Urgent Care (17 page)

“Seth—”

“Shhh . . . ,” he murmured, spooning her, fitting just right. “I’m only going to hold you, be here for you. That’s all. It’s okay to need something every once in a while. And right now you need sleep.”

His words whispered against the back of her head as she finally nodded her assent and relaxed in his embrace. Then, before she realized it, she fell asleep.

Friday, 6:32 A.M.

AMANDA WOKE WITH A GROAN. SHE’D PROMISED the Millers she’d stay with Zachary to give them time to go home, sleep in their own bed, see their other children, shower, and feel normal for a few hours at least. That had meant catching a short nap curled up in the vinyl bed-chair at Zachary’s bedside.

“Morning,” Lucas’s voice greeted her. No surprise; the man put early birds to shame, barely needed sleep at all. One of the few things she hated about him. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”

She glanced at Zachary—the monitor readings were stable—then stood and stretched. “I don’t know how parents sleep in those things,” she said indicating the combo chair-recliner bed. “There are lumps and pokes where I didn’t even know I had places to poke.”

“It’s this rotation. You’re losing weight. Breakfast?”

“Can’t. I have to get my numbers for rounds.” She did manage to surreptitiously grasp his hand as she moved past him to look over the ECMO tech’s shoulder. To her surprise, he actually held on for a long moment.

“Got ’em.” Lucas handed her a sheaf of papers.

“That’s cheating. I have to do my own work.” Usually the junior member of the team—in this case, Amanda—prerounded on every patient in the ICU, collecting the lab values and vital signs from overnight. It was tedious work, deciphering nurses’ notes scrawled on patient bedside charts, but important to facilitate the changeover from the on-call team to the new team.

“It’s two minutes on the computer—and you said nothing good would ever come from electronic medical records. C’mon.”

The ECMO tech chuckled. “Listen to the man, Amanda. Zachary’s cool. You need to learn to grab food when you can if you’re going to survive this place.”

Amanda glanced at Zachary’s peaceful face, then brushed her hand over his forehead. “Okay, let’s go.”

They walked down the stairs from the fourth floor to the cafeteria, unabashedly holding hands now that they had privacy. Amanda loved the way Lucas treated her like she was Scarlett O’Hara—a lady to be wooed, courted. Sometimes his old-fashioned values and propriety unleashed her impatience, but they never failed to charm her.

“So, you remember Dr. Frantz’s patient?” Amanda asked Lucas.

“Which one? The kid I did the LP on, or the kid you’re trying to find a diagnosis for?”

“Both. They met last night—really hit it off. It was kind of fun to see, opposites attract and all that. I mean, he’s a rich kid, obnoxious, annoying as hell—but with her, he was really sweet, caring. And she’s come all the way from Africa to this foreign land, dirt poor, trying to make a new life only to get sick. Of all things, it was spending time with Tank, not any of our medicine, that made Narolie feel better.”

“Romeo and Juliet,” he said, a sly smile crossing his face. “Be careful. You know how that turned out.”

She skipped a few steps ahead, pulling him along with her. She’d hit her postcall, sleep-deprived euphoria, the second wind that would soon die and leave her crashing.

“I know. But you should have seen them.” She sighed. “I just hope I can figure out what’s wrong with Narolie.”

“She still vomiting?”

“Stopped finally, last night. Said she had a headache, but that was better as well. I did a complete history and physical—no aura of migraines and no pattern I can find.”

“Hmmm. Are the symptoms worse in the morning? Could be an intracranial process. Mass effect from a tumor or abscess. Sometimes they don’t show up on a regular CT, especially if they’re in the posterior fossa.”

“I know. I wish I could figure out a way to consult you without Frantz knowing about it.”

“No can do. I’d love to help out, but I need to be able to document it.”

“And you can’t do that without an official consult.” They pushed open the door to the cafeteria and dropped hands. Amanda missed his touch immediately. Somehow Lucas always made her feel better, smarter, stronger than she really was. “I need to find something this morning before Dr. Frantz kicks her out of the hospital.”

Lucas considered. “Maybe that’s the answer. Let him discharge her and I’ll re-admit her to my service.”

Wow.
Amanda turned to him, stunned. It was the perfect solution—except she couldn’t let him do it. “You don’t even know if it is a neuro problem, Lucas. Besides, I can’t let you fight my battles. I’ll figure something out.”

“If that’s what you want.” Lucas rarely argued with her—he seemed to think she was smart enough to make her own decisions.

Although she enjoyed that he respected her that much, sometimes she wished he’d pull rank as an attending and step in. Even if she couldn’t ask him to.

Damn, had she just let her sense of pride doom Narolie’s only chance at being cured?

 

 

NORA WOKE CERTAIN OF ONE THING: THAT SHE had to tell Jerry Boyle everything. Then she could find the strength to deal with Seth and, maybe, rebuild their relationship.

But she couldn’t face Jerry alone, so after Seth left, she drove over to Lydia’s. Nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac, Lydia’s house was the old cemetery caretaker’s cottage. The mature hemlocks, spruce, and arborvitae surrounding it gave it a Thomas Kinkade feeling, as if it sat alone in the country-side rather than the center of a busy Pittsburgh neighborhood.

Nora walked up the path leading to Lydia’s front door. Amanda had planted flowerbeds on either side—partly as a housewarming gift to Lydia and partly to assuage her home-sickness for her family’s gardens in South Carolina. Nora recognized chrysanthemum, lavender, the spiky twigs of rose-bushes, and a lovely winter surprise: velvet-soft pansies in purple and gold. The only Christmas decoration was an evergreen wreath with a large black-and-gold Steelers ribbon that hung on the front door. Trey’s contribution, she was sure. Lydia didn’t seem the holiday-decorating type.

She hesitated. It was early, but Lydia kept strange hours—Nora had even spied her going for runs alone in the dark after midnight shifts ended. Trey’s red pickup truck was parked in the driveway, but it was almost seven, and he’d surely be leaving for his shift soon. As she rang the doorbell she heard voices inside.

They didn’t sound so happy. The chimes punctuated the sharp sounds. Were Lydia and Trey fighting? It seemed so unlike them. Lydia always seemed to find something to rile her passions—but Trey? In all the years Nora had known him, she’d never once heard him raise his voice, not even when in the midst of traumas that had descended into chaos.

She wished she could take back ringing the doorbell, leave and come again, but it was too late. Trey yanked open the door, then blinked in surprise. “Nora. What are you doing here?”

“Is Lydia in?”

He scowled and turned to shout over his shoulder, “Lydia! It’s Nora.” His expression softened as he faced Nora again, ushering her into the living room. “Are you okay? I heard what happened yesterday, that you were the one to find Karen.”

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Felt weird to offer thanks for anything that happened yesterday.

He shifted his weight, then picked up his gear bag. “Well, I’d best be going or I’ll be late. Lydia’s in the kitchen.” Again the frown. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

Before she could ask, he left, slamming the door behind him. A few moments later, the engine of his pickup revved and he squealed out of the driveway.

“Nora, what are you doing here?” Lydia appeared in the archway between the living room and dining room. “Is everything okay?”

No. Everything was not okay. Everything was very wrong. Because in her hand, Lydia held a gun.

Nora froze, not able to take her eyes off the handgun. “Lydia, you have a gun? I don’t believe it. You’re a doctor, for God’s sake—”

“Lots of doctors have guns,” Lydia said, looking down at the pistol as if she hadn’t even realized she held it. She led Nora into the kitchen, where a gray plastic carrying case and boxes of ammunition lay on the table. “Besides, this is Pennsylvania. Everyone here has a gun. You all have like a state holiday on the first day of deer season.”

“That’s different. That’s hunting. Putting food on the table. This”—Nora gestured at the gun—“this is to kill a person.”

“Not kill.” Lydia placed the gun into the foam cutouts that lined the case. It wasn’t very large; it was black with etched crisscrosses and a silver bull’s-eye on the grip, and it definitely looked like it could kill. Nora was glad when Lydia shut the lid on it. “Not necessarily. But definitely stop them.”

“Lydia! You’re talking about shooting someone. A human being.”

“I’m talking about self-defense.” Lydia grabbed her gun case. “Anyway, I’m late. Boyle’s waiting.”

“This is why you’re meeting Jerry?” Nora gestured to the case. She’d thought they were meeting to discuss Karen.

“We meet to shoot a few times a month. He helped me get my carry permit.”

“What does Trey think about all this?”

Lydia grimaced. “He hates it. Trey thinks the world’s problems would be solved by buying a Christmas tree and singing carols.”

 

 

GINA RUBBED HER EYES. SHE HADN’T EVEN BOTHERED with makeup; she’d rolled out of bed and into the shower, thrown some clothes on, and rushed to start her shift in the ER. No sleep last night—she couldn’t get Ken Rosen’s words out of her mind. That she shouldn’t marry Jerry.

The idea wouldn’t leave her any peace. Not because she thought Ken was right about Jerry being wrong for her. Rather because she began to think about Jerry—what if
she
was wrong for him? What if she made his life miserable?

Why hadn’t she told Ken that she loved Jerry?

And when she had drifted off, it was only to be awakened by nightmares of her running alone down a Homewood street, a car filled with gunmen behind her, no idea where to go. Or worse, the ultimate nightmare: Gina living with her parents again, bowing to their will, trying to appease and please them.

Jerry wasn’t like that, she thought as she arrived at the ER’s locker room and changed into scrubs for her shift in the ER. He would never ask her to change just to suit him. But did he really know and understand her? Or had she just put on another act, a different act, for him like she had all her life with her parents? What would happen when Jerry discovered the real her?

Maybe Ken was right. She slammed her locker shut, the thin metal door flying back at her so she slapped it again. It caught this time, shuddering into place with a weird keening noise that made her teeth ache. She stomped out to the ER, shoving aside all existential nonsense. She knew who she was, that was all that mattered.

Wasn’t it?

She was barely halfway to the nurses’ station when she heard her name called. She whirled around, then wished she’d run the other way instead. Coming down the hall behind her was Tank’s mother. Worse, matching her stride for stride, was Gina’s mother, LaRose Freeman, looking particularly elegant in a Donna Karan suit the color of pink champagne.

“Regina,” LaRose said in a voice of command.

No running and hiding, no escape. Gina waited for them, wrapping her arms around her chest, leaning against the wall, trying to assume a nonchalant stance.

“Thank God we found you!” Mrs. Trenton gushed. Gina cringed—it was much too early in the day for exclamation marks.

“Catherine needs your help,” LaRose said.

Gina waited, refusing to get sucked in. Probably they were going to try to send her on a food run for Tank like they had Amanda. But Mrs. Trenton surprised her, grasping Gina’s hand as if Gina were a lifesaver.

“You have to help me,” she said. “Harold’s missing.”

Friday, 6:53 A.M.

“ARE YOU OKAY? DO YOU NEED SOMETHING? ” Lydia asked Nora, wondering why the charge nurse had come to her. It was awkward knowing what she knew about Nora—but Lydia couldn’t betray Seth’s confidence, wouldn’t let on to Nora that she knew any of the charge nurse’s secrets.

Way too complicated. So much easier just staying out of other people’s problems.

“No. I’m fine.” Nora mumbled the words as if they’d become automatic.

“I’ve got to go, I’m late,” Lydia said, heading out the door to the carport.

Nora followed. “Wait. I’ll go with you. I need to talk to Jerry.”

Lydia had been planning to take the bike—had even had small inklings about “forgetting” her helmet. No way she would ever, ever be able to explain
that
to Nora. An ER doc riding a “donorcycle” without a helmet? How on earth could she explain the thrill of it? The way riding the Triumph or shooting her nine-millimeter made her feel alive, immortal, death-defying, and fearless.

Almost better than the adrenaline rush of a fresh trauma.

The moment of self-indulgence was brief. “Sure,” she said to Nora, tugging her gloves on, snugging Maria’s charm bracelet inside her left one. She wasn’t sure why she’d been drawn to wearing it today, but it felt right. “Come along.”

Without breaking stride, Lydia headed for her Ford Escape, which was parked in the driveway. “If you don’t want to be alone, I can call Elise,” she suggested. She was pretty sure the flight nurse had the day off. And because Elise had been there with Nora in the cemetery yesterday, she’d understand what Nora was going through. “You two can hang out, go shopping or something.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” Nora said it with a smile, but Lydia heard the hurt in her tone.

“No. Of course not. You and Elise have known each other longer; I figured—”