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.

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. 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.

"I love children," she told Kat.

"Are you planning to have a large family?" "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.

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

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

"I'll bet you the Giants win."

Honey always took his bets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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!"

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

Honey leaned down and hugged him.

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

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

Honey was in the doctors' lounge when Dr. Stevens

walked in. "Is there a Virgo here?" One of the doctors laughed. "If you mean a virgin, I doubt it."

"A Virgo," Stevens repeated. "I need a Virgo." "I'm a Virgo," Honey said. "What's the problem?" 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." Honey got up. "I'll go see her". "Thanks. Her name is Frances Gordon."

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 smiled. "That's right."

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

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

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

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

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

"Has he beaten you up before?"

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

"Why haven't you left him?"

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

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.

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

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.

"Lock the door, baby."

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

She told him about her patient.

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

"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!"

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

Wallace sighed. "I'll see what I can do." "I knew you would," Honey said.

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 - "

"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."

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

"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."

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."

The woman nodded, too choked up to speak.

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

"Where is she?" Honey asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

"Yes."

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

"That's right," Honey said.

"... absence of peripheral pulse ..."

"Yes."

"And what was your diagnosis?"

"Stomach flu."

"Did you take a stool sample?"

"No. What for?"

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