Red Helmet by Homer Hickam

parked outside the garage. Presuming she could drive it, where would she go? To visit Cable at the mine? He hadn’t invited her there. She could cruise through town, but she’d already done that coming in, and what good would that do? Somebody might spit chewing tobacco at her and she couldn’t take any more of that! Horseback riding appealed to her. She could saddle Trixie and take a turn around the pasture. It would pass a little time, at least. She was thinking about that when a battered brown pickup truck rattled up the driveway. Every truck Song had seen so far in Highcoal had been beat-up. She wondered if they came that way.
    A woman in blue jeans, a plaid shirt, and a wide-brimmed canvas hat, not to mention a confident air, stepped out of the truck.
    â€œMrs. Jordan, I presume,” she said, then without waiting for an invitation, climbed the steps to the porch and stuck out her hand. “I’m Doctor Gloria Kaminsky, or Doctor K, as they call me around here. Welcome to Highcoal. I must say, you are a lovely young woman, and I am pleased that Cable has done so well. Surprised, but pleased.”
    Doctor K shook Song’s hand vigorously, then took off her hat to wipe the sweat from her forehead, revealing a mop of bright red hair that looked as if it had been cut by a dull knife. Song presumed the doctor didn’t care much about her looks, although she had an interesting face, and a
lot could be done with her hair. Her figure was a bit pear-shaped, but a little work in the gym could probably solve that.
    â€œYoung Henry told me about you,” Song said. “He says you go inside the mine.”
    â€œI do, indeed,” Doctor K confirmed, plopping her hat back on, “and take care of everybody around here who’ll let me. It’s a full-time job. No, two full-time jobs. I’ve long since given up on the sleep cycle entirely.”
    â€œMay I offer you a cup of coffee?” Song asked.
    The suggestion was greeted with an agreeable nod of the doctor’s head. “That would be much appreciated.”
    Song went to the kitchen, poured a cup for the doctor, refilled hers, and brought them back to the porch. By then, Doctor K was sprawled in one of the rockers, fanning herself with her big hat. The sun was already making itself felt, and the day was going to be a hot one. The doctor took the cup from Song, then greedily drank from it.
    â€œAh. Elixir of the gods. I needed that.”
    Song’s job often required her to sit across a table from an executive and decipher, sometimes based on body language or facial expressions, the person’s characteristics, especially, their strengths and weaknesses. She saw in the doctor’s blue-green eyes a strong intellect, and in her Romanesque nose a certain nobility. But her lips twitched with what Song suspected was a sardonic sense of humor. The doctor reminded Song, in a vague way, of the actress Meryl Streep. Song suspected that here was a woman who would be interesting to have as a friend, not that she intended being in Highcoal long enough for that to happen.
    The doctor didn’t say anything, just sat there sipping her coffee with obvious pleasure.
    â€œIt’s good of you to visit,” Song said after the silence had stretched on. “What’s it like to be a doctor here?”
    Doctor K eyed Song over the rim of the cup. “Crazy, insane, maddening—but ultimately satisfying,” she said. “I’d be pleased to wax on about it, believe me, but my time is limited. I have my rounds to make. I have an office in the back of Omar’s, but around here, a doctor still makes house calls. Anyhoo, to cases. I’m here to talk about you, not me.”
    While Song absorbed the doctor’s intention, Doctor K took another sip of coffee, then said, “I thought you should know something. There was—how shall I put it?—an event at the Cardinal Hotel this morning. Cable was