Abruption (6 page)

I took in a deep breath and changed my approach. Yelling didn’t work with Mercedes—my parents unintentionally numbed her to it. “Honey, listen to me. It’s not about the money, and you know I have your back,
always
. I’m all about you needing to express yourself. I supported you when you took the whole ombré hair thing to the extreme, and I talked Mom and Dad off the ledge when you came home with a nose ring. But tattoos are permanent. You can’t just erase them. Lasers can only do so much.”

“Gosh, did you lecture Selena about the limitations of laser removal when she got hers?”

“Mercedes, she was twenty-seven when she got hers, no one can see it, and it’s her kids’ names, not a freaking car emblem!” So much for not yelling. But come on, who gets the Mercedes insignia inked onto their wrist? So what if it was her name? It was dumb. Really dumb. My sister may have been a little lost and screaming to find herself, but she was so
not
dumb.

She huffed into the phone and I could practically hear her resolve crumbling.
Thatta girl
. “Fine, we’ll talk about it later,” she scoffed. “How does sushi sound for dinner?”

Definitely not my first choice, but what did I care? I mustered up some fake enthusiasm and said, “Sounds delicious! Can’t wait!”

Crisis averted (at least temporarily), I disconnected and finished writing transfer orders. The day had to get better, right?

I walked back into the small room on the tail end of Jill asking, “You have cases today?”

Dr. Hunter answered immediately. “I do. In about fifteen.”

Cases, as in surgical cases. Well, that was fan-freakin-fabulous. Worse than an arrogant parent was an arrogant parent in medicine. Even worse than that, was an arrogant parent who donned a surgical cap all day. And we were already on the wrong foot.

Jill rose to full height, and continued on. “Why don’t you go? He’s stable. We’ll get him all settled upstairs. They’ll wait on the tap until you’re out.”

Instead of acknowledging Jill’s show of support, Dr. Hunter looked toward his wife. “Maya, you good? I should be done by two. Meet you upstairs, and then you can run get Max. I need you back though, I have a lap chole at four.”

“Yeah, of course. I can even call Darla. I’m sure she’d watch Max—that way I can stay with Finn overnight if you want?”

If you want …
did she seriously just ask to stay with her own son? I had to smolder my urge to shake some sense into her. Didn’t she realize how precious these moments were, how much her little boy needed his mama, his
protector
? Obviously my hold on passing judgment was slipping.

Dr. Hunter bit the inside of his cheek and stared at his watch again, as if he were mapping out a military defense strategy. While he was lost in thought, his wife appeared oblivious, waiting for his response. So peculiar, there was definitely a disconnect here.

In an attempt to ascertain a thorough social history, I spied his ring-less fourth finger. All right, maybe I was a smidge nosy. It was a family trait, not one I was particularly proud of, but you can’t fight genetics. I tried and knew it was futile.

He was a surgeon, so it wouldn’t be unheard of to not wear a wedding band, always scrubbing and all. But she was ring-less as well. So maybe they weren’t married. Which meant I probably needed to take back the whole shaking-mama thing.

Maybe she was a super involved girlfriend. Granted, it looked like he robbed the cradle (again, not that I was judging).

Jules Marie, it’s none of your-a business!

Hearing my mother’s voice in my head always snapped me back to reality. And since I clearly had no read on this family dynamic, I was going to mind my business. Every family had their own thing (obviously mine did too). But in the end, all that mattered was Finn looked well cared for.

Dr. Hunter pinched his nose and shook his overgrown locks slightly. Just when I thought he was about to cave and thank Maya for volunteering herself, he said, “I have to go. Maya, can I speak with you in the hall?”

He took two steps closer to the gurney, massaged his son’s scalp, and his octave lowered. “Stay tough, bud. Who loves ya to the moon and back?” Never lifting a lid from his tablet, the little boy curled his fragile hand around his dad’s finger, holding him in place.

It was the first real father/son interaction since I tapped on that glass. My heart lurched a little, and I suddenly felt guilty for all the wicked thoughts I’d just had. He was still socially challenged, but with one glance at the scene before me, there was no doubt how Dr. Hunter felt about his son. It reminded me of my time as a student in the NICU at Presby when I witnessed my first “graduation.”

His large finger.

His tiny hand.

The day I learned I needed to be close but
not
that close.

The day I learned that my heart wasn’t strong enough.

Jill must have read my expression because she waited until they left the room before she lowered her voice so Finn couldn’t hear. “He’s not usually such an ass. He’s normally pretty chill, keeps to himself a lot. General surgeon, single dad, sad situation. Think everything with Finn lately is taking its toll. Has to be stressful. Finn was a twenty-four weeker, cerebral palsy, survived the NICU long haul. Been in and out of the ER a bunch lately.”

She was doing what doctors do, giving me the bullets. I wasn’t sure what possessed me or why I cared, but I had to. “The mom?”

“Not really sure, but not in the picture. She didn’t deliver here. He was born at Presby.”

Nuh-uh.

What were the chances?

Couldn’t be.

Right?

I
stopped short at the door to Finn’s PICU room and ripped the drenched cap from my head. Intensive Care Unit. Add any letter you wanted before it—it all meant the same thing. Sick. Really sick.

Memories of my boy in the NICU flooded my mind and churned my gut. It was months of fixating on his tiny chest and praying his heart would keep a steady beat, while ventilators breathed air into his underdeveloped lungs. There was no end in sight, just the next twenty-four hours and the next inevitable complication. And they were inevitable … intraventricular hemorrhage, apnea spells, necrotizing enterocolitis. It was terrifying. Exhausting. Downright hell. But Finn came out on top, and the days of holding my breath willing his lungs to never stop were behind us. I slammed the door on that chapter of my life.

Like all survivors with my boy’s history, there would always be the possibility of the “next complication,” but all in all, Finn had been pretty lucky. Until recently.

Six ER visits in the past six months.

Now three fevers in three weeks.

I racked my brain to figure out what had changed. As far as I could tell, nothing. Same food. Same bedtime. Same sitter. Same friends. I hadn’t even risked putting him in nursery school yet. He was making huge strides lately. Walking with his new braces like a champ and almost ready for big boy underwear.

He turned three a few months ago and it has all gone downhill.

I should have canceled my damn lap chole. My mind was so far from gallbladders it wasn’t funny. It was elective and could have waited. Good thing my surgical PA excelled using the laparoscope, because I spent the better half of the case mulling the long list of diagnoses associated with fever of unknown origin.

My nerves were fried. I felt shaky, and the pit in my stomach was sickening. I hated feeling helpless. I hated that I didn’t recognize myself. I hated that I just went off half-cocked on an undeserving total stranger. I embarrassed that nurse to the point she blushed, enough that I had to look away. That was never me.

Bottom line, I hated that my boy was sick again. Hearing him cry while they poked and prodded him punched me in the chest. Now he needed a tap. Maybe it was better I did the case; the hour and a half gave me a chance to catch my breath. Life dealt what it dealt and I could deal. It’s what I did. But my boy, he shouldn’t have to. What I wouldn’t give to trade spots with him. I was all Finn had; he needed me to keep my shit together.

The sliding door to the glass-encased cubicle was ajar. I didn’t usually eavesdrop, but Maya’s voice cracked before I opened the curtain. “He’s just been through so much already, it kills me. I love him and his sister to pieces.”

I knew when I was on edge, and I knew my mood couldn’t handle an emotional woman right now. And who was she talking to?

My boy giggled—loved that sound. There was nothing better. I almost forgot Maya was busy spilling my goddamned soap opera saga.

A saccharine voice took over. “It’s obvious you’re a huge part of their lives, and how much you care about them. I imagine two little ones and the demands of being a surgeon could be a struggle. Dr. Hunter lucked out finding a nanny that’s in nursing school, especially when it comes to Finn.” It was the ER nurse, the new chick.

“I’m actually his cousin. Well, their mom’s cousin, actually. Maxine looks just like her.”

“Is that Finn’s sister? What a sweet name. How old is she? Does their mom live nearby?”

“Four.” I interrupted the jog down memory lane, answering her first question and ignoring the second. I’d had enough. “She’s in nursery school.”

“Looks like the two of you have your hands full.” She laughed a fake fucking laugh.

“Hey, bud. How ya feeling?”

Finn gave me thumbs up and flipped his iPad around to show me his latest selfie. My son was obsessed. Whoever started the “electronics are bad for kids” campaign never saw my son smile.