Code Triage (13 page)

“She’s taking her medication. She’s keeping her counseling appointments and looking for an apartment. She’s fine—even gone back to teaching some Pilates classes. You don’t have to be concerned.” Leigh glanced toward Frisco as he shifted position in his stall.

“I’m concerned because I care.”

“Don’t.” She pinned Nick with a look, and the hostility he’d hoped to escape slashed like a knife. “Don’t say you care. Or do any of this. Don’t.”

“Leigh . . .”

“No. Just go prune the hedge. And while you’re there, take the last of your things out of the house. Please.” A tear slid down her cheek, making him ache to hold her. She swept it away, looking even angrier if possible. “The best thing you can do for Caro—for me—is leave us alone.”

He turned to go.

“Nick?”

He glanced back at her.

“Don’t come here again. This is my place. It’s all I have. You don’t belong here.”

When he got to the patrol car, Maria was standing silently beside it holding her sack of carrots. And a polished wood horse brush, thick with donkey hair.

+++

Riley hunched over the sunny visitors’ table and stared at the rubber ball, willing her fingers to squeeze harder, grip. And imagining them doing so many things that had seemed ordinary less than a year ago: combing her hair, thumbing through the tabs on her study Bible, dropping a coin in a Houston parking meter, or dunking a Gulf shrimp into chipotle sauce. Starting an IV, sponging a feverish child . . .
Will I ever be a nurse again?

She sighed, remembering an exercise she’d been given in physical therapy—reaching into a fishbowl filled with textured objects: glass marble, thumbtack, fingernail brush, feather, popcorn, square of sandpaper, penny, quarter, and seashell. And how she’d struggled to lift each very different object, touched its unique surface, then struggled even harder to identify it with her eyes closed. Completely by feel. She’d made improvement, but who would want a nurse holding a needle when she could barely tell a piece of popcorn from a thumbtack? a woman still too cowardly to walk a flight of stairs alone?

“London Olympics?”

Riley blinked up at Caroline. “Beg your pardon?”

Caroline pointed at the rubber ball, eyes teasing. “Your training. Shot put?”

Riley laughed. “In my dreams. Right now I’d settle for being able to rub my nose when it itches.” She pointed at the adjacent patio chair. “Join me?”

“Sure.” She glanced at the ball in Riley’s fingers. “How’s it going?”

“Slow enough to make me crazy. But I’m hoping that these new tingles I feel mean the nerves are regenerating. It’s supposed to be one inch a month.” She smiled as the lab tech’s eyes traveled from Riley’s shoulder to her hand. “I’ve measured it, believe me. Never appreciated short arms on my college tennis courts. Or thought I’d be competing in rehab Olympics. But I’m not giving up.”

“How did it happen?”

Riley’s breath hitched. “Took a header down a flight of stairs. Broke my neck. And a few other things.”
Including my courage . . . and my trust?
She appreciated the obvious empathy in Caroline’s expression. “It could have been worse. I’m grateful.”
Not to be a murder statistic.

“Now you’re working as a chaplain.” Caroline brushed back a length of her sun-streaked hair and glanced at Riley’s notebook lying on the table. “And leading that hospital fellowship. I heard about it.”

“Yes, Faith QD.”

Caroline touched the cover of Riley’s notebook. “You have that logo of a Florence Nightingale lamp with a cross in the handle. I saw some people wearing those T-shirts. Clever.”

“I can’t take credit,” Riley said, thinking once again how much she’d like to see this lab tech take part. There was something fragile about her, despite her sometimes-edgy, cynical tone and shows of bravado. “The idea came from an ER nurse at Sierra Mercy Hospital. Erin Quinn. She’s at Pacific Mercy now. Leigh worked with her there.” She clucked her tongue. “Erin and her fiancé headed up the debriefing after that awful pesticide disaster last spring. She’s worked hard to make spiritual support part of critical stress management.”

Caroline nodded. “And you’re taking it over here.”

“I’m trying. After my injury, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do ER nursing, at least for a while. So I took the Critical Incident Stress course to become a peer counselor, then lay chaplain training through my church in Houston.”

“And moved two thousand miles away.” Caroline’s eyes fixed on hers and Riley knew sugarcoating wasn’t going to fly.

“Yes.” Riley slid her arm back into its sling. “The fact is I needed to get away. My family . . . um . . .”

“Isn’t easy?” Caroline studied her expression for a moment and smiled slowly. “I can relate. My mother is a piece of work. Always was.” She shook her head and her hair trailed across the shoulders of her purple scrubs. “It’s funny. I remember studying birds in school, maybe second grade. You know, robins, blue jays, sparrows. Crayon colors for each.” She picked at the edge of the table. “That’s when I found out my mother is a cowbird.”

Riley kept quiet.
Listen . . . just listen.

“The teacher said a female cowbird never builds her own nest; she flies around finding other birds’ nests, then kicks their eggs out and stays long enough to lay a few of her own before taking off again. Scams those other poor birds into raising her babies.” Her gaze drifted for a moment. “All the kids in the class were upset. But I sat there thinking,
That’s Mom. That explains it.
” She met Riley’s gaze fully again and shrugged. “On the other hand, I’ve had some very cool stepdads. Working on number five, as we speak.”

“She’s Leigh’s mother, too?”

“Yes. But Leigh only got plunked in one extra nest. Because she’s almost thirteen years older. She was in college by the time I got Mom pegged in the Audubon book. Still, she hasn’t seen the best examples of marriage, either.” A flicker of sadness came into Caroline’s eyes. “I’d hoped that she and Nick would be different. They were good for each other. But now he’s gone, and she’ll be moving away again. I guess I let myself believe in all that happily-ever-after stuff.”

“I understand that kind of hope, and it’s one of the main reasons I wanted to take this position in the chaplain service.” Riley rested her hand on her notebook. “And start Faith QD here at Golden Gate. I think we all need a dose of hope, the staff as much as the patients. I’d love to have you join us.”

“I don’t know.” The sadness filled Caroline’s eyes again. “Nick goes to church—always has—and I went with him and Leigh sometimes. I liked it, actually. But my sister hasn’t been back. Not since they broke up. She wouldn’t want to see Nick there, I guess. Or maybe God’s one of those things she wants to leave behind.” Caroline glanced at her watch, then jumped up from the chair. “Oops, have to run. I need to draw blood on a patient upstairs.”

Riley watched as the lab tech slipped her purse strap over her shoulder. “Please remember you’re welcome at Faith QD. Anytime.”

“I heard you . . . but I can’t make any promises.”

Riley sighed as Caroline walked away, telling herself she hadn’t handled that well. Offering hope was one thing; force-feeding it was another, and—

“Hey there, chaplain lady!”

“Hi, Cappy.” Riley smiled at the security guard. “How’s your day going?”

“Fine as frog’s hair.” His grin crinkled the skin around his eyes. “And no better way to start it off this morning than by gathering with you and the other folks in the chapel. You’re doing a good thing.”

She could have kissed him. “You think so?”

“I know so. Folks need a good word. Especially around here—got to tip the scale against so much misery. And I’m glad to help you with anything you need to make that happen. You just let old Cappy know.”

Cappy strode away, humming, and Riley gathered her things. She dropped the therapy ball into her tote, hitched the strap on her sling, and started toward the ER doors. Then stopped for a moment. She closed her eyes and raised her face, taking a slow breath and letting the autumn sunshine warm her.

She smiled at Cappy’s words. He was right; people did need a good word. Caroline, Leigh, Officer Nick Stathos, that single mother upstairs, the man with the high-heel punctures on his face, and the woman with the overdose who’d been discharged home this morning. On some level, and despite their doubts, they all still wanted to believe in hope. And she wouldn’t give up on trying to offer it to them.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for knowing what I needed to hear. Help me help them.

She shifted her arm in the sling and felt the tingle in her fingers. She wouldn’t give up on herself either. Maybe she wasn’t ready for the Olympics, but . . .

She’d walk those stairs today.

+++

Leigh led Frisco under a canopy of trees, his feet making hollow clopping sounds against the dried clay path embossed with hoofprints. The faint sound of voices and laughter—Patrice, Gary, and their mixed class of therapy students—drifted from the riding arena in the distance. Along with Tag’s lingering, plaintive bray. She’d been surprised that Frisco, even in his listless state, had to be encouraged with a cluck and tug to move past the little donkey’s stall. He’d appeared content to stand there in the walkway, nose-to-nose with the poor, abused creature whose eye, sadly, was to be surgically removed. Leigh clucked as her horse slowed again. Keeping him moving, walking, was part of the treatment for colic. The worst thing that could happen was that he give in to the crampy pain. Give up. Lie down. In that position a horse was far more vulnerable to a fatal twist of the intestines.

Frisco, you’ve got to be okay.

He wasn’t behaving normally at all. The few moments with Tag had been the only interest he’d shown in anything since she’d arrived at the barn. The mash she’d mixed for him—a huge bucket of rice bran, sweet and pungent with a trickle of molasses, steaming water, a bit of applesauce—sat in his stall untouched. She’d coaxed, lifted the heavy bucket to his nose, finally made a fool of herself by chewing some to show him. But he wasn’t eating.

Leigh frowned as Nick’s question about Caro came back without warning.
“Is she okay?”

The anger rushed back, and she stopped walking. Nick had dared to question her ability to take care of her sister. After insisting that she come back from Pacific Point to do that and after she’d supported her in long months of treatment. And then he’d explained he was concerned because . . .
“I care.”
Care? She gritted her teeth. Did he care that his “concern” had his lover using Leigh’s ER as a shortcut, taunting her as she passed through? Did he care how Leigh might feel about his pointing Sam in the direction of Golden Gate Stables? Would she show up here, walking the barn aisles, peering at Leigh over a bale of alfalfa? bring her child to pet the horses?

God, why are you doing this to me?
She glared up through the branches overhead. She’d lost her marriage, a baby, and now this, the stable, her only sliver of peace. Was God intent on taking that from her too?

She turned, tensing, as Frisco uttered a low groan. He nipped at his side.

Leigh stepped close and tucked her fingers under his heavy jawbone, feeling for his pulse. She held her breath, counting . . . forty-eight. Strong. Still within normal limits. No labored breathing, no sweat. Just the gnawing pain . . .
that won’t go away.
Leigh knew how that felt. She tried to swallow the ache that rose in her throat, but she couldn’t. Her eyes filled with tears, and she flung her arms around Frisco’s neck, burying her face in his mane. Listening to him breathe, feeling his warmth, but remembering Nick. The comfort of his arms, the way he’d made her feel—against a lifetime of doubts—that there was hope for happiness, for love that lasted. Really lasted. It had made her want to trust that she could have that. Finally.

But it wasn’t going to happen. Praying hadn’t helped. Running to Pacific Point hadn’t solved anything. And now that she was back in San Francisco, it was only worse. Sam Gordon walking the floors of her ER, staking a claim on Nick for herself and her small child. Encroaching on the stable.
And invading my dreams . . .

Leigh stepped back and swiped at the tears. She wasn’t going to give in to this, even if God was stacking the deck against her. In less than a week she’d be free from the legal entanglements. She’d get the house leased, make a new start somewhere else. Even if it meant volunteering for a few months with Doctors Without Borders. She had the information; she’d consider it. Caro was doing better. She’d thrown herself back into Pilates and cycling and even picked up a schedule of spring classes from the community college—definitely better. Frisco would be too. And Leigh would go on. She’d get through it and then never let herself be this vulnerable again. Her mother had been right. Nothing lasted forever. Not love. Not marriage. And certainly not God’s mercy. Good thing she’d never really trusted in any of that.

+++

Kurt took the stairs down from the second floor in a rush, enjoying the power of his descent, the echoing thud as his shoes struck the cement steps, and the brief sensation of flying as he launched down to the next. He was unstoppable, undeniable, a steely mass of energy like a locomotive tearing down the tracks, a fiery meteor sent to destroy the world, and—
whoa!

He swore as he stumbled forward, nearly colliding with a woman leaning into the wall of the first-floor landing. A notebook and a sheaf of papers slipped from her fingers. “Whoa, lady . . . wow, didn’t see you.”

“Oh.” She pressed a hand to her chest and stared at him, the color draining from her face. She sagged a little as if her knees had gone weak. Her other arm was in a sling, her eyes filled with terror.

The delicious sense of power surged.

“Hey, sorry,” he made himself say. He caught sight of her name badge:
R. Hale. Chaplain Service
. He thought of Kristi and her new Bible-toting boyfriend, and his skin tingled like a high-tension wire.
The God squad . . . at my mercy.
“Did I scare you?”