"Sorry, Guthrie. But it'll make you feel better," Adam soothed, picking up the youngest McFadden and carrying him into the bathroom.
Hannah had to harden her heart against the panicked cries coming from the bathroom.
7BfSB
Hannah lay in bed and watched the morning sun cast rainbows of light through the sun catcher hanging in the window.
Guthrie and Ford had surprised her with the sun catcher at Christmas a few weeks before. Delicately engraved silver stars-each with its own crystal in the center-cascaded from a silver sun, with a large crystal hanging in the middle. It was beautiful and obviously expensive. She had to wonder where they had bought it-she hadn't seen anything like it in Murphys-and how they paid for it.
Then she remembered Ford had been going to school early and coming home late. He had told the family he was tutoring some kids before the end of semester exams. And Guthrie had done his chores for him, morning and evening, without a word of complaint. When she realized they had done that for her, to buy her a present, tears had sprung to her eyes. Adam had hung it in the window, where the morning sun caught it and sent prisms of dancing light around the bedroom walls.
The cool bath the night before had had the desired effect of lowering Guthrie's temperature. Once he was dried off, dressed in clean pajamas and given some more Tylenol, the youngest McFadden had slept well enough. Finally the whole household had managed to get some rest through what night had remained.
When the alarm started pealing that Sunday morning, Hannah almost burst into tears. It felt like she had had no sleep. Adam reached out and turned off the annoying noise, his eyes not even opening. "Adam," she murmured, "We have to get up."
There was a light knock on the door and Brian stuck his head in. "Hey. I hear it was a bad night."
"You could say that," Adam muttered, still sounding more asleep than awake. "I'll get up-"
"Neither one of you worry about it," Brian inserted. "Crane and Dan'l and I can do the chores, and God'll forgive us for missing one Sunday at church. I checked on Guthrie and he's sound asleep. So are Evan and Ford, for that matter. Just get some more sleep."
Hannah and Adam took him at his word and now, as she lay awake, she could tell by the light it was mid morning. Probably the latest she had gotten up since she'd married Adam and come to live here with him and his brothers.
Adam still slept beside her, snoring softly. Giving him a light kiss, she quietly eased out of bed and winced as the cold floorboards assaulted her feet. She dressed quickly, choosing jeans and a warm sweater, heavy socks and tennis shoes instead of her boots.
On her way downstairs, she detoured by Evan and Ford's room and cracked open the door. Guthrie was still sound asleep, curled up in Evan's arms. Evan was asleep as well, half sitting, half lying on the bed. On the top bunk, the only part of Ford visible was his blond hair, sticking out from under the covers. Easing the door closed, she headed downstairs.
The kitchen was warm and smelled of fresh coffee and food. Brian was manning the stove. Dressed in his old apron and armed with a long wooden spoon in one hand and a spatula in the other, he was flipping pancakes onto a platter. Daniel was hanging over the coffee pot as if it couldn't be finished perking fast enough, and a heavy-eyed Crane was just placing a plate of bacon on the table. They all looked up when she came into the room.
"Good morning, again," Brian greeted her. "You could have slept in some more. We've got everything handled."
"If, by handled, you mean Brian's biscuits are hard enough to break your teeth," Daniel muttered, pouring steaming coffee from the pot.
"You ate those biscuits for ten years and they never killed you," Brian said, pulling the juice out of the refrigerator.
"I can't beat Brian's pancakes," Hannah said with a smile. It was true, too. Brian's brothers might tell horror stories of his cooking, but some things he cooked extremely well. And, as he often pointed out, nobody had died of starvation eating his cooking.
"Did you look in on Guthrie?" Crane asked in a gravelly tone.
"He's still asleep," Hannah replied, burying her nose in the mug of coffee.
"He's awake now," Ford said, coming into the kitchen and guiding a groggy-looking Guthrie in front of him. Evan trailed him, yawning. Evan and Ford were dressed but their hair looked like it had never met a brush or comb, while Guthrie was still in his pajamas, albeit with thick socks on his feet and wearing a lurid plaid robe that Hannah had never seen before.
"How're you feeling, shrimp?" Brian greeted their youngest. "Hear you had an exciting night." Hannah noted the way Brian tousled Guthrie's hair, then slid his hand down to check forehead and cheek. Brian frowned. "You're still pretty warm. Did you take his temp?" he asked Evan and Ford.
"We couldn't find the thermometer," Ford said, making sure Guthrie was in his chair before sliding into his own.
"I feel okay," Guthrie piped up. "I'm hungry."
"Well, that's a good sign," Hannah said, feeling cheered up. Guthrie had been a little off his feed lately; she should have realized he was getting sick with something. She was still learning them, these men, her brothers, and it wasn't as if they were sick all that often. Injuries yes, sickness no. The McFadden's seemed to hail from sturdy stock.
Adam walked into the kitchen then, seemingly surprised he was the last one up. He leaned over and kissed Hannah, then rested his hand on Guthrie's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," Guthrie claimed. "Be better if I wasn't starving to death!"
"I'm not sure flapjacks are such a good idea," Adam cautioned. He always called pancakes "flapjacks". Hannah didn't know why. None of his brothers called them that, although sometimes they would call them "hotcakes".
"Worry not, Big Brother," Brian teased, putting a platter full of pancakes in the middle of the table. "I've got something special for Guthrie." He pulled a plate from the warm spot on back of the stove, and sat it down in front of the youngest McFadden. "There you go, Guthrie. Poached egg on toast. Just the way Mama used to make it when one of us was sick."
Guthrie looked up from studying his breakfast curiously. "She did?" he asked shyly. "You used to make Cream of Wheat when I was sick."
That elicited groans from around the table. "Lumpiest stuff I've ever seen," Evan muttered, filling his mouth with pancakes.
"You ate it," Brian fired back.
"'Course we did," Daniel said. "You put brown sugar and maple syrup in it. Who was going to turn that down?" He glanced over at Guthrie, who was poking the egg with his fork. "Forgot about Mama's poached eggs," Daniel added quietly.
There was a brief silence around the table. Everyone was staring at Guthrie's plate and trying to look like they weren't staring at Guthrie's plate. Guthrie finally stopped playing with his food and took a mouthful of toast and egg. "Good," he said, words muffled.
Hannah met Adam's eyes briefly before he looked away. Clearing his throat, he started talking about things that needed to be taken care of that day. His brothers listened to him; occasionally someone would nod in response. There was little of the banter and talking over each other that usually occurred during a meal. Hannah could only imagine they were all as tired as she was.
She kept an eye on Guthrie. He ate half the poached egg before he slowed down and started toying with the food, shoving a bite of egg under the toast. Brian must have been watching as well. He removed the plate and placed a glass of sparkling liquid and ice in front of Guthrie. "There you go," he said cheerfully. "Ginger ale. Best thing on earth for a touchy stomach."
"Ginger ale!" Evan said to Ford. "We should have given him that last night instead of hot chocolate."
Given the hot chocolate had made a rather violent reappearance at about three a.m., Hannah tended to agree with him.
"I didn't know we had any," Ford admitted, looking ashamed, as if he thought he had failed somehow.
Hannah opened her mouth to say something, she didn't know what, but anything to take that look off Ford's face, but Adam pre-empted her. "You two did fine, Ford. You said he was shivering, and I would have given him something hot, too. Besides," he grinned at Brian, who was finally settling down to eat. "Brian hides the ginger ale for mornings when he needs it."
Laughter filled the kitchen.
7Bf7B
The day went on rather quietly. Brian, Adam and Evan all disappeared to the barn to attend to chores. Crane worked on the books while Hannah clipped coupons from the Sunday paper to help with the week's shopping. Later in the afternoon, Crane and Daniel sat by the roaring fireplace, working on a song together.
Ford and Guthrie had both disappeared upstairs, supposedly to do homework. When Hannah checked on them later, Guthrie was sound asleep in Evan's bed and a heavy-eyed Ford was reading with one eye on the book and one eye on his brother. He put down the book when he saw Hannah peeking in the door. "I gave him some more aspirin," he whispered. "He felt really hot again. Is Doc Meade coming by today?"
Hannah shook her head. She pulled the thermometer out of her pocket; she'd found it in the laundry room, of all places, and made a mental note to buy an additional one the next time she was in town. She hesitated, deciding not to wake Guthrie to take his temperature. "He told Adam he had to go out of town today. Said to bring Guthrie into his office tomorrow morning." She studied Ford carefully, he looked almost as bad as Guthrie and she knew he hadn't had much sleep the night before. "Why don't you take a nap?" she suggested. "You don't need to come down with the same thing he has."
Ford nodded. "I was falling asleep reading," he admitted. He looked at his younger brother again. "He's okay, isn't he? I mean it's just a bug, or something, right?"
"Of course," Hannah said soothingly. "He'll probably feel better by supper time."
Unfortunately, by supper it was obvious Guthrie was actually feeling worse. He played with his meatloaf rather than eating it. Everyone tried to look like they weren't watching him scraping his fork idly through the mashed potatoes. Finally, without even looking at the Dutch apple pie (his favorite) that Hannah had prepared for dessert, he pushed away from the table and announced quietly he wasn't hungry and could he just go back upstairs?
"What if I fix you some soup?" Hannah coaxed.
"Or maybe a milkshake?" Adam offered.
Guthrie's pale skin took on a waxy green tinge and he shook his head, swallowing hard. "No, thank you."
Adam didn't bother asking him how he felt, since it was obvious. "OK," he surrendered. "Go get some sleep. We'll take you into see Doc Meade tomorrow morning."
One thing Hannah had noticed in her time at the ranch was that the McFadden men almost universally hated doctors. When Guthrie didn't protest that he was fine, that he didn't need to see the doctor, just nodded his head and stood up, it told her just how badly he felt.
Guthrie took a step, then swayed and grabbed the back of Daniel's chair.
"Guthrie!" Daniel whipped around and caught his brother in his arms before he could fall. The middle McFadden's eyes grew wide. "Adam, he's really hot."
Hannah stood up, but Adam got there before her, laying his big hand gently on Guthrie's forehead. Her husband's eyes met hers. "Did you find the thermometer?"
"It's in our room," Ford volunteered, leaping up.
Crane stood up, too. "I think he'd better sleep in our room tonight," he said to Adam, his voice very calm. "Just in case. Evan and Ford need to get some sleep."
Adam looked down at Guthrie. "That okay with you?"
"I don't care," Guthrie said, rubbing his forehead. "I just want to go to bed."
Given that it wasn't even seven o'clock, Hannah was worried, and, judging from the expressions worn by her various brothers-in-law, they were, too.
"You think you can make it up the stairs? Or do you need a piggy-back ride?"
It was almost the same comment Evan had made a week before, but this time the answer was different. "A ride," Guthrie almost whispered.
Adam looked surprised, but he boosted Guthrie onto his back. "Been awhile since I did this," he said lightly. "Ford, go up and find that thermometer, okay?"
Ford turned and ran from the room.
Nobody said anything else until Adam, with Guthrie on his back, disappeared up the stairs. Then Evan turned on Crane. "He needs to stay with us," he insisted. "What if he has something catching? Ford and I've already been exposed, you and Daniel haven't."
"Evan, he's been downstairs with us all through supper," Crane pointed out. "And we were all in and out of the room last night. But, Daniel, maybe you'd better sleep in their room, too. You've got school tomorrow."
"You'll need some help, if tonight is anything like last night was," Hannah said.
"If I need help, I'll yell," Crane promised.
7Bf7B
The thermometer revealed Guthrie's temperature to be above one-o-two. High enough to be worrisome, but it went down again thirty minutes after some more Tylenol. And there was no repeat of the previous night's illness. Once tucked into Daniel's bed, Guthrie fell asleep and slept the whole night through.
Hannah didn't. Her sleep was restless, and she got up several times during the night to trek to Crane's room and check on Guthrie. When the alarm started ringing in the morning, she again felt like she hadn't closed her eyes at all.
Monday morning was the usual rush of showers and breakfast and the last minute realizations that homework was missing. All in all, a normal Monday except that Guthrie wasn't part of the mass exodus. He slept through Daniel, Evan and Ford heading off to school and the others getting up for chores. Hannah called Doctor Meade's office as soon as eight o'clock rolled around and was told to go ahead and bring Guthrie in any time and they'd work him in.
Adam and Brian had already committed themselves to going over to the Barrett's to help Tom with some repairs to his house that couldn't wait until warmer weather. Adam looked torn, but he relaxed when Crane volunteered to go with Hannah and Guthrie to the doctor.
Guthrie was grumpy but got up when roused and got himself dressed. His fever was lower this morning and he looked a little better. He refused any breakfast though, and wouldn't even drink any juice. His continuing lack of appetite worried Hannah almost more than the stubborn elevated temperature did.
They were at the office by nine but it was almost noon before the doctor could see them. Guthrie dozed in the waiting room, his head resting on Crane's shoulder. Crane leafed through magazines, obviously not really paying them much attention. Trying not to worry, Hannah read two or three Ladies Home Journals intently, concentrating on articles such as "Can this Marriage Be Saved: My Husband Loves His Job More than Me" and "Turn Your Kitchen Into a Whimsical Beach Cottage!" When she realized she was on her third reading of "Fanciful Fruity Feasts!" she slammed the magazine shut. She launched out of her chair, not exactly sure what she was going to do, but then the nurse called Guthrie's name and she and Crane guided the sleepy boy into the examining room.
Dr. Meade came bustling into the room. "So you're not feeling any better, hmm, Guthrie?"
"No, sir," Guthrie admitted.
"His temperature keeps spiking past one hundred two, and he hasn't eaten much," Hannah volunteered. "And these bruises on his back-"
"No more vomiting, though?" the doctor asked, looking at Guthrie's back without much interest. At least it seemed that way to Hannah.
"No vomiting, not since Saturday night, but then he hasn't eaten much, either," Crane stated quietly.
Doctor Meade sat down on the rolling stool and scribbled something on a prescription pad. "Probably just a virus, like I told Adam on the phone. One kid in the class gets it, and everybody else does too. Rest and fluids. The BRAT diet, I'm sure you know it." He handed the prescription to Crane. "This is phenagren if the nausea should come back. It'll make him sleepy, which is all to the good." He stood up, preparing to leave. "Tylenol and cool sponge baths for the fever, and keep him home from school until, oh, let's say Wednesday-no, Thursday. Let's try to keep it from sweeping through the whole sixth grade."
"That's it?" Hannah exclaimed.
Meade stopped with his hand on the door. "Well, what else do you want me to do, Mrs. McFadden? I realize you're rather new at this whole mother job, but trust me, I know a virus when I see one. And really, all you can do is keep him comfortable as possible and wait out the symptoms."
His condescending tone infuriated her. Biting her lip, Hannah counted to ten. Twice. Once in French.
"What about the bruises?" Crane asked quickly, obviously afraid Hannah was going to blow up at the doctor.
Meade shrugged. "They look like normal bruises to me. You said he fell out of the hayloft last week. Be grateful it wasn't more than bruises." He grinned at Crane. "I seem to remember you falling out of that hayloft when you were Guthrie's age. Broke your arm, correct?"
"Actually, that was Evan," Crane said politely. "I was seven when I fell out of the loft, and I broke my foot."
"Oh, of course." The doctor laughed. "There are so many of you boys, I do get confused from time to time." He opened the door to leave. Catching sight of Hannah, he added, "I'm quite sure he'll be feeling better in a day or two, Mrs. McFadden. But if not, I'm only a phone call away." He closed the door firmly behind himself.
Hannah was so angry she couldn't see straight. She'd never really liked Dr. Meade and his habit of talking down to her as if she wasn't any older than Guthrie was really annoying.
Crane snorted. "He doesn't remember about my foot because he wasn't our doctor then." He stood up, holding on to Guthrie until the boy was steady on his feet.
Guthrie didn't say anything, just seemed happy to be out of the doctor's office and back in the truck. He leaned against Hannah and shut his eyes.
Crane started the vehicle, saying, "We can run by the drugstore and get this prescription filled. Do we need anything else in town?"
"Ginger ale," Guthrie said in a small voice.
Crane smiled. "Ginger ale it is. Do you want any ice cream or anything?"
Hannah knew Guthrie loved ice cream, so her heart sank when he just shook his head. She couldn't help thinking there was something more wrong than just a virus, but she wasn't a doctor. Thinking back to what Crane had said, she frowned. "What do you mean he wasn't your doctor when you broke your foot? I thought Adam told me Dr. Meade had delivered all of you."
Crane shot her a look. "Well, he delivered Adam, and Brian, and me. Not any of the rest of them. Dr. Meyer-he's the other doctor in town-he took over after I was born."
Hannah glanced down and noticed Guthrie seemed to be asleep, leaning against her. She stroked his hair.
"I always liked Dr. Meyer," Crane said. "He was our doctor well, from when I was little until after Mama and Daddy died. Mama didn't like Doctor Meade. But after they died, he offered to take us on as patients and let us run an account. You think money is tight now, you can't imagine how it was back then. He'd make house calls, and a lot of time just charged us half of the normal cost. Still does, actually. He samples us the medications, too."
Hannah knew "sampling" was when a doctor provided his patients with free medications that drug reps gave him. She'd heard from Adam how money was so very scarce after their parents died and realized Dr. Meade's offer was generous. "Why didn't your mother like him?"
Crane hesitated, and then said, "You know, I really don't know. He does tend to talk down to women-you saw that today-and my mother wasn't the kind to take that well. I know she saw him while she was pregnant with Daniel, but before he was born she changed to Dr. Meyer. Changed all of us, too. I think my dad felt conflicted about it. He was pretty good friends with Doc Meade's son, Walt Junior, and even after he moved away Daddy and the doc would go fishing together. Deer hunting, sometimes. I remember my parents talking-well, arguing, really, about it once. But Mama had her mind made up and that was that."
"Adam never told me that," Hannah murmured.
Crane shrugged. "I'm not even sure he remembers. I don't know why I do, to be honest with you. Dr. Meyer delivered everyone from Daniel down to Guthrie." He nodded his head at his sleeping brother. "We didn't see Dr. Meade for a long time. But he came to the funeral-" Hannah had noticed that the McFadden men always referred to their parents' funeral that way, The Funeral, as if there was only one such event in their lives. "-And he told Adam he could help us out, give us a break on medical bills. Adam couldn't see anything wrong with it, so we switched back to him." Crane sighed. "I've never liked him that much, but I think it's just because I remember Mama being so set against him. He's been a pretty good doctor for us. Guthrie and Ford, especially, were sick a lot when they were younger, and I don't know how we would have managed without him."
Guthrie stirred then, and lifted his head, blinking owlishly in the winter sunlight. "I don't feel good."
"Do you feel like you're going to be sick again?" Hannah asked as Crane wheeled the truck to the curb.
Guthrie didn't answer her; he just stared ahead, not blinking. Then his eyes rolled back so only the whites were showing. His body straightened. Then he began jerking wildly.
"Guthrie!" Crane screamed.
Hannah tried desperately to keep Guthrie's rigid body from sliding into the wheel well. "He's having a seizure!" She told Crane needlessly. She looked at her watch, remembering like a dream one of her first aid instructors talking about "Psychological time lapse" when someone was having a seizure, how important it was to time it accurately because seconds could feel like minutes and minutes could feel like hours. She smelled the sharp odor of urine and realized Guthrie had lost control of his bladder.
"We need to…" Her voice was high, anxious. "Go back to Dr. Meade's office?"
"No!" Crane interrupted. "No." He looked around. "Meyer's office is closer."
Crane started the truck up again and swerved back into the road, heading for the doctor's office. He winced as one of Guthrie's twitching legs kicked him. "Hang on, little brother, we're going to get you to some help."
Hannah could hear the panic in his tone and felt the same way. She clung to her first aid training, trying not to think that this was Guthrie, her own family that was affected. "Just keep breathing, baby, just keep breathing," she prayed.
'Please, Guthrie, please wake up and tell me you're not a baby. Please!'
Guthrie kept seizing.
7Bf7B
Hannah had feared Dr. Meyer's office would be closed for lunch. But the door was unlocked when she swung it wide open. Crane barged in after her, carrying Guthrie, who hadn't stopped jerking since the seizure began.
The receptionist looked up, and then was on her feet immediately and coming toward them. "This way," she said, opening the door back into the office proper and leading them to an examination room. "Put him on the table." She hurried out of the room and another woman, whom Hannah assumed to be Dr. Meyer's nurse, came in.
"How long has he been seizing?" she asked, calmly, reaching for oxygen tubing and a mask, settling it over Guthrie's nose and mouth.
Hannah looked at her watch and calculated. "Seven minutes, fifteen seconds," she said. She could hear her first aid instructor in her mind again, saying "Sustained seizures in excess of five minutes are referred to as status epilepticus, and can cause brain damage."
'Not Guthrie!'
The doctor entered the room. He went straight to Guthrie's side.
"Over seven and a half minutes, now," the nurse told him. "He's feverish."
"He's been sick for a couple of days," Hannah heard herself say.
Dr. Meyer looked up and met her eyes. "What's been going on?"
As if in a dream, Hannah heard her own voice tripping over Crane's as they tried to fill the doctor in on everything that had happened in the last week, including Guthrie's fall from the hayloft. "We should have brought him in then," Crane said brokenly. "But he didn't have any lumps on his head. And Dr. Meade said it was just a virus."
"When did he see Dr. Meade?"
"Just…just a half hour or so ago," Hannah managed. "We were heading for the pharmacy when Guthrie-when the seizure started."
"Did Meade give him anything?" Meyer asked sharply.
Crane shook his head. "No. He gave us a prescription, something for nausea, but we hadn't got it filled yet." He stared at his brother. "You've got to do something!"
"The two of you need to leave."
"What? No!" Crane started forward, but Hannah grabbed his arm. She hated leaving Guthrie like this, but she realized they were getting in the way. Crane resisted moving, until the nurse came over and gently pushed them both out of the examining room.
The receptionist was in the hall. "I'll take you to Doctor's office. You'll be more comfortable there than out in the waiting room."
Dr. Meyer's office was warm and welcoming, even with the ponderous collection of books and framed degrees. Crane sank down in one of the leather chairs, dropping his head into his hands. Hannah sat next to him, unable to think of anything to say. She wanted Adam to be here, to put his arms around her and tell her everything would be fine. To comfort Crane who was obviously distressed. But she didn't know the Barrett's number off the top of her head, and anyway, she couldn't think of how to tell Adam his baby brother had just had a seven minute seizure.
It seemed like hours, but of course it wasn't, when Dr. Meyer came into his office. He sat down, not behind the desk, but in another chair next to Crane and Hannah. "I gave him an IV of Valium," he said gently. "I couldn't get the seizure stopped any other way. He's not seizing now, but he's a very sick boy. He needs to be in a hospital. I'd recommend Sonora Regional. They have the best pediatric unit around." He paused. "But there's a problem."
"What?" Crane asked sharply. "If it's money, we-"
"No, nothing like that. It's that Dr Meade doesn't have admitting privileges at Sonora anymore. When I call him, he's going to insist Guthrie go to County."
Hannah opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Crane did. "Don't call him. You're Guthrie's doctor now. If he needs to go to Sonora, then that's where he goes."
The doctor's expression softened. "Crane, I know Adam is still Guthrie's legal guardian-"
"Adam isn't here," Crane fired back. "I am." He gestured to Hannah. "She is. I'm Guthrie's brother. She's Adam's wife. I have de facto power of guardianship and I'm exercising it. Call an ambulance, because Guthrie is going to Sonora."
To Be Continued