Honey was happier than she had ever been in her life. She had a warm relationship with patients that few of the other doctors had. She genuinely cared about them. She worked in geriatrics, in pediatrics, and in various other wards, and Dr. Wallace saw to it that she was given assignments that kept her out of harm's way. He wanted to make sure that she stayed at the hospital and was available to him.

There are no nurses in the Taft family.

In the afternoons when Honey left the hospital, she would go shopping at the Bay Company, and Streetlight Records, and buy gifts for the children in pediatric care.

Honey envied the nurses. They were able to nurture their patients without worrying about major medical decisions. I never wanted to be a doctor, Honey thought. I always wanted to be a nurse.

"Are you planning to have a large family?"

"I love children," she told Kat.

"Someday," Honey said wistfully. "I have to find their father first."

One of Honey's favorite patients in the geriatric ward was Daniel McGuire, a cheerful man in his nineties who was suffering from a diseased liver condition. He had been a gambler in his youth, and he liked to make bets with Honey.

Honey was in the doctors' lounge when Dr. Stevens walked in. "Is there a Virgo here?"

"You know something, Honey? I'm the luckiest man in the world."

Honey always took his bets.

Honey leaned down and hugged him.

"Of course," Honey said. She opened the envelope, looked at it a moment, and let out a cry. "You've won the lottery! Fifty thousand dollars! Congratulations!"

He took her hand. "I know you are." He grinned. "If I were a few months younger…"

"Ill bet you a dollar it's going to rain this afternoon."

Honey laughed. "Never mind. I like older men."

"I'll bet you fifty cents the orderly is late with my breakfast."

"How about that?" He yelled. "I always knew I'd win the lottery one day! Give me a hug."

When Honey came back to visit him that afternoon, he had passed away.

"This time I'm not going to bet you," Honey told him. "I'm on your side."

"Read it to me, would you?" His eyesight had faded.

"Ill bet you ten to one I beat this thing," he said.

One morning a letter came to him addressed to the hospital. Honey took it to him in his room.

"Ill bet you the Giants win."

Honey blinked. "It says here that your occupation is a… a psychic."

"I'm a Virgo," Honey said. "What's the problem?"

Honey got up. "Ill go see her."

"What's the matter? What are you lookin' at?"

Honey smiled. "That's right."

"A Virgo," Stevens repeated. "I need a Virgo."

Frances Gordon had just had a hip replacement. The moment Honey walked into the room, the woman looked up and said, "You're a Virgo. Born on the cusp, right?"

Honey scanned the chart at the foot of the bed, a surprised look on her face.

"Those Aquarians and Leos don't know what the hell they're doin'. They treat patients like they're meat."

"Ha! Most of them are in it for the money." She looked at Honey more closely. "You're different."

Frances Gordon nodded. "That's right. Don't you believe in psychics?"

"The doctors here are very good," Honey protested. "They --"

He walked up to her. "The problem is that I have a goddam maniac on my hands. She won't let anyone near her but a Virgo."

"Thanks. Her name is Frances Gordon."

One of the doctors laughed. "If you mean a virgin, I doubt it."

Honey could not wait to get out of the room. The woman was making her nervous. She started to pull away.

"I don't know any artists."

Honey shook her head. "I really don't…"

Honey fled.

Honey felt herself stiffen.

Honey took a chair.

Reluctantly, Honey let her take her hand.

"Let me hold your hand."

"That's too bad. Sit down a minute."

"He's an artist."

Frances Gordon held it for a moment, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, "You've had a difficult life, haven't you?"

"You're going to fall in love."

Honey shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"There's been some kind of change in you -- just recently -- hasn't there?"

"You've used a lot of men, haven't you?"

Everyone has had a difficult life, Honey thought. Next she'll be telling me that I'll be taking a trip across the water.

Honey said, "I'm afraid I really have to…"

"You will." Frances Gordon let go of her hand. "Come back and see me," she commanded.

Honey stopped in to visit Mrs. Owens, a new patient, a thin woman who appeared to be in her late forties. Her chart noted that she was twenty-eight. She had a broken nose and two black eyes, and her face was puffy and bruised.

"C'mon, give me your hand."

"Sure."

"I'm going to have to file a police report."

"Yeah. It was a bad fall."

"Two."

"Any children?"

Honey glanced at the chart. "It says here that you have two broken ribs and a fractured pelvis."

"Are you married?"

"What happened to you?"

"Has he beaten you up before?"

"What does your husband do?"

Mrs. Owens was suddenly panicky. "No! Please don't!"

"How did you get the black eyes?"

"I fell down some stairs." When she opened her mouth, she revealed a gap where two front teeth were missing.

"Let's leave my husband out of this, okay?"

"Yeah."

"I'm afraid it's not okay," Honey said. "Is he the one who beat you up?"

"No one beat me up."

Honey walked up to the bed. "I'm Dr. Taft."

"When I fell."

The woman looked at her with dull, expressionless eyes. She remained silent.

Mrs. Owens shrugged, and the movement caused her pain. "The kids and I have nowhere to go."

"He'll kill me! You don't know him!"

"Why not?"

"Yes, but he… he doesn't mean anything by it. He gets drunk and loses his temper."

"Why haven't you left him?"

Honey was listening, furious. "You don't have to take this, you know. There are shelters and agencies that will take care of you and protect you and the children."

The woman shook her head in despair. "I have no money. I lost my job as a secretary when he started…" She could not go on.

Five minutes later Honey marched into Dr. Wallace's office. He was delighted to see her. He wondered what she had brought with her this time. At various times, she had used warm honey, hot water, melted chocolate, and -- his favorite -- maple syrup. Her ingenuity was boundless.

Honey squeezed her hand. "You're going to be fine. I'll see that you're taken care of."

"You'll have to file a police report," Wallace said. "It's the law."

She told him about her patient.

"Lock the door, baby."

"I can't stay, Ben. I have to get back."

"The law hasn't protected her before. Look, all she wants to do is get away from her husband. She worked as a secretary. Didn't you say you needed a new file clerk?"

"Well, yes, but… wait a minute!"

The woman nodded, too choked up to speak.

"Absolutely. You'll have your own apartment with your children. You won't have to put up with the kind of horror you've been living through, and you'll have a decent, respectable job."

The next morning, Honey went back to see Mrs. Owens.

"How are you feeling today?" Honey asked.

"Better, thanks. When can I go home? My husband doesn't like it when --"

Wallace sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

Mrs. Owens stared at her unbelievingly. "Do… do you mean that?"

"Thanks," Honey said. "We'll get her on her feet, and find her a place to live, and she'll have a new job!"

Mrs. Owens clutched Honey's hand. "I don't know how to thank you," she sobbed. "You don't know what it has been like."

"I can imagine," Honey said. "You're going to be fine."

"I knew you would," Honey said.

"Your husband is not going to bother you anymore," Honey said firmly. "You'll stay here until we find a place for you and the children to live, and when you're well enough, you're going to have a job here at the hospital."

Dr. Ritter was waiting for her in Room 215. In bed was an Indian man in his late twenties.

"It says here that he speaks no English. Right?"

"You wouldn't believe it!" Honey told her.

"No. What for?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Stomach flu."

"That's right," Honey said.

"Where is she?" Honey asked.

"… absence of peripheral pulse…"

The following day when Honey returned to see Mrs. Owens, the room was empty.

Dr. Ritter said, "This is your patient?"

"And what was your diagnosis?"

He showed her the chart. "And this is your writing? Vomiting, cramps, thirst, dehydration…"

In the corridor Honey ran into Kat. "How's your day going?" Kat asked.

"Did you take a stool sample?"

Her name was on the PA system again. "Dr. Taft… Room 215… Dr. Taft… Room 215."

"Oh," the nurse said, "she left this morning with her husband."

"Because your patient has cholera, that's what for!" He was screaming. "We're going to have to close down the fucking hospital!"