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for any signs of altered consciousness. "I guess you bumped your head, huh?"
    "Jeannie
bumped it," Arly grumbled with a mixture of residual tears and emerging indignation.
    Honor glanced at Robin in concern. "Is Jeannie okay?"
    "She's got a goose egg on her forehead, but no other damage." She reached out and stroked Arly's hair and looked over at Linda, who stood nearby. "I've got to run. The kids are out front in the car, and the security guard is baby-sitting."
    Linda gave Robin a quick hug. "Go ahead, honey. I'll call you later."
    As Honor walked back to the nearest open examining room, she explained to Arly, "We 're going to have to take that bandage off and see what's underneath, okay?"
    "Will it hurt?"
    "Does it hurt now?"
    Arly seemed to give this some consideration. "A little. It feels kinda lilfe my knee did when I fell off my skateboard."
    "Well, it might hurt a tiny bit more for a few minutes while we put some medicine on it to clean it up. But not a lot,"
    "Will you do it?"
    Honor hesitated. She still felt the effects of the swift surge of panic accompanied by the unexpected resurrection of past fears, and she wasn't certain how steady her hands would be. Before she could answer, Linda spoke up.
    "You know what, Arly? I think Mom ought to hold your hand while one of the
other
doctors fixes you up. What do you say?"
    "Who?"
    Honor looked past Linda to Quinn walking quietly along beside them, the memory of the reassuring hand against her back comforting still. Deep blue eyes, kind with compassion, met hers. Without a second thought, Honor extended her free hand and Quinn took it, stepping closer. "This is Quinn, Arly. She's a surgeon, and she'll take really good care of you, okay?"
    "Okay."
    Linda held the curtain to exam room one open, and Honor gently deposited her daughter on the stretcher. Then she pulled a stool close and sat down as Quinn walked to the other side.
    "I'm going to take this big Band-Aid off your forehead," Quinn explained. "There's some tape that will pull a little bit when I do. You ready?"
    Arly held her mother's hand and nodded.
    "So," Quinn said conversationally, surveying the four-centimeter laceration just above the child's eyebrow, "baseball, basketball, or soccer?"
    "Soccer," Arly proclaimed as if anyone should know the answer.
    "Neat." Quinn glanced at Honor, whose eyes were fixed on the wound on her daughter's forehead. She waited for Honor to look up at her, and then she smiled reassuringly. Honor rewarded her with a swift, if slightly shaky, smile in return. "I'm going to shine a light in your eyes. It'll be really bright."
    Quinn pulled a small penlight from her chest pocket and checked Arly 's pupils, both of which were equal and briskly reactive to the light stimulus. Then she held her index ringer up about twelve inches from Arty's face. "I'm going to move my finger around, and I want you to watch it. Okay?"
    "Why?"
    "So I can be sure that your bump on the head isn't going to make it hard for you to see the ball during the next game."
    Intently, Arly nodded and followed Quinn's moving hand.
    "Does your neck hurt anywhere at all?"
    "No."
    "I'm going to poke around a bit, and you tell me if it's sore." As she spoke, Quinn slipped her fingers behind Arly's head and palpated each of her cervical vertebrae, one after the other. She elicited no tenderness. Then she felt the bones around her eyes, cheeks!, nose, and jaws. All fine. Looking in Honor's direction, she murmured, "I don't see any need for x-rays."
    "All right." Honor's throat was dry, and her voice came out husky. With each passing moment, she felt better and, unexpectedly, found herself soothed by Quinn's calm voice and gentle compassion.
    "Okay, Arly, here's the deal." Quinn leaned over so that the child could see her face. "You've got a cut on your forehead, and it's going to need some stitches. Do you know what stitches are?"
    "They're little tiny threads to help the cut get better faster." Arly looked in her mother's