Urgent Care (35 page)

Lydia frowned. “Trey is at his folks’ today. Thank God.”

“Really?” Gina asked, secretly thrilled to see St. Lydia the Perfect having a not-so-perfect day. “Something going on with you two?”

“Just normal stuff.” Typical Lydia, treating her private life as off-limits. Gina was surprised she’d said as much as she had.

“Yeah, right.” Gina was fascinated to learn she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t mastered the art of cohabitation. “Trey’s like the perfect guy. You two are made for each other.”

“You’re one to talk—you have Jerry.”

Gina hid her expression. No sense letting the whole world knew she’d walked out on Jerry. Especially because she knew Jerry and Lydia were close—hell, he saw more of Lydia than Gina some weeks. She’d let everyone else know about her and Jerry when she was certain she knew how
she
felt about it. Right now, better just to avoid the issue altogether. “Yeah, well, at least Trey talks to you. When Jerry’s on a case, it swallows him whole. I’m lucky to get two words out of him.”

“It’s not Trey. Well, a little. Mainly it’s his family.” Lydia bounced to her feet. “Damn it, why does everything have to be so complicated?”

Before Gina could answer—not that she had an answer, but that wasn’t going to stop her from saying something; she was enjoying her unexpected role of confidante too much—the door banged open and Nora entered. “Men!”

Both Gina and Lydia swiveled to stare at her.

“What did Seth do now?” Gina asked. It wasn’t often that she was the sanest in the bunch. It was kind of nice for a change. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees in a serious pose, and nodded to Nora earnestly, borrowing a move from the shrinks. “It’s okay, go on.”

Nora flounced down onto the chair Lydia had vacated. “He thinks he can smother me, protect me from everything. He heard Jim Lazarov was giving me a hard time and even left a patient in the OR to see if I was okay. Like I couldn’t handle it myself. Argh!”

Lydia, to Gina’s surprise, took Seth’s side. “Hey, after what’s happened the past few days, I think he’s got every right to be a bit overprotective.”

That earned her a glare from Nora. “Like you’d ever let Trey coddle you. You had half of Pittsburgh gunning for you, and you didn’t back down and hide.”

Lydia sat down beside Nora and grabbed her hand. “I was going to run, was ready to run and hide, let everyone else deal with it.”

No way.
Gina stared at Lydia, surprised by her confession. St. Lydia was human after all, as vulnerable as the rest of them? “What stopped you?”

There was a pause. Both Nora and Gina stared at Lydia, waiting for her answer. Lydia startled them both by shaking her head and laughing. “Believe it or not, it was Trey. He made me realize that there were some things worth fighting for after all.” She squeezed Nora’s hand. “So cut Seth some slack. He loves you and he can’t risk losing you to some psycho nut job.”

Nora blew her breath out in an exaggerated sigh. “I’m so tired of not being able to live my own life. Everyone talking about me, about what I did, judging me. I want it all to go away, to stop being labeled a victim.”

Lydia squatted down to pull a package of coffee filters from the lower cupboard. As she did, her top rode up enough to expose a small pistol holstered at the small of her back.

“Where’d you get that?” Gina asked. Jerry had taught her the rudiments of gun safety—had insisted on it—but she’d never liked guns or seen their attraction. Especially after being shot at. “Put it away. This is a hospital.”

Both Nora and Lydia jerked their heads at her pious tone. Before they could say anything, the door shot open and Amanda stalked in. “Men!” She looked at them, her eyes widening at the sight of Lydia’s gun. “Is that a nine-millimeter? Perfect. Cuz I’m gonna kill him!”

Saturday, 10:11 A.M.

“AMANDA!” NORA SNAPPED. “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU said that.”

Amanda clapped her hand over her mouth, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Lydia tugged her top down, hiding the gun from sight, and busied herself making coffee.

“I don’t think you should have that in the hospital,” Nora continued. “Especially not up here near children.”

Lydia bobbed her head in a nod, still turned away from them, while Gina sat there grinning.

“Yes, Mom,” Gina said, breaking the tension in the room.

“Oh, be quiet.” Nora slouched in her chair as the coffee maker gurgled and Lydia rejoined them.

“I’m sorry, Nora,” Amanda said again, pulling out a chair for herself. “I was just so upset. But after yesterday—”

“It’s okay.”

“What were you and Lucas arguing about?” Gina asked.

“I had an idea that might help Narolie. But he wouldn’t listen.”

“Doesn’t sound like Lucas,” Lydia said. “What kind of idea?”

Amanda slid a paper across the table to Lydia, who read it and passed it down the line.

“Teratoma causing encephalitis,” Gina mused. “Never heard of it.”

“No one has,” Amanda admitted. “This is the only case report I could find. And I’m not even sure if the abdominal calcification Narolie’s upper GI showed is from a teratoma. I need a CT of her belly to find out.”

“Lydia, what do you think?” Nora asked.

“I think you don’t need a CT to confirm an ovarian teratoma. Get OB-GYN up here to do an ultrasound. If their attending is convinced, they can handle Lucas. And in the meantime see if you can find some more case reports—make it easier to convince both of them.”

“A portable ultrasound?” Amanda thought for a moment. “I can do that without compromising her care, so Lucas can’t get upset.”

“Stop worrying about Lucas and worry about your patient.”

“You’re right. I was just so surprised when he didn’t agree with me.”

“Get used to it,” Nora put in. “I think I can help as well.”

“How?”

“By getting rid of this deportation nonsense. I’ll get Mickey on the case—she’ll have Tillman and his lawyers so tangled in knots that it will be the next millennium before they can think of trying to kick a patient out of the hospital.”

“Mickey!” Lydia smiled, rapping her knuckles on the table in approval. “Fighting lawyers with lawyers, it’s perfect. I should have thought of her myself. Nora, you’re a genius.” She brushed her hands together. “Okay, so one problem solved. And Mickey working on the case should give you a reason to keep a low profile, stay out of trouble, right?”

Nora bristled. “I’m not hiding—”

“Never said you were. But you keep getting people pissed off, and it’s going to impact patient care.”

“Seth said Jim Lazarov tried to attack her,” Amanda put in.

Damn, it was like a conspiracy. They all turned to stare at Nora. “I told you, Seth exaggerated. It was nothing. Okay, I’ll hang out here, pretending to review Narolie’s chart, stall for time until Mickey can get here.” She rolled her eyes at Lydia. “Then maybe I’ll go walking alone through the cemetery after dark, since you guys obviously think I’m incapable of taking care of myself.”

Lydia flashed her a smile of understanding. It wasn’t easy trying to live your life under a threat. Lydia’s answer was to carry a gun. Nora’s was to focus on her patients. On controlling what she could control.

“Nah, you’ll come home with me. Run interference between me and Trey’s mom. I’m supposed to be at her place today. Baking cookies—some kind of holiday tradition.” Lydia made it sound like having a root canal without anesthesia.

“You could go to the gala and pick up my award for me, instead,” Gina suggested, but no one paid her any attention.

“Nora, could you keep an eye on Tank, too?” Amanda said, bringing them back to the problem at hand. “Maybe talk to him—poor kid has no idea about anything. If things go badly, I don’t know how he’ll handle it.”

“I’ll call Ken Rosen, ask him to talk with Tank,” Gina put in. “He’s good with stuff like that.”

“Ken?” Lydia said. “Really?”

“Sure, why not? I’ll see if he’s in his lab today—that will give Tank a place to go while Narolie is getting her ultrasound.”

“Sounds like we have all our bases covered,” Lydia said. “Okay, I’ll see you guys later.”

“Where are you going?” Nora asked.

“Down to the ER. I have a little research project that needs finishing. I’ll call you when I’m ready to go home.”

Nora stared after her. She didn’t like the smile that played across Lydia’s face—it was the same smile she’d worn yesterday when she talked about blowing the heads off targets.

 

 

LYDIA TOOK THE STAIRS BACK DOWN TO THE ER. She didn’t go through the main emergency department, but rather took the back way around to the hallway that housed the locker rooms and OR 13. The usual Saturday bustle echoed down the hall from the ER, but no one was around as she ducked into the men’s locker room.

She didn’t close the door immediately, but held it as she listened, ready for a quick escape. The locker room was empty. She shut the door and grabbed the clipboard from the hook beside it. As in the women’s locker room, there was a listing of occupied lockers. Jim Lazarov had number seventeen.

She replaced the clipboard and wound her way past two rows of lockers and benches strewn with discarded scrubs, street shoes, and towels. At least the women cleaned up after themselves. Locker seventeen was on the far wall, the second from the end.

Jim had a cheap combination padlock on it—good enough for routine security, not good enough to match Lydia’s skills. She glanced over her shoulder even though no one was there, feeling guilty and rebellious and naughty at the same time. She hadn’t picked a lock in years, but this one would be easy.

The lock had three dials on the side and was the kind where the owner could reset the combination at will. Great for convenience, not so hot for security. Lydia pulled the shackle bar out, getting a feel for how tight the tumbler wheels were. As she spun the first wheel, her cell phone rang.

She dropped the lock, and it banged against the locker door. She pulled out her cell and glanced at the screen. Ruby Garrison, Trey’s mom. Damn. If she let it go to voice mail, next thing she knew Trey would be hunting her down.

Keeping an eye on the door to the hall, she connected with the call. As she spoke, she sandwiched the phone between her shoulder and ear in order to free her fingers to work their magic.

“Hi, Ruby.”

“Lydia, do you have a pound of butter you could bring with you? I’m afraid with these extra Moravian Christmas cookies we’ll be running short.”

Lydia tugged the shackle and kept pressure on it as she slowly dialed the bottom wheel, waiting for the slight give in feeling when she hit the right number. “Butter? I don’t know, but I can stop at the Giant Eagle on my way over.”

“Well, it’s best if it’s at room temperature to soften.”

“You can’t just put it in the microwave?” Aha, one down, two to go. She began twisting the second dial.

“That will melt it, not soften it.” Ruby’s tone made it clear Lydia had no idea what she was doing when it came to baking. Which was the honest truth.

The second number fell into place. Keeping tension on the shackle, Lydia turned the third wheel.

“I’ll ask Patrice to get the butter; never mind,” Ruby continued. “When are you coming over? The girls are all here.”

“Oh, I’m not quite sure.” The lock popped open in Lydia’s hand. “Go ahead and start without me, I might be a while.” She pocketed the lock and opened the locker door.

“But the whole idea is for us to bake together, share our recipes.” Recipes? Lydia was supposed to bring a recipe? How about, buy the refrigerated dough that’s presliced, eat some as you throw the rest in the oven, and bake?

“Sorry, guess I misunderstood. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” Jim’s locker was a mess—street clothes shoved in along with a gym bag stinking with sweaty socks, a bunch of loose-leaf copies of journal articles, a couple of pocket-sized textbooks, and, sitting in the place of honor on the top shelf, a white shoebox emblazoned with a bright yellow evidence sticker.

She cocked a fist and pulled it back in triumph.
Gotcha.

“Gotta go now. Bye, Ruby.”

 

 

“WOW, THAT WAS EASY,” AMANDA SAID AS SHE entered Narolie’s room. “The OB-GYN intern is on his way to do the ultrasound. He actually sounded excited.”

“Of course he’s excited,” Gina told her. “It’s the weekend. If there’s a surgery he’ll get to scrub in. During the week when all the other residents are around, he’d be crowded out.”

Amanda frowned at that. She wanted to cure Narolie, she really did, but . . . “I can’t get them to do a surgery behind Lucas’s back, can I?”

Gina laughed. “Oh, you are
so
not ready for marriage.” She stood and grabbed her coat, motioning to Tank, who was whispering sweet nothings in Narolie’s ear. “Don’t worry, you’ll think of something.”

Tank squeezed Narolie’s hand and turned to Amanda. “I have her iPod set on shuffle and it’s right here,” he motioned to the music player tucked under Narolie’s pillow—the iPod that had been Tank’s yesterday. “And you have my cell number, so you’ll call, right?”

“Don’t worry, Tank, I’ll call. When I hear anything.”

Gina shook her head and handed Tank his knapsack. Kid acted like they were leaving for Katmandu. “We’ll bring you back some lunch,” she promised Amanda as she dragged Tank from the room.

“She’ll be okay, won’t she?” he asked Gina as they waited for the elevator.

Gina marveled at the change in Tank. Yesterday he was the epitome of spoiled brat, and today he was Mother Teresa. “They’ll take good care of her. But she’s very sick, Tank. You need to understand.”

They entered the elevator and she hit the button for the eighth floor. They’d take the skyway to the research tower and go down a flight to Ken’s lab on the seventh floor.