Dorothy Ann Kline

Born in 1967 to Larry and Winnie Kline, Dorothy "Dottie" Kline was a disappointment to her father from the moment she didn't come out Larry Jr. Neither of her parents had really wanted children beyond how having an adorable little mini-me to parade around would advance Larry's image in politics, and Dottie spent more time being raised by her nanny than her actual parents.

By the time she turned thirteen, Dottie had gotten used to her father's pendulum of an attitude towards her (proud, charming father in public, but never once the cameras went away), and by the time she was in high school, she stopped trying so hard to be daddy's perfect girl and just tried to figure out who she wanted to be. She'd never be good enough for him, but at least if he was mad at her he was paying attention, right?

The nurse obligingly dials the number again, “Still busy.” Dottie must look more disappointed than she thinks she does, because the nurse adds, “He’s probably really busy, it’s a big job.” 

Yeah. Whatever. She’d be fine with it, if she wasn’t stuck sitting here for eternity waiting for someone to answer the goddamned phone. Oh, hey, there’s an idea… she doesn’t know how effective it’ll be, but it’s something. 

“Can I make a long distance call?” 

“Sure, honey.” 

The nurse turns the phone towards Dottie, and she awkwardly reaches over the counter to dial the number, and pick up the handset. Pick up, pick up, pick up… she’s not sure what she’s going to do if they’re not home. Thankfully after a few rings, she hears her grandfather’s voice answer the phone. “Hey, it’s Dottie. Sorry to bother you, I just, um…” It’s stupid, but she gets that little lump in her throat and has to pause to swallow hard so she doesn’t start crying. She is absolutely not going to start crying and make this more embarrassing than it already is.

“Dottie, what’s wrong?” 

“Um, so I’m at the hospital – don’t freak out I’m ok – they think I broke my arm at cheer, but um…” she glances over at the nurse, then lowers her voice just a little, feeling a little bit like she’s a child tattling and doesn’t want to get anyone in trouble. “Mom and Dad aren’t answering their phones and they say they can’t set my arm or anything until they talk to a parent.” 

“How long have you been there?” 

“I dunno, like…” Forever. She glances over at the clock on the wall, but can’t remember exactly what time she’d gotten here. She can also hear in his voice that she should probably downplay the length of time she’s been waiting so he doesn’t get mad at her parents and then her dad yell at her for it later. She’s probably already going to get yelled at for calling her grandfather anyway. “...longer than an hour I think.” 

“And neither of them have answered their phones?”

“No…” now she really feels like she’s tattling, and she’s getting that sinking feeling where she just knows she’s doing something that’s going to get her in trouble later. If her arm wasn’t still throbbing in pain she probably would have waited it out. “I don’t think Mom’s home because it keeps going to the machine. And I dunno where Dad is, the lines at his office are busy. He didn’t answer his car phone, either…” She’s going to be in so much trouble for this. She just knows it. But goddammit her arm really hurts; if they’d just have fixed it and sent a bill, there would have been no problem. But nooo, they need parental consent because she’s not old enough. Or whatever. It’s so stupid. If she really wanted to be dramatic about it, Dottie would say it kind of sounds like child abuse that they won’t fix a stupid broken bone without her parents. Apparently if she was dying or her arm might fall off or something, then they could just do it and ask her parents later. What a weird way of making her wish that the injury was worse than it actually was. 

“Where are you calling from?” He’s being very matter-of-fact, that’s his way, he’s always very level about everything, not like her dad; she doesn’t think she’s ever heard her grandfather yell, but she can tell that he’s mad. 

“A nurse’s station in the emergency room.”

“Give the phone to the nurse, please.”

She holds out the handset towards the nurse. “It’s my grandfather,” she explains, hoping it will count for something even though he isn’t a parent. 

“Hello? …Oh, Mr. Hamilton… Sir, I can’t just… Yes, I agree, but… I wish I could, sir, but we need a parent or legal guardian to… yes, sir… yes, sir…. I know, sir. But we still need… Yes, I’ll transfer you.” 

She presses a button, and hangs up the phone. Dottie’s not sure what to do, so she just stands there awkwardly, and neither of them say anything. The nurse pushes her glasses up her nose, and goes back to doing whatever she was doing before Dottie came over. 

Just when Dottie’s not sure if she should go back to the little room she’d come from, the phone rings, and the nurse answers it. “Mm-hmm….mm-hmm….sure, put him through… hello again…Ten minutes?... Mm-hmm…okay, yes, sir….Sure.” She holds the phone back out towards Dottie, “He wants to talk to you.” 

“Thanks,” she tells the nurse, then takes the phone, “Hey.” 

“Your mother or father will call within ten minutes.” He sounds awful sure of himself, but Dottie decides not to question it. He doesn’t really sound like he wants to be questioned. “In the meantime that lovely nurse will give you something for the pain. You remember my friend Alan?” Dottie gives a sort of mumbled agreement – she vaguely remembers Alan, golf buddy Alan. “Good. You remember he’s the head of the surgical department?” She hadn’t remembered that. She’d kind of thought all her grandfather’s golf friends were retired, they all seemed old enough. “After I reach your parents, I’m going to call Alan. He’ll make sure you get taken care of. Okay?” 

“Okay. Thanks. I’m sorry to have–” 

“I’ve got to make some phone calls now. Ten minutes.” 

There’s a click on his end of the phone, and the line goes dead. Dottie hands the phone back to the nurse. “Thank you. Sorry if he was a little… yeah.” 

The nurse waves it off. “You’re fine, honey. Must be nice being everyone’s little princess. Come on, let’s get you something.” Dottie decides not to comment that if she was everyone’s little princess she wouldn’t have been sitting here for a million hours. 

It’s almost nine minutes on the dot when the phone at the nurse’s station rings. From what Dottie can overhear, it’s the mayor’s office. (Not the mayor, at least, the nurse doesn’t seem like she’s talking to the mayor, but Dottie will take what she can get. It must be Candice.) Apparently he can’t get to the phone, but Dottie can hear as the nurse agrees that a fax is sufficient: it’s consent to the medical procedures and treatment, it’s in writing, it’ll have his signature. The nurse glances over towards Dottie, catches her eye, and gives her a thumbs up. She almost starts crying, but manages to stop herself before she lets any of the tears welling up in her eyes fall. Dottie has no idea how her grandfather managed to reach him all the way from Florida, but damn if she isn’t thankful that he did.