Radclyffe - Love On Call

As soon as the transport orderly took her patient, a forty-five-year-old fireman with an impending MI, to the medical intensive care unit and no one brought another patient to replace him, she sagged into the hard plastic visitor’s chair against the wall of her treatment room and stared at the litter-strewn floor. An errant glove someone had tossed toward the trash can and missed, an IV tube dangling from a metal stand, the saline slowly dripping into a clear puddle, bandage wrappers, a plastic cap from a syringe. A war zone.

“How’d you do?” Glenn asked from the doorway.

Mari glanced over at her. “Okay, I think. I didn’t lose anyone.”

“That’s a good first day, then.” Glenn grinned and checked her watch. “Of course, you’ve still got another eleven hours to go.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It’s just a little bit after 0830.”

“Oh my God.” Mari blew a strand of hair from her eyes. “Is it over? Did we win?”

Glenn’s eyes clouded. “Mostly. Two fatalities, both submersion casualties—a twenty-year-old farmhand, first day on the job, and the thirteen-year-old daughter of the farm owner.”

“Damn,” Mari whispered, sadness blunting the thrill of victory she’d experienced just moments before.

“But I hear you saved her brother—smart thinking. A gutsy call.”

Mari shrugged. “Probably more beginner’s luck.”

“I don’t believe in luck—unless it’s bad.”

At the sudden dark tone in Glenn’s voice, Mari took a hard look at her. Her skin was pale beneath her tan, her face drawn and tired. She’d had the critical patients and had probably been involved with the fatalities. “Are you all right?”

“Me? Sure. Fine.” Glenn shrugged and her usual mantle of calm control fell back into place. “Come on, I’ll show you where the locker room is. You can get clean scrubs and shower if you need to.”

Following Glenn’s pointed gaze, Mari looked down at herself and realized that a spray of blood from one of the IVs she’d started had left a crimson crescent across her chest. Another splotch of blood marred her thigh. She couldn’t see patients the rest of the day like this.

“You’re right. I need to get cleaned up.”

“You probably ought to have something to eat. This kind of thing burns off a lot of energy, and you don’t want to crash later.”

“I’m not eating anything until…” Mari made a face and indicated her blood-soaked scrubs.

“I’ll grab something for you while you shower. Cereal is always a good quick fix.”

Mari grimaced. “How about a bagel.”

“I can always dig up a bagel. Cream cheese?”

“Peanut butter. More protein.”

Glenn grinned. “You got it.”

The women’s locker room occupied the opposite end of the ER from Dr. Remy’s office. Glenn tapped a locker with a small metal tag stamped with the number 37. “This is yours. You’ll need to bring a lock from home, but truthfully, no one is going to take anything.”

“I don’t really have much to take. A five-dollar bill is all the money I brought with me.” Mari shook her head. “I should’ve thought to bring a change of scrubs.”

“Don’t worry about that. The hospital provides. Towels are in the shower room.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Glenn hesitated for a second. “And you’re right, you’re not all that green.”

Mari smiled to herself as Glenn disappeared, leaving her alone. She chose the farthest of the three shower stalls, found the clean stack of white towels, and grabbed two. She left her clothes in a pile on a narrow bench outside the stall and stepped into the hot water. She kept her hair dry as she slowly turned in the strong jet, reveling as the heat soaked into her muscles and eased away the tension and stress. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and emptied her mind.

“Hey, you need anything?” Glenn’s voice called from somewhere nearby.

Mari’s eyes snapped open. She thought she might actually have been asleep.

“No. Thanks. I’ll be right out.” She quickly turned off the water and stretched an arm outside, feeling around blindly for the bench where she’d left the towel. Only then did she realize she couldn’t reach it without stepping out. “Um…do you think you could hand me the towel?”

For a long moment, she thought Glenn had left.

“Sure,” Glenn said at last.

Suddenly shy and having no idea why she should be, Mari curled the curtain back but kept it covering her body. Glenn stood three feet away, one arm extended, the white towel dangling from her hand, her face averted.

Mari took the towel. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Glenn said in a slow, soft, impossibly sultry voice. Slowly, Glenn looked in her direction.

Mari could’ve ducked back into the shower, but why should she? She certainly wasn’t ashamed of her body, and she wasn’t bothered by Glenn seeing her. Besides, she was pretty much completely covered by the very not-sexy shower curtain. “I’ll be right out.”

“Got your bagel out here.” Glenn turned away.

“Glenn?”

Glenn spun back around. “Yes?”

“I forgot to get scrubs.”

“They’re in the other room.”

“I was afraid of that.” Mari wanted to laugh, but Glenn’s expression was so intense, so serious, so focused on her.

“Smalls?” Glenn asked, making the word sound ridiculously personal.

“Medium. I like them roomy.”

Glenn gave a little bow. “At your service.”

Mari finally laughed. “I don’t usually require this much service.”

“I don’t mind.”

Mari let the curtain fall closed, holding the towel between her breasts. Nothing had happened. But she felt as if it had.

Chapter Five

Abby ought to be celebrating, but she couldn’t shake the bittersweet taste of flawed victory from her mind. Her ER staff had earned high marks for their handling of their first mass casualty alert. Everything had gone well, by the book. But by-the-book success didn’t make her feel any better when she’d had to tell the parents of a thirteen-year-old girl that she hadn’t been able to save their child. Telling a family member they’d lost a loved one was never easy, no matter the age of the patient. Everyone always thought the death of an older individual was easier to accept, but it wasn’t. Everyone was important to someone—loved and cherished and depended upon. Everyone, she’d come to learn, was woven into the fabric of life in some way, even those who seemed to be most disenfranchised. She could still remember the day a homeless person, one of the favorites of just about everyone at the otherwise big impersonal city hospital, had died in his sleep on the corner by the main entrance, wrapped in his many layers of clothing and surrounded by his tattered grocery store bags filled with what remained of his earthly possessions. Everyone mourned, perhaps more than would have mourned the loss of someone known to far fewer people. Perhaps more than anyone would mourn for any of them. Benny the Bagman. She smiled sadly at the memory.

Flannery Rivers tapped on Abby’s open door and strolled in.

“Hey,” Abby said softly. Just the sight of her lifted Abby’s spirits.

“Hey yourself, Dr. Remy.” Flann turned, eased the door closed behind her, and came around behind the desk. She crouched, cupped Abby’s cheek, and kissed her.

“Flann,” Abby murmured. “Not appropriate behavior for the work environment.”

“Hey, this used to be my office. It’s seen worse.”

Abby laughed and some of the pall lifted from her heart. “I actually believe you, and I’m very glad to know that your new office is about the size of a telephone booth and not very private.”