Jacked (26 page)

While she went on about her late husband’s measly pension, my brain fizzled, but sure enough,
my
gutter was fixed. So was the piece of vinyl siding that had pulled away near the roof peak and flapped against the house quite loudly every time the wind blew.
What the hell?
Why hadn’t I noticed?

“Hmm. My dad must have fixed it.”
But why didn’t he call to tell me? And when the heck did he have time?
Between the hours of work and sleep, he was running my mom back and forth to the hospital. Maybe Chris or Nate had been by. It would be theirs to manage soon enough.

She squinted and shook her head. “Wasn’t your father, Erin. It was a younger man, your age. Quite strapping, too. I wish these people would at least put a sign or something on their work trucks. You know, Frank and I lived on this street for fifty-nine years and they may not think that people are keeping watch, but I see everything that goes on around here. I’m home all day and television these days stinks. Nothing but talk show rubbish. Who is your baby’s daddy and idiots who need a swift kick in the ass. How am I supposed to know if someone is here to fix things or to rob one of us? Would be nice to know. Just because he looked all clean cut doesn’t mean he’s not up to no good. They say it’s always the ones you don’t suspect that—”

My inner filter kicked in; the surge of information caused my nerves to spring. “He was in a truck?”

She nodded. “Yes. A shiny black one. The one day I saw he had the letters ‘ATTF’ on his coat but I couldn’t find it in the phone book. I looked under
home repair
and
construction
too.”

I swear I could hear the blood rushing through my body after my heart skipped a very long beat.

I TYPED MY
password into the computer system, doing my best to replace my muddled thoughts with some sense of focus. I’d worked on three patients that coded, one stabbing victim, diagnosed a mysterious rash that turned out to be a severe allergic reaction to an ingredient in the patient’s breakfast cereal, and kept some woman from overdosing.

You’d think that caseload would have been enough of a distraction.

It wasn’t.

I’d repaired complex human anatomy, had brought back a few people from the brink of death, but for the life of me could not figure out why Adam had been at my house without letting me know. Why would he even come around if he didn’t want to see me? And not just once but several times, according to my observant neighbor.

“Erin. Here, take this.”

I looked up from the screen to see Sherry holding out a gel ice pack. “Thanks.”

“She didn’t break the skin, did she?”

I gave her my cheek, letting her inspect my injury.

“Jeez,” she sighed. “It’s swollen but thankfully there’s no open wound. What the hell happened?”

I held the ice pack under my eye, hoping it would help dull the throbbing. “Heroin overdose. We pushed Narcan and Robert was bagging her when she came to. She completely freaked out. Took five of us to subdue her.”

Doctor Miriam Vonore’s annoyed throat clearing was hard to ignore.

“Doctor Novak, I understand that your intern had issues intubating the coding patient,” she said, her condescension and disapproval making my head throb even worse. We’d worked on him right before the overdose came in. “If you can’t intubate, it’s better to manually ventilate. You should know that.”

My guard immediately went up, but I couldn’t let her see my defenses. I’d allowed the attendings to treat me like I was an ignorant dumb shit when I was a resident; I’d be damned to let any of them think they could get away with talking to me like that now. Enough was enough. And so much for her asking if I was all right after being kicked in the face.

“I’m well versed in airway, Doctor. The patient was combative, which made it more difficult, but Doctor Reyes was able to intubate him on her second try.” I turned my gaze her way, giving her just a smidgen of my attention. She was lucky that she got that much. The woman was worse than that arrogant Doctor House from television. “I was right there supervising her technique, gave correction, and did not see a need to intervene any further. Besides, isn’t that why we have interns? So they can learn just like we all did?”

Doctor Vonore’s saggy jowls puckered. “The patient needed someone with more expertise in airway. Because of the delay, he’s going to suffer.”

I fought rolling my eyes, especially since she was trying to make something out of nothing.

My desk chair rolled a few inches when I stood up. “My patient’s care was my top priority. As their attending, it was my call and I made the decision to allow the intern to try again. The patient’s welfare was never compromised.”

Doctor Jeremy Bond, tall, dark, and whistling happily, came around the corner, scrawling on a med chart. “Has anyone seen a leather notebook? It’s dark brown.”

Sherry slipped it off a workstation. “You mean this?”

“Yes,” he said, relieved. “Thank you.”

“No problem, One-Shot,” Sherry teased.

His glare was amusing. “You all will never let me live this one down, will you?”

A resounding chorus of
“Never!”
echoed from the far reaches of the department.

I was glad for the playful distraction, although Miriam was far from amused. I could see her frustration growing from being ignored. “You should never have told them you got your wife pregnant on your honeymoon,” I said to him. “You can’t give them ammunition like that.”

Sherry pegged me with a knowing glance, one that said
‘if you would have dated him when he asked, you could have been the one who got pregnant on your honeymoon.’

“Dayum, Novak. What happened to your face?” Jeremy asked.

“Heroin OD,” Sherry said. She nudged my hand. “Ice. Face. Now. Doctors. I swear. You make the worst patients.”

“Good news.” He patted my shoulder. “Mr. Trujillo’s surgery went well. You and your team did a great job.” He nodded at Miriam. “Doctor.”

I set my ice pack down, thanked Doctor Bond, and enjoying my moment of righteous indignation. I’d also owe Doctor Bond a favor or two for that save, but it would be worth it, seeing Miriam’s maw gape like a confused fish. I turned my pleasantness back on her. “Unless you have any other constructive input, I have patients to attend to.”

“This hospital doesn’t need a malpractice suit. Remember that.” She turned on a final huff and stormed away, probably a little self-satisfied she got the last word in again. She was always looking for a reason to make my life hell.
Bitch!
That sentiment was followed by a string of mental expletives. That woman had been riding my ass since day one, and my contempt for her ran as deep as hers did for me. Maybe even deeper.

That was it. My mind was made up. As soon as I left work I’d run home, shower, find some makeup to cover up the bruise blooming under my eye, and let Tommy have his way with my body. Hopefully he won’t stare at my face while he’s doing his thing between my legs. And while I was on a roll, screw Detective Adam Trent and his fickle bullshit, too.

When did I shave my pits last? Will I have time to stop for food and make it to Tommy’s place by eight? Eating before I get there without brushing my teeth
—
yuck. Bad idea. I’ll just shower and primp and then head over to his
…

My pager chimed, vibrating from the pocket of my medical coat. The number displayed was for the ICU.

I slipped my cell back into my pocket after returning the page. Everything in my chest tightened, cutting off my ability to breathe.

I ran to the elevator, pushing the button several times, but it was taking too long. I sprinted down the hallway, slamming my shoulder into the door to the stairwell. I ran both flights of stairs up to the third floor.

The antiseptic smell of the ICU overpowered me, burning my nose as I jogged down the tiled hall. My sneakers squeaked on the floor with each step, breaking the relative quiet of the intensive care unit.

My father was leaning hard on the metal doorframe outside my uncle’s room, looking as though he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. He had on a pale yellow long-sleeved medical gown covering the front of his body that was falling off his shoulders, exposing his street clothing underneath, and blue latex medical gloves that were protocol for all ICU visitors. He noticed me over his arm and slowly straightened; his face so sullen and anguished that it was almost unbearable to witness.

Dad held my face after he hugged me. “What happened? You’re hurt.”

I shook my head. “It’s nothing. A patient—” My words cut off when the pool of tears dripped down his cheeks.

His entire body shook as he wept in my arms. I tried to be his strength but my own was waning fast.

My cousin Nate slipped around the curtain shielding the view of my uncle, exposing a sliver of an elderly man clad in all black. He read from the book held in his hands. Daylight from the window glinted off the beaded rosary dangling from his fingers.

Nate’s wife Andrea hurried behind him. Both passed me, stopping only a few feet from the doorway. Nate covered his eyes and broke down into choking tears.

My own anguish roiled, sending a blaze of anguish throughout my chest and up into my throat.

“Kids decided to remove him… from the… the life support,” my father stuttered into my shoulder.

I knew my uncle wasn’t improving and one by one his major organs were starting to fail. There was no bouncing back at this point but I didn’t know they’d be making the final decision of his treatment today. I tried to search for words of comfort. “I know it’s hard to take, Dad, but it’s for the best.”

His breath stuttered. “I know.”

I tried to speak through the burn and tears. “Uncle Cal would hate to be hooked up to all of those machines. You know he would.”

I felt his cheek brush my hair, nodding in acknowledgement. “I know,” he sputtered. “Your mom and I talked it over with the boys. Still, it’s not an easy decision. I can’t. I can’t go back in there. Your mother…”

I rubbed his back, trying to sooth him. “I know.”

Hearing my mom’s muted wails from the other side of the curtain as she said her final goodbyes tore my heart to pieces.

I gave my dad one last kiss on the cheek before letting him go.

My mother and cousin were huddled together near the long spans of window. The bleak and cloudy backdrop of Philadelphia seemed so aptly befitting.

My mom had her face mashed into Chris’s chest while hospital staff removed my uncle’s breathing tube from the ventilator. Chris stood tall and rubbed her back, crying his own silent tears as he somehow found the last ounce of bravery within him.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” the priest recited. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside the still waters, He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for though art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Everything hit me at once, making me hyperaware of my surroundings, though it all seemed very irrationally unreal. The sight of my mother beyond distraught and falling apart crushed me. The anguish scorching my lungs was almost unbearable. My cousin Chris, who was just two years younger than me, suffering to keep a brave face clashed with my sudden anger. I knew both of my cousins had just made a very difficult decision, but my mother was too fragile to endure bearing witness to my uncle’s final moments. She didn’t need to be here like this, watching
this
. He needed to get her out of this room instead of facilitating it.

Uncle Cal’s attending, Doctor Paul Webber, passed in front of me, his face impassive. I presumed he was doing his best to ignore the drowning feeling that surrounds you when a patient is dying in front of you and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it. The nursing staff was working methodically, disconnecting my uncle from life support.

“Mom… come.” I tried to move her. “You don’t want this memory.”

“No!” She refused to budge.

I wrapped myself around her, hugging any part of her I could reach, doing my best to comfort her.

Within moments, the constant monotone of a heart monitor no longer keeping rhythms marked the final process.

Doctor Webber hushed his voice to announce the official time of death and made a notation on the chart in his hand. He handed it to one of the nurses and then came over to us. I wondered for a moment if this latest loss had caused another weary line to permanently crinkle this doctor’s face or take him one step closer to his own sad finality.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said as passively as possible, adding the sympathetic smile they taught us to use when delivering such news. It felt as though a sledgehammer hit me in the chest. A bit of anger welled at his spurious sympathy.

Sorry? You’re sorry? No, you’re not! You’re only saying that because you have to, you liar!