Abigail Gordon - Their Forever Family

Two hours passed before Rebel surfaced from the trauma room. What had come in had been a tractor trailer versus motorcycle. Neither had won.

Rebel combed back the hair of the young man lying on the gurney while awaiting the arrival of his parents. He was only twenty-five and brain dead. She hoped his parents would consent to organ donation as there was no indication on his driver’s license.

“How are you?” Herm entered the room.

“Okay.” She sighed and looked at him. “I was thinking about how many people this one person can help, and he won’t even know it.”

“It’s true.” Herm pursed his lips in contemplation for a moment. “If it’s a match, it’s a match.” He rubbed his eyes and turned away from the patient, who was being kept alive on a respirator. “Unfortunately, I’ve seen too many young folks like this.”

“You’d think that it would get easier over the years, but it doesn’t. We just learn to get through it, shake it off, and do it all over again.” Fatigue swamped her. Herm was a very observant man, and he didn’t miss that.

“You’re sure you’re okay? I can have someone else monitor him for a while and give you a break.”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“His folks are on the way. Should be here within the hour. You can finish your orientation materials in here and keep an eye on him at the same time, can’t you?”

“Sure.” Nurses were forever being tasked with multiple duties at one time. Part of the job and part of the way nurses were built.

“Is there something you need to tell me about? If there is, I’m a good listener.” He turned his full attention to her.

“No.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I appreciate the offer, though.” A sigh escaped her. “He reminds me a bit of my brother, Ben. He died a few years ago. Now and then the memories spring up for me.”

“I’m sorry, Rebel. If I had known…”

“You couldn’t have, and I’ll be all right.” With a nod, Herm left her to her thoughts.

After the situation was tended to and the parents had given consent, the patient was taken to the operating room. It was a somber time, and she needed some fortitude to get through the rest of the shift.

She entered the staff lounge and poured herself a cup of coffee, wishing for something strong to put into it, like Irish whiskey or coffee liqueur Kahlua. After the last couple of hours she could use a stiff drink.

Just as she was about to have her first sip, the lounge door opened and Duncan entered. He stopped short when he saw her. “Don’t drink that. It’ll kill you.”

“What? It’s coffee, not hemlock.”

“It’s awful.” He rummaged in a cupboard over the sink. In just a few minutes he’d put on a new pot of coffee and the brew smelled heavenly. Her mouth even watered. “I keep a stash of the good stuff for just the right occasion.”

“And this is it?”

“Seems good enough for me.” He gave a sideways smile that made her heartbeat a little irregular.

“Wow. That smells like Jamaica, or what I imagine it to be.” She’d never been there, so she could only imagine.

“It does, and that’s why I like it.”

“I’ve never been there, but it’s on my bucket list for sure.” It was a very long list.

“Seriously? Your bucket list? What are you, thirty?” He peered at her, trying to figure out if she was serious.

“Yes, I’d like to go there before I die. That’s what a bucket list is about, right?” She’d go there and go other places her family hadn’t been able to go to. Someday. Before she died. Hopefully.

“You’re out of your mind.” He stared at her as if she was.

“Why?” She frowned. “Didn’t you say you liked Jamaica?”

“Jamaica isn’t a place you go before you die. It’s a place you go in the prime of your life, with a lover on your arm, taking long walks on the beach. Hell, even sleeping on the beach.” He shook his head and sipped some more, considering her. “You need to move Jamaica up on that list.” He tipped his empty coffee cup at her. “It’s for young people. Long days at play and longer nights in your lover’s arms. That’s what Jamaica is for.”

Though the description sounded fantastic, she’d put away fantasies of having a normal, loving relationship with a man a long time ago. No man would willingly go into a relationship knowing his partner could die any time, and waiting until she was well into a relationship before telling a man wasn’t fair either. It would be starting a relationship on a lie, and she wouldn’t do that. “That’s all well and good, but I don’t have anyone to go with.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her when it really did. “I don’t date, so I’d end up going by myself anyway. It can wait.” Something about his description of Jamaica scratched at a door she’d locked long ago. With her family DNA she wasn’t a marriage candidate. She’d accepted it. Explaining it wasn’t going to change it.

Duncan nearly spilled the coffee he was pouring. “What do you mean, you don’t date ? A woman with your looks, your smarts should be beating men off with a stick. Why wouldn’t you have someone whisk you off to Jamaica for a week of passion?” The thought was ludicrous. Even he, who had serious commitment issues, had been to Jamaica with a woman before now.

Rebel glanced away and got fidgety. Uh-oh. He’d offended her.

“It’s not something you’d understand, but I just don’t date very much.” Her smile was tight and that open door to communication they’d been enjoying had just slammed shut. He poured her coffee and brought it to her at the table where she sat.

“You should. You’d live longer.”

She looked at him then, doubt covering her face.

“It’s a documented fact that people who have a regular sex life live longer than those who don’t.”

“Now, that’s just not true.” She flat out didn’t believe him.

“Sure it is. Read it in a men’s health magazine. Three orgasms a week, and you’ll live longer.”

Flabbergasted, obviously uncomfortable with the topic, she delayed by adding some milk and sweetener to her coffee. “Yes, well. I’ll take that into consideration should the occasion arise.”

He sat at the table with her and hid a grin as he pursued the topic against his better judgment. What was it about Rebel that was making him take more risks, want to take even bigger risks, than he had in, like, forever? “As a traveler, you control your own destiny, right? Your own schedule?”

“In theory. I can always refuse an assignment or take a break between. But being a traveler is like being on permanent vacation and having a full-time job at the same time.” She shrugged. “I don’t take vacations either.”

“That’s a serious infraction against adding fun to your life.” He took a sip of the steaming brew, but his gaze remained intently focused on her. “This is definitely what I remember from Jamaica.” He closed his eyes, and instantly an image of walking with Rebel on the beach at night surfaced in his mind. The wind teased her luxurious hair against his skin as he reached out to bring her closer to him. That was too easy, so he opened his eyes.

“Sounds like it was a good experience for you.” She wished she could say the same. There was nothing else going on in her life so she just worked. Although some people might call that sad, she saw it as a necessity to get through her painful life. If there was too much extra time she thought too much of her family losses.

“It was.” He focused his full attention on her in that probing way she was coming to associate with him. “But what you said concerns me, Rebel.” He got all serious then.

“Oh, don’t be. It’s the way I live my life. Quiet, unassuming, devoted to work.” Avoiding emotional intimacy and relationships along the way. They only resulted in loss and she’d had enough of that in her life.