Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: ORANGE CITY by Lee Matthew Goldberg @leematthewg #scifi #dystopian

1984 meets LOST in this Sci-Fi/Dystopian nightmare…

By Lee Matthew Goldberg

Title: ORANGE CITY
Author: Lee Matthew Goldberg
Publisher: Atmosphere Press
Pages: 259
Genre: Sci-fi / Dystopian

BOOK BLURB:

Imagine a secret, hidden City that gives a second chance at life for those selected to come: felons, deformed outcasts, those on the fringe of the Outside World. Everyone gets a job, a place to live; but you are bound to the City forever. You can never leave. 

Its citizens are ruled by a monstrous figure called the "Man" who resembles a giant demented spider from the lifelike robotic limbs attached to his body. Everyone follows the Man blindly, working hard to make their Promised Land stronger, too scared to defy him and be discarded to the Empty Zones. 

After ten years as an advertising executive, Graham Weatherend receives an order to test a new client, Pow Sodas. After one sip of the orange flavor, he becomes addicted, the sodas causing wild mood swings that finally wake him up to the prison he calls reality.

A dynamic mash-up of 1984 meets LOST, Orange City is a lurid, dystopian first book in a series that will continue with the explosive sequel Lemonworld.

"In his compelling novel, ORANGE CITY, novelist LEE MATTHEW GOLDBERG, has crafted a unique dystopian thriller that manages to reveal our greatest fears about emerging technology and our anxieties at what the future holds." - Raymond A. Villareal, Author of A People's History of the Vampire Uprising.

“Lee Matthew Goldberg's brutal, fast-paced thriller is a compelling reminder of how our society is always a few small steps away from a dystopia." -- Robert Repino, Author of Mort(e) and the "War with No Name" series.

"An ambitious dystopian series debut, this hair-raising science fiction novel is perfect for fans of layered conspiracies, altered realities, and eerie dystopias."-- Publishers Weekly, BookLife.

"Imagine Man in the High Tower (with a Stalin slant) mixed with Terry Gilliam's Brazil and Max Barry's Syrup. That's pretty much what Mr. Goldberg deftly delivers in Orange City." -- 23rd Legion 

 

At six on the dot, the gloved cellular let out a piercing ring. A timer turned on, ticking down with each buzz. E wouldn’t have long to remain idle. The entire pod apartment vibrated, and his capsule bed slid open. The white ceiling drew his attention, the walls devoid of color, a minimalist’s fantasy—nothing like a home.

Shades of the dream from last night still lingered. His knuckles painted with blood as he beat a shadow. The voice of the shadow belonging to a ten-year-old boy. The boy’s cries stabbing E’s ears. He shook that dream away.

He removed the intravenous tube that connected him to his bed and switched off the cooling mist which allowed him to slumber for days. He stretched his old bones, his hair standing up in a state of white shock like it had since he was a young man. Swinging his thick legs over the side of the bed, he yawned at the morning before finally answering his cell.

“I’ll be right there,” he coughed into the digital eye on his gloved palm.

He removed the glove and pushed a button on the side of the bed. Doors opening along the wall revealed a sliver of a kitchen with a piping pot of subpar and gritty coffee brewing on the counter— the best offered to the Scouts— and two sizzling poached eggs from a suspect source. He scarfed down the eggs and pushed another button to raise the shades along the lone wall facing east. The heart of The City hovered in the near distance, its new buildings staggering on one end like giant colorful stalagmites. Sipping his black coffee, he watched it in motion as he did every morning.

Between the Scouts and the rest of The City lay a half a mile of ice water. The City was made up of many Regions, his situated on the outskirts. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to fall into those frosty waters and drift off to wherever it might choose to take him, no longer having to shuttle between The City and the faraway Outside World anymore. But instead of a dramatic suicide, he suited up and headed through the tunnel with a suitcase in hand like he had for twenty years. He’d convinced himself long ago that living here was better than rotting in prison like he would’ve been if they hadn’t selected him. At least he was still able to get lost in a bottle of whiskey or feel the sun against his cheek during the few instances it was allowed to peek through the chronic clouds. Even though The City was far from ideal, the Outside World remained definitely worse. It reminded him too often of the man he used to be and of the terrible sins he’d committed. These thoughts returned at the beginning of every week while he geared up for another one, as he wondered if one day the Man in the Eye might give him a promotion and he wouldn’t have to be a Scout anymore.

That way, he’d never have to return to the Outside World.

Then, he could possibly be at peace, like all The City’s inhabitants wished.

 

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2MX29i8  

BookShop.org → https://bit.ly/36MnAcI   

Check out my book at Goodreads!

Lee Matthew Goldberg is the author of the novels THE ANCESTOR, THE MENTOR, THE DESIRE CARD and SLOW DOWN. He has been published in multiple languages and nominated for the Prix du Polar. His first YA series RUNAWAY TRAIN is forthcoming in 2021 along with a sci-fi novel ORANGE CITY. After graduating with an MFA from the New School, his writing has also appeared in The Millions, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, LitReactor, Monkeybicycle, Fiction Writers Review, Cagibi, Necessary Fiction, the anthology Dirty Boulevard, The Montreal Review, The Adirondack Review, The New Plains Review, Underwood Press and others. He is the editor-in-chief and co-founder of Fringe, dedicated to publishing fiction that’s outside-of-the-box. His pilots and screenplays have been finalists in Script Pipeline, Book Pipeline, Stage 32, We Screenplay, the New York Screenplay, Screencraft, and the Hollywood Screenplay contests. He is the co-curator of The Guerrilla Lit Reading Series and lives in New York City.

Website: http://www.leematthewgoldberg.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/LeeMatthewG

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/leemgol/

THE MENTOR

SLOW DOWN

THE ANCESTOR

MORE…

Sponsored By:

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: SUNSET ON MOONLIGHT BEACH by Sheila Roberts @sheila_roberts #romance

USA TODAY  bestselling author Sheila Roberts takes readers back to the sun-dappled shores of Moonlight Harbor as its citizens find hope, happiness and humor in the wake of a tragic loss…

By Sheila Roberts

Title: SUNSET ON MOONLIGHT BEACH
Author: Sheila Roberts
Publisher: Harlequin Mira
Pages: 416
Genre: Romance / Women’s Fiction

BOOK BLURB:

Jenna Jones has been standing on the shore of the Sea of Love for too long. Even with two good men interested in her, she’s been afraid to wade in. According to her best friend, Courtney, she should. The water’s fine. Life is great! Practically perfect, if you don’t count Courtney’s problems with her cranky ex-boss. Maybe Courtney’s right. It’s time to dive in.

When tragedy strikes, everything changes and Jenna’s more confused than ever. But this fresh heartache might help her figure out at last who she can turn to when times get tough.

Full of warmth and humor, Sunset on Moonlight Beach proves that every ending can be the beginning of a beautiful new story.

CHAPTER ONE

You have a great life, Jenna Jones told herself as she took the glass of champagne her sister had given her. She was living proof that if you waited long enough and worked hard enough, you could turn a shipwreck into a new life.

She looked around the crowded living room of her great aunt’s beach house. It was filled with friends and family, all celebrating the fact that Jenna was now a member of Moonlight Harbor’s city council, thanks to a special election in March to replace a councilman who’d resigned due to health problems. It had been a hard-fought battle, but she’d won and she had high hopes of accomplishing great things for the town, including getting support for building a convention center.

A town with a city council, it was a little odd. Moonlight Harbor didn’t really have the population to qualify as a city, but the powers that be thought they were close enough, so why split hairs?

“We’re all so proud of you,” said Jenna’s mother, Melody Jones, putting an arm around Jenna’s shoulders.

“Yes, we are,” put in Aunt Edie, the woman who had made Jenna’s new life possible.

“Yes, we are,” echoed Jolly Roger the parrot from his cage. “Give me whiskey.”

“We’re not serving whiskey, Roger,” said Jenna’s sister, Celeste. “You have to ask for champagne. Say, it Roger. Give me champagne, give me champagne.”

“Say it, Roger. Give me champagne,” said the bird, bobbing his head and stepping back and forth on his perch.

“Poor Roger. Nobody ever gives him anything to drink,” said Celeste.

“Poor Roger,” said Jolly Roger, making several of the guests chuckle. “Give me champagne.”

Celeste and Brody Green, Jenna’s ardent admirer and campaign manager, circulated about the room, refilling glasses with champagne or sparkling cider. Daughter Sabrina pouted when Brody poured more sparkling cider in her glass, and muttered, “I’m eighteen now.”

“Which is a long way from twenty-one,” Jenna reminded her, and she rolled her eyes.

Once everyone’s glass had been filled, Celeste performed the toast. “To Jenna Jones, the most successful woman I know. Moonlight Harbor is lucky to have you.”

“Hear, hear,” echoed Brody.

Ellis West, friend and fellow businessman, said, “I’ll drink to that.” Ellis owned The Seafood Shack, the popular fast food restaurant next to the Driftwood Inn.

“So will I,” Jenna said and smiled.

Successful. A few years ago she would have never used that word to describe herself. She’d come to Moonlight Harbor, newly divorced, with a wounded heart and an angry daughter, towing their worldly goods in a rented trailer. She hadn’t been sure how she was going to pay the spousal support the court had allotted her cheating ex, the starving artist, and keep a roof over her and her daughter’s head until she’d gotten Aunt Edie’s invitation.

Aunt Edie had offered Jenna a home and a job running the Driftwood Inn along with the future security of knowing someday the vintage motel would be hers. It had been a rundown dump when she arrived, but she’d turned it into a charming bit of nostalgia and the motel was actually doing well.

So was her daughter. Sabrina had been anything but cooperative when the unwanted change had been dumped on her, but she’d eventually found her feet (along with the love of her life) and, like her mother, had put down roots in the beachside town. There’d been plenty of room for them in Aunt Edie’s beach house, and the older woman enjoyed having them with her.

Jenna looked at the trio of women who were the pillars of her life. Her mother Melody (Mel to her friends), in her early sixties and still slender and beautiful, was standing next to Ellis, whose eyes had lit up the moment he saw her. She was happily holding her two-month old second grandchild. Next to her stood Jenna’s younger sister, Celeste, sneaking an appetizer to her dog, Nemo. She was curvy and cute, the life of the party, now married and responsible for that second grandchild. Then there was sweet Aunt Edie, still perky at almost eighty-six. She was proudly wearing an orange Elect Jenna Jones t-shirt that clashed horribly with her hair. It was a shade of bright cherry red that made her head look like a lost Christmas light, but she’d sported that shade for years and refused to be budged from it, in spite of the best efforts of her friend Pearl at Waves Salon to switch her to something slightly more subdued. Her coral lipstick added yet another interesting palette to the colors that were Edie Patterson. In short, she was adorable.

Yes, Jenna thought, looking at them and all the people who had come to mean so much to her, what more could a girl ask for?

Sex. Getting a sex life sometime before she died would be great. She’d been divorced for almost four years. Surely she was ready to take a chance on love again.

And who better to take it on with than tall, blond, blue-eyed Mr. Gorgeous, Brody Green? Successful, charming, well-off, he was Moonlight Harbor’s catch of the day, and Jenna had caught him the first time they met. Most people already considered them a couple, friends with benefits.

Except there weren’t any benefits, hadn’t been anything beyond a couple of hot kisses, one of them fueled by alcohol and moonlight when she first came to town. Brody was more than willing to offer benefits, and waiting patiently for her to say the word. So far she hadn’t been able to.

Her eyes strayed to Seth Waters, who’d been renting a room at the motel ever since he hit town and started his mold removal business. Dark, swarthy, pirate Seth Waters, who knew how to make the sparks fly. She’d tried his lips on for size, too, but that relationship was stalled out permanently.

Aunt Edie was a big fan of both men, but Brody had been her buddy for years and he was her favorite. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” she’d said to Jenna when another Valentine’s Day came and went and her left-hand ring finger was still bare.

“You’re waiting because the time isn’t right yet,” her mother said when Jenna had repeated Aunt Edie’s words. “When it strikes the hour for love, you’ll know.”

Jenna was beginning to wonder if her love clock was broken.

Nothing wrong with her appetite though. She popped another one of Annie Albright’s bacon-wrapped dates in her mouth.

 Annie had her own catering business and a food truck. She’d come a long way from the days of waitressing at Sandy’s.

“What’s going to be your first order of business now that you’re on the council?” Ellis asked Jenna, catching her in mid-chew.

The others all looked at her expectantly.

After revamping the Driftwood, she’d felt ready to change the world. At least the world of Moonlight Harbor. Not that her town needed much changing, but she did have ideas. 

“I’m sure going to be pushing for looking into building a convention center. It would be great for our local businesses if we could bring tourists to town all year long, and a convention center would help us do that. Then we could hold our winter festival indoors.”

The first Seaside with Santa festival had been a disaster, and even though the chamber of commerce had tried again, moving it to earlier in December, luring people to the beach when the weather was iffy was still a challenge. Tourists could be such wimps.

“A good idea,” Ellis approved, “I’m not sure you’ll get everyone in town on board with it though. It costs money to build convention centers and people might not want to make that big of an investment.”

“Yes, but if we all make more and benefit in the long run it will be worth the pinch in the short run,” Jenna argued.

“Good luck with even getting to that,” said her friend Nora Singleton, who owned Good Times Ice Cream Parlor. “People are more concerned with having more sidewalks in town and solving the deer problem.”

“They’re only a problem for our local gardeners,” said Jenna’s pal Courtney. “The tourists love ‘em.”

“I love them, too,” said Tyrella Lamb, who owned the hardware store. “In venison stew. I hope you’re listening, Councilwoman.”

“I won’t be able to get a law passed that you can run around town with a rifle, shooting deer,” Jenna said to her.

“Who needs a rifle? They walk right up to you, the stupid things. I could club one to death.”

Sabrina gasped. “That’s terrible.”

And out of character for a woman who was normally so kind-hearted.

“No, terrible is what they did to my rhodies last spring,” Tyrella said. “They aren’t even supposed to like rhododendrons and the stupid things ate every bud.”

“But they’re so cute,” protested Sabrina.

“And they were here first,” Courtney added.

“First come first served… on a platter,” Tyrella retorted, unrepentant. “The population is out of control. You all just wait. If something isn’t done pretty soon we’re going to start seeing cases of Lyme disease down here. You’ve got power now, girl,” she said to Jenna. “You need to use it.”

“Yeah, to save the deer,” said Courtney. “They’re God’s creatures, Tyrella. Don’t they teach you to have love for God’s creatures at church?”

“I love God’s creatures,” Tyrella insisted. “But I eat hamburgers. Don’t you?”

“See what I mean?” Nora said to Jenna. “I think we’d better take up a collection and buy you a suit of armor. Now that you’re on the city council you’re going to need it.”

Good grief. What had she gotten herself into?

She said as much later when it was just her and her family, seated around the living room, finishing up the leftover appetizers from the party.

“Nothing you can’t handle,” Celeste assured her. She burped baby Edie and handed her over to her daddy.

“Pretty thankless job,” said Celeste’s husband, Henry, as he took the baby.

“Some jobs need to be done, whether we get thanked or not,” Mel said. “I’m proud of you for taking this on.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Jenna said. “Moonlight Harbor is my forever home and I want to do my best for it.”

“It does my heart good to hear you say that, dear,” Aunt Edie said. “I can rest easy knowing the Driftwood will be in capable hands after I’m gone.”

“You’re not going anywhere for a long time,” Jenna said firmly. “You’re going to live to be a hundred.”

“I plan on it,” Aunt Edie said, just as Pete Long, the motel’s not so handy handyman walked into the dining room, resplendent in dirty jeans and a shirt in need of patching at the elbows. As usual, the old coot needed a shave and his chin was a bristly white mess.

He stopped at the little dining room table to help himself to a cupcake. “You’ve got lots of good years left in you, Edie, old girl,” he said.

“Pete, you missed the party,” Aunt Edie scolded.

Which meant that there had been enough food for all the guests. Pete was a two-legged locust and about as useful.

“Yeah, I hear congrats are in order,” he said to Jenna.

“She won by a landslide,” Celeste told him.

“Fourteen votes is hardly a landslide,” Jenna said.

“It is if there’s not that much land to slide down,” Celeste argued. “Moonlight Harbor isn’t exactly Seattle, and it’s not like everyone gets out and votes.”

“True, but the ones who really care did,” said Aunt Edie.

“I voted,” Pete said, leaning against the archway. He stuffed half the cupcake in his mouth.

“Who did you vote for?” Celeste asked him.

“Jenna, of course,” he said around a mouth full of cake.

“Did you, really?” Jenna asked, surprised.

He half-frowned. “Sure. Why not? You whipped the Driftwood into shape. I guess you can do the same for this town. Anyway, keeping you busy with Moonlight Harbor business will keep you off my back.”

“The real reason,” she said with a knowing nod. Pete needed constant nagging.

“A win-win,” he said, then gobbled up the last of the cupcake and returned to the refreshment table to forage for more goodies.

He stayed long enough to finish off the last of the appetizers plus two more cupcakes. Then he left to go hang out at The Drunken Sailor, the town’s favorite watering hole.

Baby Edie was soon fussy and tired, and Henry took her over to the motel room where he and Celeste were staying to put her down for the night and work on the final edits for his latest thriller novel.

“Take the dog with you,” Aunt Edie said.

Nemo, not feeling the love, whined, but he followed his master out of the house. Then it was just the women and time for girl talk.

“What did you think of Ellis West?” Aunt Edie asked Mel.

Mel’s cheeks turned seashell pink. “He’s very nice.”

“And he’s very successful,” said Aunt Edie. “Plus he’s good looking.

“Looks like he’s interested in you, Mom,” Celeste said.

The pink got darker. “He was just being friendly.”

“I think he’d like to get a lot friendlier,” Celeste insisted.

Mel blew it off. “Oh, nonsense.”

“Melody, I think you’ve forgotten how to read the signs when a man is interested,” said Aunt Edie.

“Interested and friendly are two different things,” Mel told her.

“Yeah, friendly, says, ‘Hi, nice to meet you. You from around here?’ then wanders off to talk to someone else. Interested wants to hear the story of your life, never leaves your side and hurries off to fetch food for you,” Celeste said. “How many times did Ellis get you more canapes?”

Now the pink was sunset vivid. “Oh, honestly,” Mel said in disgust.

“He’s a really nice man, Mom,” said Jenna.

“He is, but I’m not interested. There will never be another man for me but your father.”

“Now don’t go getting all sentimental and silly,” Aunt Edie scolded. “You can love more than one man in a lifetime.”

“I doubt it,” Mel said. “Anyway, I’m too old for him. He’s still in his fifties.”

“Not for much longer,” Jenna said. “I think he’s fifty-eight.”

“Age doesn’t matter at this point in life,” Aunt Edie argued.

“I read somewhere that since men die younger than women a woman should marry a man seven years younger than her,” Jenna said. “And what are you always saying to me? Don’t give up on love.”

“You girls,” Mel said, her face still red. “You obviously don’t have enough to do.”

“We’ve got plenty to do, trust us,” Celeste said. “But we’re never too busy for you, Mom.”

“That’s sweet,” Mel said, smiling at her. “You just work on helping your sister get her love life sorted out. Let’s see her find her happy ever after. That’s what I want.”

“Me, too,” said Celeste. “When are you going to figure out what you’re doing?” she asked Jenna. “I’m ready to start planning your wedding.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Jenna said.

“After me,” put in Mel.

“And me,” said Aunt Edie.

“And me,” said Jolly Roger. “Give me champagne.”

“A good idea,” said Jenna, and went in search of the last bottle. Her love life was enough to drive her to drink.

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3oSL72D

Check out my book at Goodreads!

THE SUMMER RETREAT

BEACHSIDE BEGINNINGS

WINTER AT THE BEACH

MORE…

USA Today and Publishers Weekly best-selling author Sheila Roberts has written over fifty books under various names, ranging from romance to self-improvement. Her humor and heart have won her a legion of fans and her novels have been turned into movies for both the Lifetime and Hallmark channels. When she’s not out dancing with her husband or hanging out with her girlfriends, she can be found writing about those things near and dear to women’s hearts: family, friends and chocolate.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: http://www.sheilasplace.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Sheila_Roberts

Facebook Address: https://www.facebook.com/funwithsheila

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Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: UNNATURAL by Deven Greene #medical #thriller

  

A gripping and unique fast-paced medical thriller... 

By Deven Greene

Title: UNNATURAL (Erica Rosen MD Trilogy Book 1)
Author: Deven Greene
Publisher: Black Rose Writing
Pages: 292
Genre: Medical Thriller

BOOK BLURB:

Dr. Erica Rosen is perplexed when she sees a young Chinese girl with blue eyes in her San Francisco pediatrics clinic. The girl’s mother, Ting, is secretive, and Erica suspects she has entered the country illegally. Later, Erica encounters Ting’s son and discovers he has an unusual mutation. Erica learns that Ting’s children underwent embryonic stem cell gene editing as part of a secret Chinese government-run program.

The Chinese government wants to murder Ting’s son to prevent others from learning about his unusual mutation and the secret gene-editing program. At Ting’s urging, Erica heads to China to expose the program and rescue the infant Ting was forced to leave behind, all while attempting to evade the watchful eye of the Chinese government.

A compelling and richly woven story, perfect for those looking for their new favorite thriller! 

The UC San Francisco pediatric clinic is a lively and bustling facility where every sort of injury and infirmity has been seen, diagnosed and treated. That is, until the day a Chinese migrant named Ting brings her daughter in for an evaluation. The striking girl is truly an anomaly, bearing genetically impossible bright blue eyes. Dr. Erica Rosen presses Ting for information, but Ting is paranoid, evasive and overly protective of her family’s privacy. Things become more puzzling when Ting ends up in the ER with a wounded young son and insists that someone is trying to kill the boy. Shocking test results, a second attempt on the boy’s life and a missing phlebotomist are just the beginning of a riveting tale of government conspiracy, medical mystery and dangerous close-calls.

Unnatural is a flawlessly written medical thriller that focuses on a Chinese mother who will sacrifice everything to save her children. Erica is a bold protagonist who follows her instincts to some amazing discoveries. The narrative is driven by intelligent dialogue and a clever, yet heinous, plot. The cultural aspects between Ting and Erica feel authentic and the technical medical language is just complicated enough to feel genuine without becoming difficult to read. Deven Greene has created a truly gripping international thriller with just the right amount of humanity and compassion.  Unnatural, the first in the Erica Rosen MD Trilogy, is a compelling and richly woven story, perfect for those looking for a new favorite thriller!

–Indies Today 

Chapter 1 

Exiting the restroom where I’d been unsuccessful in removing the vomit stain from the front of my white coat, I’d barely taken two steps before my physician’s assistant spotted me.  

“There you are, Dr. Rosen, you’re in room nine next. Here’s a clean coat.” 

“Thank you, Martha, you read my mind.” I shed my soiled coat, grabbed my stethoscope and other items from the pockets, and tossed the garment to my assistant. She handed me a clean white coat which I slipped on, all without missing a step as I strode toward room nine. We’d done this drill many times, synchronizing our moves for maximum efficiency. I often imagined my coat-switching exercise must be similar to refueling a jet in the sky. After I’d filled my pockets with the items in my hands, Martha removed my nametag from the dirty coat and handed it to me. I attached it to the upper pocket on my clean coat with the alligator clip. “Who’s the patient?” 

Martha smiled and held out a clipboard for me. “Evan Fields and his mom. Forearm laceration.” 

Continuing to walk, I grabbed the clipboard. “Thanks.” Martha started to speak, but I interrupted her. “I know, I know. Room nine.” 

Martha, a stout woman in her late thirties with short brown hair and a pasty complexion, slowed down, letting me approach the waiting patient on my own. When I reached the door to room nine, I knocked twice to let Evan and his mom know I was about to enter, then stopped. Obvious waste of time, I reminded myself. I slowly opened the door to the small, cluttered exam room, the familiar Shrek poster the first thing that greeted me. Pushing the door farther, I saw Evan sitting on the firetruck exam table, his mother seated in one of the two adult-size chairs. The two children’s chairs were empty.  

As usual, my jaw tightened a bit upon seeing the computer terminal, like the others found in every exam room. It sat innocently enough on a small table with a faux wood top near the sink. The best thing one might say about the computer is that it united all physicians practicing in the clinic and in clinics and hospitals across the country. Male, female, black, white, brown, tall, short, progressive, conservative, they all hated the computer, the bearer of the despised Electronic Health Record, or EHR. After two years in the clinic, you’d think I would be used to it, but I wasn’t. I still resented its intrusion into the time I spent with my patients and their parents. Instead of having a comfortable discussion with that now almost passé element known as eye contact, I needed to spend most of my appointment time sitting before the terminal and typing. Resigned to postponing my long-planned ax attack of the computer, I logged in and quickly confirmed Martha had made sure all the necessary information such as patient’s name and age, parents’ names, address, insurance, and reason for visit was up to date. 

Evan and his mom looked at me and smiled while I signed “Hello.” They each responded with a reciprocal sign. Both Evan and his mother are profoundly deaf. I was the only clinic doctor or staff of any sort proficient in American Sign Language, so it was always up to me to see the severely hearing-impaired patients, something I enjoyed. 

Evan was holding a bloody washcloth over his left forearm. His mother was signing furiously, informing me that Evan had fallen while climbing a tree, and cut his arm on the sprinkler below. I signed to Evan, requesting to take a look. He peeled away the washcloth, revealing a ragged two-inch gash on the lateral aspect of his forearm. I conveyed that I needed to clean the area and put in a few stitches.  

I left the room to get a suture kit, returning a few minutes later to find Evan sitting on his mother’s lap. “He’s afraid,” she signed. 

I explained it would only hurt when I injected the numbing medicine, and when we were done, I’d give him a dollar bill he could use at the dollar store a few blocks away. That’s all the encouragement Evan needed. I anesthetized the area, cleaned it, and put in five stitches. When I was done, Evan’s mom signed that she was proud he was so brave. I spread antibiotic over the wound and handed the boy a crisp dollar bill—one of six I had in my pocket. Most days I needed at least three to coax my patients into submission for various procedures. 

I broke away to sit on the stool facing the dreaded computer so I could enter information about the visit. I usually spoke to my patients as I typed, often just small talk. My inability to sign while I typed made me hate the EHR even more. After I finished typing, I instructed Evan and his mom how to care for his injury. Mother and son motioned their thanks, I handed Mom a printed set of wound care instructions, gestured goodbye, and backed out of the room.  

Martha wasted no time in finding me. “Five-year-old girl in room four for kindergarten physical. New patient. Good luck with that one. Mom has heavy accent. Chinese, I think.” 

The UC San Francisco pediatric clinic was always busy. In addition to the myriad clerks, physician’s assistants, nurses, and doctors rushing through the halls, there were the patients and their entourages. Each small visitor was accompanied by a parent, sometimes two, often with one or more siblings or a grandparent. Between the ages of two and eight, patients and siblings frequently ran through the narrow hallway, not mindful of anyone or anything in the way. 

Making my way to room four, I dodged three-foot-high twins running in front of their mother, the colorful LEDs on the soles of their shoes flashing erratically while they laughed and bumped into the legs of strangers. According to the clock above the clerk’s station, it was 11:30. Two patients behind already, I picked up my pace, brushed back the stray hairs that had escaped my low ponytail, noticed the name tag on my coat that read “Erica Rosen, MD, Pediatrics,” was crooked, and knocked on the door of room four. 

From within, I heard the muffled voice of a young woman. I barely made out, “Come in.” 

I straightened my name tag and before opening the door, glancing up in time to see the clinic director, Dr. Gabe Lewis turn the corner and walk in my direction. As usual, his white coat was clean and pressed, his hair looked ready for a photo shoot, and he looked more like a TV doctor than a real one. 

Avoiding eye contact, I pushed hard on the door and walked in. The door slammed behind me. 

“Hello, Ms. Chen,” I said, consulting the clipboard. “I’m Dr. Rosen.” 

I gazed around the familiar room with torn posters of SpongeBob SquarePants, The Little Mermaid, and Minions. The two adult-size chairs were empty. An attractive, thin young Asian woman with short hair sat in one of the little chairs, a small child on her lap with its face buried in her chest. The child had straight shoulder length shiny black hair. 

Damn, I thought. Martha didn’t get the kid stripped down to her underwear. Only took her shoes and socks off.

The woman seemed nervous, unable to speak for a few seconds. When she finally spoke, it was with a heavy Chinese accent. “This Wang Shu, Doctor. I Ting, his mother.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, happy my roommate, Daisy, had exposed me to her parents and their heavy Mandarin accents countless times. Over the years, I had developed an ear for understanding their speech. 

“Hello, Wang Shu,” I said in my winning pediatrician’s voice, smiling. “How are you today?” 

The child didn’t move. “He shy,” Ting said. 

Knowing Asians pronounce “he” and “she” the same in their native tongue, the inappropriate gender reference didn’t surprise me. 

“I understand you’re here today to have Wang Shu’s kindergarten physical form filled out.” 

“Shi. Yes.” Ting reached into her purse and handed me a two-page form, folded in thirds. 

I took a moment to examine the form. It looked familiar, resembling many I had filled out previously. I sat in front of the computer and checked the EHR. Other than the patient’s name, age, address and mother’s name, her chart was blank. It wasn’t unusual to have patients with no medical insurance. “Has Wang Shu had her vaccinations?” I asked. 

“Shi, yes. Everything. He have very good medical care. The best.” 

“I’m glad to hear that. Do you have some documentation?” 

Ting looked at me blankly. 

“Papers that list her vaccinations.” 

“We come from China. He get them there. I not have papers, but I know he get everything. Very excellent medical care.” 

“Wang Shu doesn’t start school for over a month. Can you have the information sent to you?” 

“No. Not possible.” 

“You must have shown documentation when you moved here. How long have you been in this country?” 

“Two month.” 

“You speak English very well for someone who’s been here such a short time.” 

“I study hard.” 

“Since it was only two months ago, you should still have the documentation of vaccination you showed to pass the health inspection when you came here.” 

“I not find it.” 

“If you don’t get the documentation, we’ll need to revaccinate her. Without proof of vaccines, she can’t go to school.” 

“Oh. He no like more vaccine. But no choice.” 

This woman seemed intelligent, clearly educated enough to speak English and know about vaccines. But something didn’t seem right. “I have to ask you this,” I said in my gentlest tone so as not to alarm her. “Did you enter the US illegally?”  

Ting burst into tears. 

I grabbed a tissue and handed it to her. “It’s okay. You can tell me. I won’t report you. But if you came here illegally, I’m going to insist that Wang Shu also have a TB test.”  

“I know he not have TB,” Ting said, her tears now a slow trickle. “He very healthy, never around people with TB.” 

“Well, she needs the test. I can’t put other children at risk.” 

“No, no,” Ting said, still sniffling. “He have BCG vaccine.” 

The BCG vaccine is given to protect people from TB in countries like China, that have a high incidence of the disease. When a TB skin test is given to people who have had a BCG vaccine, the test is often falsely positive. I turned to the child. 

“Now, Wang Shu, I’m going to have to examine you,” I said, wondering if the child understood a word I was saying. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.” 

I got up from my seat at the computer, picked up Wang Shu and placed her on the exam table. For the first time, her tiny face was exposed as she looked straight at me. Black hair cut into short, straight bangs across her forehead. Light olive skin. Typical Asian features, with a small nose and epicanthal folds in upper eyelids. I almost gasped. Light blue eyes.  What I was seeing was not possible. 

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Fiction writer Deven Greene lives in the San Francisco Bay area. Ever since childhood, Deven has been interested in science.  After working as a biochemist, she went back to school and became a pathologist.  When writing fiction, the author usually incorporates elements of medicine or science. Deven has penned several short stories. Unnatural is the first novel the author has published.

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