Kitabı oku: «The Baby Who Stole the Doctor's Heart», sayfa 3

Fastening her seat belt, Angela relaxed back into the leather seat, loving the new aroma of it. It reminded her of Mark. Big, manly, bold. “No one’s ever sat in this seat before, have they?” It was a strange question to ask, but she couldn’t see Mark involved enough with anyone to allow them in this seat, and she wanted to know. Such a solitary man.

“You’re the first, except for the salesman who sat there when I took it out for a test drive.”

No women. He didn’t date. Again, it didn’t surprise her, yet, in a way, it did. Men like Mark Anderson didn’t live without women. In other circumstances, she could picture him with a woman hanging on each arm. Under these circumstances, though, all she could picture was him alone. And scowling. “I want seventy-five percent tomorrow rather than ninety-eight.”

“What?’

“Your scowl. I want you scowling only seventy-five percent of the time. Being all sullen the way you are is bad for your digestion, and while I certainly wouldn’t lecture you on all the things that can go wrong with you physiologically when your gut stays in a constant knot, let me just say that nothing good comes of it. So, if you force yourself to quit frowning for a quarter of your day, and even try and smile a little during that time, you’re going to relax your gut and feel much better overall.”

“And that’s your professional opinion?”

“Yes. But that’s also the opinion of someone who spent too much time frowning, whose gut was knotted up just like yours.”

“What happened to change that?”

“I became happy. Had Sarah, realized the value of my friends. Discovered what I really wanted in my life wasn’t as complicated as I was making it out to be. And, most important, I figured out what I didn’t want and put an end to it.” All of it the truth. When she’d quit letting Brad be the shadow over her that had always held her back, everything had changed. Mark had the same kind of shadow over him, she could see it looming very close, barely allowing him any room to breathe. It was a pity because underneath the scowl she was catching glimpses of something good, and something so conflicted he didn’t even know the good was there anymore.

Heading out of the parking lot and turning left onto the main street through town, Angela glanced up to the silhouette of the Three Sisters?three mountain peaks that towered over the entire valley. According to Indian lore, their magic safeguarded White Elk and all the people within their shadow. But theirs was a good shadow. Mark’s was not, and it was so heavy she could almost feel it trying to cloud her outlook. It was not a good place to be. In fact, it gave her cold chills. Come on, Three Sisters, she said silently to herself. Maybe, just maybe, they had a little of their magic in reserve for Mark, because he really did need it.

CHAPTER THREE

THE short drive was quiet, and once Angela had given Mark directions to her house, she settled back to stare out the window in lieu of tumbling into any sort of dialogue with him. Especially since he was making no effort to talk about anything. The silence between them was a little unnerving, so was sitting so close to him. She didn’t know why, didn’t know why the hair on her arms seemed especially tingly, or the little chill bumps parading their way up her spine seemed especially charged. But they did, which was why she chose to fix her attention on the road, and on the brisk snow trying its best to lay down a new blanket.

“What the…!” About three minutes into the drive, Mark jammed on the truck’s brakes then threw the truck into reverse before it had even come to a complete stop.

The seat belt snapped tight on Angela. “What’s wrong?” she gasped, hurled rudely from a nice, relaxed mellow into an immediate panic. She tried tugging the seat belt loose and found it locked down tight across her chest.

“Not sure,” he said, looking over his shoulder as he guided the truck backwards. “Thought I saw…”

No more words were spoken. Mark slammed on the truck brakes, and before she could say another thing he’d unfastened his seat belt, hopped out and was already sprinting toward the sidewalk.

“Mark,” she called, trying to maneuver herself out of her own seat belt. She wasn’t as swift as he’d been about it, and by the time her feet hit the slippery street, he was already half a block a head of her, on his way down the footpath into the city park. “What are you doing?” she cried when she’d almost caught up to him and saw him drop to his knees.

“Saw somebody,” he yelled back.

He’d struggled out of his coat by the time she’d reached his side. That’s when she saw…“It’s Mr. Whetherby. He’s the town librarian, and he has dinner at the lodge every Friday night. Lobster Newburg and…” She checked her words when she realized that Richard Whetherby was lying on the ground, not moving, and she was babbling. Immediately, Angela dropped to her knees alongside Mark. “What’s wrong with him?” Imitating Mark’s actions, she pulled off her own coat and laid it over the still form in the snow.

“Darned if I know. I just saw him lying here…”

“You saw him from the street?” Mark’s fingers were busy assessing the pulse in Richard’s neck. She recognized that action.

“It’s what I do.” No other explanation.

“Tell me what I can do.” Already, she was pulling her cell phone from her pocket. “Call for an ambulance?”

“Good first step. Tell them he’s hypothermic, pulse thready and slow. Tell them we’re going to need something to warm him in the ER, and to get one of the orthopedists in?I think we have a serious fracture.”

She made the call, told them exactly what Mark had said and, after she had clicked off, while Mark was making an evaluation of Richard’s arms and legs, Angela let her fingers stray to the same pulse point Mark had taken a reading from only moments earlier, hoping to learn, at firsthand, what it felt like. And, there it was, slow and thready, like Mark had said. To compare, she felt the pulse in her own neck and was able to determine what a healthy one was compared to the one barely beating at her fingertips. The difference was astonishing. Frightening. For the first time in her life she truly comprehended that she was feeling the very essence of life, and while her essence was strong, Richard’s was slipping away.

It didn’t take trained medical experience to know that.

“I think it’s his hip,” Mark said, standing. “Can’t tell for sure, but that would be my guess for a primary injury. Everything else going on is probably a result of that. Look, I’m going to run to the truck for my bag. I’ll be back right back.” He didn’t wait for her reply. He simply turned and ran down the footpath with a stride and strength she couldn’t have possibly matched. Which left her there alone. Richard Whetherby’s only lifeline for the next minute.

“Richard,” she said. “It’s Angela. Angela Blanchard. I’m here with Mark Anderson, one of the doctors from the hospital. We’re going to take good care of you, get you all bundled up and take you to the hospital in just a couple of minutes.”

No response, of course. No movement either. Because of that, Angela wanted to feel Richard’s life force again, just to reassure herself. So she laid her fingers back on his pulse point, but couldn’t find the faint rhythm she’d felt before. Anxiously, she tried again. Moved her fingers from side to side, up and down a little, yet still couldn’t find his pulse. Suddenly, it hit her like that proverbial lightning bolt! “Mark,” she screamed, rising up on her knees to position Richard’s head back a little. She’d taken a CPR class years ago but hadn’t ever practiced it except on a dummy. But now…“Mark!” she screamed again as she forced Richard’s stiff jaw open and bent to give him a breath. Actually, she gave him several… couldn’t remember how many, but she knew it had to be several. Then she reared up, threw off the coat covering the man’s chest, pulled his own coat open, placed one of her hands on top of the other, went to the critical spot in his chest she remembered from her instruction, and started to pump. “One, two, three…” she said aloud, fearing she wasn’t pressing hard enough, or that she was pressing too hard. She remembered something about bad positioning and broken ribs and punctured lungs.

“Angela!” Mark said, dropping down beside her.

“I couldn’t find a pulse,” she gasped, scooting aside while he took over the chest compressions. “So I…” Rather than finishing the sentence, she positioned herself at Richard’s head, counting each and every one of Mark’s chest compressions. “Is it thirty to two?” she asked.

He nodded. Didn’t look at her. And as she counted down the thirty, she got ready for the next two breaths, repositioned Richard’s head, drew in her own deep breath, then laid her mouth to his. She and Mark alternately repeated their resuscitation efforts for the next few minutes… minutes that felt like an eternity, neither one of them uttering a word as they concentrated on what had to be done. Then, finally, in the distance, came the wail of a siren. A flash of relief passed between them in the fleeting glance they allowed themselves.

“Where are you?” a voice from the road yelled.

“Twenty yards down the footpath,” Angela yelled.

“Angela,” Mark said. “Can you hold the flashlight, and keep his head tipped back once I get it into position. We need to get him breathing, and I’m going to insert an endotracheal tube into his throat.”

The first paramedic resumed the chest compressions, the second broke out the equipment?the tubes, the oxygen, the heart monitor. At Mark’s prompt, he handed the ET tube to Angela, who turned it over in her hands, not sure what it was.

“When I ask for it, hand it to me. Until then, just keep the light steady, and make sure that his head doesn’t slip. Normally I don’t have to get belly down in the snow to do this, and it’s going to be a little tricky.”

“I can do this,” she whispered, more for her own ears to hear than for Mark’s. But he heard anyway.

“I know you can.” He gave two good squeezes to the resuscitation bag, which had replaced the mouth-to-mouth efforts. “Oh, and when I get the tube in, hand me a stethoscope.”

It was all procedural, very matter-of-fact, which amazed her. Step one, step two, step three… a methodical plan they all knew, but she didn’t.

“And once I get the tube in, be ready to hold it while I check to make sure it’s in the right place.”

Now, that scared her a little, but she nodded, hoping her nervousness didn’t make her look like one of those dolls with the bobbling heads.

“Ready?” he asked, squeezing the resuscitation bag one last time. Then signaled for the paramedic to stop the chest compressions momentarily.

It happened in the blink of an eye, but she took in everything. Mark positioned Richard’s head, she positioned the flashlight. Mark lowered himself flat in the snow, she took hold of Richard’s head and held on for dear life. Then Mark took some kind of instrument from his pocket… she couldn’t remember its name, but she’d ask him later… opened Richard’s mouth even more, then asked for the tube. Instinctively, she moved closer as she handed it to him and, without fanfare or effort, Mark simply slid that tube into Richard’s mouth. Not the esophagus, she told herself. This tube was for breathing, so it went into the trachea.

For the first time she wondered about the anatomy of it, wondered what separated the two as they were in the same area. Wondered how Mark differentiated.

“Stethoscope,” Mark said. “And hold the tube for me now. Don’t let it move.”

Angela was immediately in the snow, not on her belly, but close to it, as Mark rose to his knees to listen. The IV paramedic who manned the equipment, and who was also preparing to start an IV, attached the resuscitation bag to the tube, gave it a couple of good squeezes, and Mark nodded.

“Tape it in place,” he told Angela, as the paramedic dropped a roll of white tape down to her.

“Tape it?” she asked.

Chest compressions were starting again. Mark was busy doing something with a syringe. The IV paramedic was attaching a bag of fluids to the tubes coming from Richard’s arm. So many things were going on and Angela felt more lost than ever in all the procedures. Even the simple ones, like taping the tube.

“Lasso the tape around the tube then anchor it on both sides of Richard’s face,” Mark explained with all the patience of a good teacher.

So easily said, yet such a daunting thing to do. For her. Still, she taped the tube in place as Mark attached the syringe to a tiny tube sticking out of it.

“Blowing up the cuff,” he explained. “The small tube leads to an inflatable cuff on the actual breathing tube—endotracheal tube is what it’s called?and when air is inserted into the small tube, it gives the endotracheal tube a tight fit to the tracheal walls so it doesn’t slip or let air get in around it.” He completed the task, then reattached the resuscitation bag to the tube and fell back into the rhythm of thirty compressions, two breaths.

All of this in mere seconds. Angela was amazed. And exhausted by the time they’d stabilized Richard enough to lift him onto the stretcher.

“Don’t you have to shock him or something?” she asked. She’d seen it on TV. Rush in, get the paddles, shock the heart. But they weren’t doing that here.

“We’ve got good oxygenation established to his brain, and it was done quickly. The purpose of CPR is not so much to revive the patient but to keep them oxygenated long enough to get them proper help. The hospital is two blocks from here… better to try the cardioversion there, in a more controlled environment.”

Cardioversion… something else to look up.

As Mark explained all this to Angela, the paramedics whisked Richard to the ambulance. And by the time Mark paused for a breath, and Angela had picked up their discarded coats, the ambulance was pulling away. “That was so fast,” she whispered. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes, tops, from the time Mark had first spotted him. It was amazing!

“Thanks to you,” he said, taking her coat from her, brushing the snow off it then helping her into it.

“I didn’t do anything. I just… Look, do you need to follow them to the hospital?”

“I should. As I started this, I’d like to see it through.”

“Then you go on. I want to stay here, see if I can find Fred. And clean up the trash we’ve created.” Bags, boxes, tubes… an amazing amount of supplies and trash left behind for such a fast procedure.

“Fred?”

“Richard’s dog. A Yorkshire terrier. He walks him out here at night. Everybody in White Elk knows Fred… he spends his days at the library, under the checkout desk. He has special privileges as a service dog.”

“Service dog, like for the disabled.”

Angela smiled. “The library board was kind when Richard asked for permission to keep Fred with him. The kids who come to the library love the dog, and participation in the various children’s programs has gone up since Fred started collaborating in storytime.”

“Then you’d better find Fred, or there’s going to be a lot of disappointed children. But how are you going to get home?”

“I’ll walk. It’s not a big deal. You just go to be with Richard. I need time alone to… to think.”

Mark didn’t run away, though. “I’ll wait in the truck for you.”

She shook her head, turned her back on him, then started down the path. “Fred,” she called. “Come here, Fred.” Only when she heard the running of what she already recognized as Mark’s engine did she finally break down. Dropped on a nearby park bench, let out a weary sigh, allowed a few tears of emotional exhaustion to slide down her cheeks. What she’d done here tonight… it was so insignificant. But what she’d seen, and what she’d wanted to do… “I want it,” she whispered, as a furry little mongrel poked its head out of a bush. “I really want it, Fred, instead of standing on the sidelines, being useless, like I have most of my life.” She held down her hand and wiggled her fingers to coax the dog over, still thinking about how, in the span of moments, Mark had shown her so much. She wanted to reflect on everything that had happened, inscribe it in her mind, so she’d never forget. But try as she may, the only thing inscribed there was… Mark. Distant images, up-close images. He was all she could see.

“We don’t usually allow dogs in the hospital,” Mark said. Angela stood in the hall, clutching Fred and watching as Mark and his team worked on Richard Whetherby. He was still unconscious, dwarfed among all the machines clicking and clacking around his bed, and all the tubes stuck in him. A monitor overhead traced the rhythm of his heart, a ventilator at his side forced breath into his lungs and measured it into some sort of bellows. It was all a strange, new world to Angela, and while she’d spent a good bit of time in hospitals, especially lately, it was as if this was the first time she’d ever really noticed what went on. And it scared her. Yet it also showed her just how much she didn’t know, and how much she wanted to know. “I probably should have gone on home and taken him with me, but I wanted to see… to know how Richard’s doing. He’s a nice man. I used to come out of the kitchen and have dessert with him when he ate at the lodge.”

“So far, he’s not doing very well,” Mark whispered. “We’re having trouble getting him stabilized. He was hypothermic… too cold…”

“I know what that means,” she said.

“Not sure how long, but it’s causing problems with his vital signs. He’s not warming up the way we’d like. Everything’s sluggish.”

“But isn’t the cold actually good? Doesn’t it slow things down, sort of keep someone in a state of hibernation?” It sounded dumb, but she was curious.

“It does. The body slows down, requires less oxygen, and the cold helps keep things in a more balanced condition.”

“But not Richard?”

“Actually, I think the fact that it’s so cold is probably what saved him, but he’s got another problem, which is causing complications. What we think happened is that he slipped on the ice, broke his hip… a fairly substantial break that caused some internal bleeding. He was probably lying there for quite a while. Went into shock, got too cold for too long… a lot of contributing factors.”

“But he’d probably be dead if it weren’t for the cold temperature?”

“Probably. It saved him, yet it’s making his situation more complicated. He’s alive, though, and that’s the good thing.”

“So he’s going to make it?” she asked, hopefully. Even though she no longer cooked at the lodge, she and Sarah still joined him there most Friday nights for dessert. The routine, as insignificant as it seemed, was part of their lives, like the way so many other seemingly insignificant things were here in White Elk. And none of them were really insignificant at all, not even dessert with a kind old man, as they were the things that made up only a small part of the reason she wanted to raise her daughter here.

“Not sure yet. We’ll know more in the next twenty-four hours. And even then he’s going to require some pretty drastic surgery. Which means that if Mr. Whetherby doesn’t have someone at home to take care of his dog…” he reached out and scratched Fred on the head “… looks like you’re it.”

“No dogs where I live. It’s a rental. That’s the rule.”

“Look, I’ve got about thirty more minutes here before we get Mr. Whetherby transferred to Intensive Care. Maybe in that time you can find someone who will take the dog temporarily, then I’ll drive you home.”

She could have called a cab, could have even walked the mile and a half, although it was getting colder out and the snow was coming down a little harder. But she wanted to ride with Mark, wanted to hear him talk about what had happened tonight, wanted to hear his assessment. Anything to keep her connected to the medical moment. So she agreed to ask around the hospital for a temporary home for Fred, only to be turned down time after time. Allergies, other dogs, not enough time to take care of the pup… in thirty minutes she heard every imaginable excuse. Consequently, when she returned to the emergency department in search of Mark, Fred was still bundled into her arms.

“Richard came round,” Mark said, pulling on his winter coat. “We took him off the ventilator because he’s breathing on his own now, and the first thing he asked was about Fred. Stupid dog means everything to him. Fred’s all he has.”

“And I can’t keep him,” she said, feeling bad. She had so much… her daughter, her sister and family, her friends. Yet Richard Whetherby had… his dog. Even that status was in jeopardy if she couldn’t find a place for that dog to stay. “Which means I may have to send him to a shelter, and I suppose they’ll take care of him for a while, but…”

“I told him I would,” Mark said, almost in passing.

“What?”

“The dog. I’ll take care of him.”

Now, that surprised her. She truly hadn’t expected the man who didn’t want human involvement to take in a dog. But still waters ran deep, didn’t they? Or, in Mark’s case, diverted way off the main course of the river. It pleased her, actually, that he could show a little humanity for something outside his job, and she wondered what other surprises he might be hiding. “He’s very friendly,” she said. “Likes to be carried.”

“He’ll walk, if he expects to live with me.”

Scowl popping out now, but not the one she normally saw. More like one he was trying to force.

“How did you see Richard lying on the footpath, in the snow? It was dark, and he was a good fifty feet off the road. I didn’t see him and I’ve got good eyesight.”

“Training,” he said, resisting her offer of handing over the dog. “I’ve practiced my skills of observation more years than I care to count.” That’s all he said, then he turned and walked toward the exit, taking about ten steps before he turned back to see if she was following.

She was, but slowly. With each step she was looking around. Practicing her own skills of observation. Looking at the various pieces of equipment sitting along the hall walls. Gazing into the various emergency exam rooms to study whatever she could see there, trying to memorize it so she could look it up when she got home.

He watched her studying the things he took for granted. There was such fascination splashed all over her face… something he remembered in himself years ago. Something so far in the past he’d forgotten that he was once just like Angela was… eager and anxious to learn. Except he didn’t have the natural skills she did. He’d seen those skills this evening. Observed the way she’d been put into a dire situation and seen how she’d responded, not only to instruction but to her own instincts.

It was nice when he’d been that enthusiastic. It had felt like the whole world was just waiting to happen, and he envied her that. But for him it was gone. More than that, he didn’t want that feeling rekindled, and being around Angela he could almost feel the beginning of the embers. “Are you coming?” he asked, but not impatiently. He wanted her to savor the moment, to linger in the face of her first victory. In the years to come, that would be important for her. She wouldn’t forget it.

Neither would he.

“Would you like some hot tea, coffee, hot chocolate? With brandy?” She climbed out of the truck, still clinging to Fred. “And I have a fresh apple pie if you’d care for a piece.” It was the polite thing to do. She didn’t expect he would accept, as the short ride home from the hospital had been tense. Actually, much more than tense. Brutal. Once the truck door had shut, and the engine had been engaged, the cold silence had slipped down, and in that mile-and-a-half ride, it had turned into a frozen block of ice that chilled to the bone. She’d hoped for some chat, maybe for some feedback of what she’d done… right or wrong. But in the darkness of the truck’s cab, even though she couldn’t make out the detail of his face, she could certainly make out the hard set of it. No mistaking the intent either. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to be bothered. So apart from reminding him of where she lived, the only noise from inside that truck had come from Fred, who’d settled into the seat between them, his head resting on Mark’s thigh, and gone to sleep. And snored. Staccato, burbly little snores cutting into the icy quiet.

Then they were sitting in front of her rental condo, and now she was waiting for him to turn down her invitation so she could put a good, solid door between them. Except he didn’t turn it down. At least, not right away. In fact, it almost seemed he was considering her offer. “So, what will it be? Apple pie? Coffee only?” Like she needed to ask again. It would only make him turning it down seem even bigger. Poor Angela, couldn’t entice him no matter how hard she tried.

“Apple pie is good,” he conceded,“if management doesn’t mind Fred coming in for a little while.”

“I’m allowed guests,” she said, very cautiously. Still wondering if he’d really accepted. Because her stomach just flip-flopped. “As long as you hide him in your coat when you bring him in. My next-door neighbor complains if the wind blows in the wrong direction, and she’s probably watching us right now.”

“She doesn’t complain about Sarah?”

“Oh, she does. But the owner has grandchildren, and he loves Sarah. So he doesn’t listen to those complaints. But he doesn’t want anything in his condo that will chew up carpet or claw the upholstery. I’m allowed a goldfish, that’s all.”

“Then Fred goes in the coat.” With that, he tucked the pint-sized Yorkie under his coat and stepped out of the truck.

Angela was still stunned. She wanted to ask him why he was accepting her invitation then contented herself with the excuse that a late-night snack must have sounded good to him, that maybe the adrenalin flow from the rescue had given him an appetite. What else could it be?

“Most of the furniture isn’t mine,” she said as they stepped in and Mark put Fred down on the floor to sniff around. “Brad and I lived in a suite at the lodge. We spent our entire marriage living in one lodge suite or another, and when you do that, you don’t accumulate many things. Clothes and necessities, that’s all.”

“It’s nice,” Mark said, looking around. “Small, basic. More than I need.”

“Where do you live? I don’t think I know.”

“I was going to stay in one of the rooms up at the lodge on the Little Sister, but after it caught on fire… well, I’m renting a room with Laura Spencer now.”

“One of her guest cottages, or in her inn?”

“Over the garage to her house. It was a storage room, had plumbing, a bathroom, a place to plug in a microwave. So she shoved all her stored goods down to one end and I’m down at the other. It works.”

“Because you’re temporary, right?” Angela pulled the pie from her refrigerator—a pie she’d baked that morning, not for any particular reason other than she’d been in the mood to try a new diabetic apple-pie recipe she’d found. “Here eighteen months, then gone. No need for a real place to live. Any storage closet will do.”

“Eighteen long months. You need to use the qualifier when you mention it because that’s the only thing that gives me any hope.”

“Any hope?” She glanced over at him as she pulled two plates from the cabinet and grabbed a knife. He was smiling. Simply smiling. “You know, it’s hard to tell when you’re joking or being serious,” she said.

“Just count on me always being serious, and it won’t let you down.”

“Do you frown at home, too? You know, practice in front of the mirror? Get up and put that frown on first thing in the morning? Frown your way through your coffee and hold onto it afterwards when most morning frowners normally relinquish theirs? Because you seem to have raised it to such an art form. Care for coffee with your pie?”

“What I’d care for is a place to walk Fred. He’s a little… hyper. And, yes, I do frown first thing in the morning, as a matter of fact. All the way though my coffee and beyond that.”

She glanced over. He was smiling again. One of the nicest smiles she’d ever seen, actually. Too bad he didn’t do more of it. “Take him out the sliding glass door. The patio is fenced in. He’ll be fine for a few minutes, so long as he doesn’t bark.”

As she sliced through the pie, then arranged it on plates, she wondered what could make a man who was such a good doctor, and someone who was so observant he knew when a pup had to go out, so distanced from life in general. Divorce could do that, she supposed. That might have been her, actually, if half the population of White Elk hadn’t swooped in to take care of her after Brad had gone his merry way. And if she didn’t have Sarah. Sarah was the real lifesaver. Sarah… she already missed her.

On impulse, Angela rang her sister to check in. “I know it’s kind of late but—”

“I heard you had quite a little adventure tonight,” Dinah interrupted.

“It was Mark’s adventure. I just stood off to the side and did what I was told.”

“Not according to what Mark told Eric. He said you were really good… very quick for someone who’s not trained. He told Eric you get as much credit for saving Richard’s life as he does.”

“He really said that?”

“Eric wouldn’t lie.”

No, he wouldn’t. And while Angela was flattered, she wondered why Mark couldn’t have said those things to her himself. “How’s Sarah?”

“Probably exhausted. My daughters kept her busy practically every minute she’s been here. And when I put her down, she went right to sleep.”

“I’ll be by in the morning, before work.” Thank heavens for the hospital child-care center. It was a blessing for all the parents who worked at the hospital.

“You sound funny, Angela. Are you OK?”