21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (65 page)

“Name it.”

“Make a call and see if a Mrs. Melody Carter is still here at the med center?”

The doc didn’t answer for a long moment. “I can do that. Hang out.”

“Not going anywhere fast.” Joe gave him a quick grin and ignored the fact that his left foot tapped almost impatiently on the wheelchair bar. If she did head home, he could pick something up—course he didn’t know what she liked. Maybe they could split a pizza.

Joe. You’re a fool. The woman’s probably married and exhausted. Why the hell would she want pizza with you
? He ignored the snide, little voice. It was nice to have something to look forward to. No reason she might not feel the same.

***

Libby disliked doctor’s appointments almost as much as her mother. The poking and prodding elicited sad little whimpers and sobs. But Melody walked with her back and forth as the physician consulted with two other doctors in white lab coats. Words like mitral valve stenosis, balloon procedure, and valve replacement floated through their conversation. If not for the pair of nurses also present, she might have lost her mind. The consultation room was large, a table for conferencing sat in one corner, a long sofa tucked against the wall and three oversized chairs filled in the intervening space. The room reminded her of a college dorm—without the smell of dirty socks and bad food.

Melody paced, because it was simply easier to keep moving. She cradled Libby as the baby dozed. She slept so much better when Melody walked.

“Mrs. Carter, would you like me to walk with her for you some? That way you could take a break?” the steel-gray-haired nurse offered. Her name was—Noel? She couldn’t quite remember.

“Thank you. I’m actually kind of used to this now.” And if she stopped moving, she would probably pass out. She needed to stay awake, for Libby. As if she really could sleep with the doctors in the room. The churn in her gut seemed pretty constant now.

“Mrs. Carter?” Doctor Phelps looked more like someone’s grandfather than a physician with his kind-eyed, gentle manner. His younger companions failed to set her at ease.

“Yes?” Eagerness crept through her fatigue.

“We’re agreed. She’s ready to have the surgery now. We’d like to schedule it for later this week. We want to set up a special suite for her intensive care after the surgery.”

Her stomach plummeted.
They were ready. Oh God. I’m not
. Her heart slammed almost painfully against her ribs.

“You think she’s strong enough for it now?” Every other physician they’d consulted recommended waiting. Waiting, strengthening her, giving her time to grow. Unfortunately, the older she got, the more labored her heart seemed to become.

“We do,” Phelps continued. The doctors flanking him nodded. “The defect is correctable. The best part is we may not have to replace the valve so much as repair the area.” He walked over to the computer and pulled some images up on the screen. The diagram of the heart included labels for all the functioning parts. “Stenosis is a weakening of the heart valve muscle, but in Libby’s case, it’s a failure to fully develop. If we perform an intravenous catheterization, we can add small sutures, here—here—and here.” He tapped the screen. “These sutures would dissolve over time and will require monitoring, but they will provide the support her valve needs and this should encourage growth, development and….”

“And maybe she won’t need another surgery?” Because if she grew and her valves didn’t repair, wouldn’t they be right back there?
And will she be able to run and play like all other kids or will she be stuck sitting on the sidelines of life
?

“That’s our hope. But this isn’t a guarantee. She could need one surgery with supportive care for the rest of her life, or we could perform this procedure and she will only need checkups. Ideally—and we are agreed on this,” he motioned to his fellows and they both nodded. “Without this surgery, her failure to thrive could lead to further muscle damage in the heart.”

She could die
. The cold reality wasn’t unfamiliar, but it didn’t get easier. “Okay.” Her voice didn’t reflect the quaking inside. “What do I need to do?”

“Exactly what you’re doing. We’re going to admit her Monday.”

Oh, God. Three days
. Cool sweat slicked her back and a chill stormed through her system.

Doctor Phelps outlined the details, but Melody barely heard him. She turned her attention to the tiny baby in her arms. She had the weekend to hold her and then they would go in to fix her sweet little heart.

“Mrs. Carter?” Noel stood next to her.

“I’m sorry. I think I faded out there.”

The nurse gave her a sympathetic nod. “You did. We want to do a couple of tests—would you allow me to carry her for you? It won’t take long and you can have a moment to contact your family?”

She didn’t have anyone to contact. Her long marriage to Tuck had left her estranged from the friends she’d grown up with and barely speaking to her mother. As for Tuck’s family—she shuddered. She couldn’t reach out to them. No, not when they grieved for the son she was so glad couldn’t touch her again.

“How long?” She didn’t give voice to any of that, but she couldn’t bear to let her little girl go.

“No more than thirty minutes, I promise.” Noel smiled encouragingly. “We’re going right through there.” She gestured to the door to the exam suite. “I want to run an EKG while she sleeps and update her vitals. But you can’t hold her during it—”

“—because it messes up the data.” They would get her heartbeat as well as Libby’s. “That’s fine,” she lied, barely able to quiet the trembling in her hands as she let Noel take the baby. Her arms felt naked. “I’ll get some coffee.”

There was an urn down the hall. The best part of the facility was the location of conveniences on every level. Families could stay close to the patients.

“Sweetie.” Noel tucked the blanket around Libby, holding her close, but gazing at Melody. ’“You need to get some sleep. We’re arranging for a room right next to hers after the surgery. You can sleep there, close enough to be right on site, but you’ll still have time to rest.” The nurse’s words were an order, not an offer.

Melody nodded, easier than arguing, then watched helplessly as they all disappeared into the other room and left her alone. She checked the diaper bag and her wallet inside. Paced the room twice and glanced toward the smoky glass blocking her from her daughter. Impatience wound through her and she forced her legs to carry her out the door.
Coffee
.

Coffee would give her something to do.

She made it three steps from the room before she realized he sat there. Joe’s wheelchair parked right next to the coffee urn, and he poured a measure of cream into one of the to-go cups. For a fraction of a second, hear heart bounced.

“Hey.” The word slipped out. She was happy to see him—happy and relieved. It made no sense. She didn’t know the man or why he was in the chair. His close cropped hair screamed military, but that didn’t mean anything. She knew that better than most.

“Hey.” His quick, warm smile wrapped her up in welcome. “I’m getting some coffee. Want some?”

“Yes.” She answered without thinking it through, although she had come out for coffee after all. “But I can get it.”

“I don’t mind.” He grabbed a fresh cup, turning the chair with one arm and positioning the cup under the spigot. “Do you like sugar or cream?”

“Yes. But I really shouldn’t have either.”

“Then how about a little of each?”

“Okay.” What the hell was she doing? She walked over and watched as he fixed her coffee, adding one packet each of the cream and sugar before stirring it up and fixing the lid to the top.

“It’s pretty hot, so be careful.” He held the cup out to her. She didn’t know whether to take it or not. Did it suggest something to take the coffee he fixed for her? Or was it just a cup of coffee?
I am so fucked up that I am asking myself this
. Determined to shake off her fugue, she focused on the present and accepted the cup. A tickle of electricity zinged through her as their fingers brushed.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. I finished up early, so I thought I’d come over and hang out in case you needed someone to ride back with.”

It was a peculiar, if very sweet offer.

“Why would I need someone to ride back with?” She sipped the coffee. It burned her lip, but she embraced the pain. The jolt of heat and caffeine might actually jumpstart her system.

“So you don’t have to be alone with the driver.” The straightforward response shocked her almost as much as the realization that he noticed her earlier discomfort. Her stomach plummeted again. But Joe didn’t seem to notice. He finished fixing his own coffee. When his gaze returned to her, it was open and gentle.

“Thank you. But I can manage.”
No I can’t. If it’s just me and Libby and that huge guy, I’ll sit on the curb all day waiting for the right driver
. She’d managed to do that twice already, making some excuse that kept her out of the close vehicle with the larger, more intimidating man. Not that Joe wasn’t large—in fact, she imagined he stood around six feet or more when not in the chair. Her gut twisted.

What kind of a monster was she to take comfort in the fact that he sat in a wheelchair?

“Of course you can, but you don’t have to. Besides, you’d be doing me a favor.” Joe sipped his coffee.

“How so?”

“Most of the drivers prefer southern teams. I’m a Giants fan. They give me sh…er, grief.”

She tried to process the information. “That’s football, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. You have a favorite team?”

She shook her head, an apology on the tip of her tongue. But he didn’t let her utter it because his smile grew and she got lost, staring at the absolute kindness in his eyes.

“Then let me tell you all about the Giants. They’re the team to watch….” He launched into a description of the team’s challenges and championships. The content didn’t quite reach her, but his tone did and the banal chatter eased the jagged edges of her conscience, relaxing her. She sat on the edge of the sofa closest to his wheelchair and told herself it was because she didn’t want him to have to keep craning his head up to see her.

But the coil of tension permanently knotted in her stomach began to loosen.
What did he say
? “I’m sorry. I’m not really that into sports.”

“No worries. I won’t bore you….”

“Oh, please. I don’t mind. I liked hearing you talk about them. You sound like you really enjoy it.”
Please keep talking
. Something about his voice relaxed her, and she took another sip of the coffee to stifle the urge to beg.

“I do. They’re playing this afternoon if you want to come by and watch or something…”

She didn’t know who was more surprised when she nodded. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Surprise lit his eyes.

“Yeah. Why don’t you come over? I can make food.”

“Pizza.”

“I’m sorry?” She blinked.

“Let’s order pizza. It’s perfect for a game and then you don’t have to cook.”

“Oh. Well—okay.” She liked pizza even if she couldn’t remember the last time she’d ordered any. Tuck liked his meals prepared, especially when he came home from deployment. She pushed the thoughts aside and covered with another drink of coffee. “But it’s my treat.”

“Fifty-fifty.” Joe countered and a laugh escaped her, the sound almost scratchy, rusted from lack of use.

“Fifty-fifty,” she conceded and he grinned again.
What am I doing
?

“Mrs. Carter?” Noel called from behind her and she lurched up from the sofa, nearly splashing herself with coffee. Guilt threaded through her as she spun to face the nurse.
Libby
.

“Everything is fine.” Noel gave her a comforting smile. “I wanted to let you know the doctor wants to do a little more blood work, but we have enough from the earlier draw. Do you mind waiting another short bit while I run that down? She’s asleep and Tiffany is with her.”

The cup trembled in her hand. “Thank you.”

“Now sit back down before you fall down, and eat something while you’re at it.” The nurse glanced past Melody to Joe and gave the man an approving look. “Can you make sure she eats, Captain? She has time and I know she won’t leave. But we have bagels and danish here, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Noel walked down the hall and Melody sat again, fighting not to lose her grip on the coffee. Joe’s hand wrapped around hers on the cup and steadied it. She shouldn’t let him touch her, but the warmth of his smooth palm blanketed the ice chilling her fingers. She forgot about Libby. For a few minutes, she’d forgotten why she was there. She’d listened to him talk about football.

What the hell kind of mother am I
?

“Bagel or danish?”

“I’m not hungry.” She needed to take her hand back, but her traitorous arm remained where it was and she leaned on the strength in his grip.

“Okay. But you can still eat and you’re pretty pale. You got the coffee?”

Awareness of his regard washed over her and she nodded, easing down from the arm of the sofa onto the cushion. He gave her hand a light squeeze.

“Stay put.” Setting his own cup aside, he wheeled down to the end of the table and returned in less than a minute with a plate balanced on his lap. It held two danish and a bagel with a tub of cream cheese. “Eat.” He held the plate out to her and took a hold of her coffee.

She stared at the food and then at him. “I don’t know if I can.” The confession cost.

He tipped his head. “Sure you can. Just one bite at a time. I’ll be right here.”

Blowing out a breath, she picked up one of the sticky cheese pastries and took a bite. The sugar explosions in her mouth whet her appetite and she took a second one. He passed back her coffee and said nothing while she ate. Before she realized it, she finished both danish and part of the bagel. The cramping in her stomach eased and her hand stopped shaking.

“Good.” Joe grinned. “More coffee?”

Her cup was empty.

She glanced down the hallway, but Noel wasn’t back. Maybe one more.