Trauma Plan (39 page)

“A nurse at Alamo Grace. And a friend. I know her medical history, and I’d like to ride along.”

Riley left instructions regarding the Mercedes, and in a few minutes they were loaded and on their way. Vesta dozed off en route to the hospital, awakened at intervals by the paramedic so that he could check her neurological status. Riley watched, still amazed at the situation—at this whole regrettable day—as the man checked Vesta’s vital signs and performed his assessments.

“Blood sugar’s 280,” he reported, “so it’s not easy to determine how much of her responses are related to that or to the head injury.” He pointed to the front of Vesta’s shirt. “Looks like she may have vomited. The source of that could go either way too.”

Riley nodded, wondering if she’d missed a clue when Vesta called to cancel Thursday’s chaplain visit. Then she thought about all the things that had changed since that first day she’d met Vesta in the ER. Riley’s job at the clinic and all that had happened with Jack, the rift with Kate. But one thing hadn’t changed: Vesta was still afraid. That first day and tonight too. She’d been frantic on the phone. What could have frightened an agoraphobic enough to get in a car?

“Did . . . you . . . see him?” Vesta asked. Her tongue, visibly dry, explored her swollen lip.

Riley leaned close. “Who?”

“The man. That awful man.”

* * *

11:15.
Jack glanced away from the Hummer’s clock and back at the road, sure he was being a fool. But after what had happened earlier at the clinic, he wanted to have a look around before he drove home. He’d cruise through the parking lot, make sure the security lights came on, and check things out. Bandy had taken the pain pills, so he wouldn’t even notice that Jack was there. And Jack would sleep better if he knew everything was all right.

Maybe
sleep. He thought of his phone conversation with Riley. How could everything have gotten this fouled up? Things had been going so well between them. Better than he’d ever imagined. And now . . .

He shook his head, thinking of what Bandy had said about Riley.
“She’s the woman who believes in you.”
And that Jack needed her. So off target.
The truth is, Riley’s a woman who believes . . . she needs to change the gate code to keep me out.
Maybe Bandy was wise about a lot of things, but he had a blind spot when it came to the chaplain. She didn’t want anything to do with Jack anymore. And the only need Jack had was to check on his clinic. He was almost there now . . .

Jack braked, slowing the Hummer so that he could peer at the scene ahead. Aftermath of an accident, it looked like. Flares, tow truck, and a Mercedes in the ditch alongside The Bluffs’ security gate construction. There wasn’t much damage. Except to the driver’s pride, probably. And there was undoubtedly some significant pride—he clucked his tongue as he read the car’s vanity plate:
TYGRR
.

Mercedes versus security gate. In no way would he wish any real harm to anyone. But if Jack really was the insensitive jerk those people claimed he was, he’d have to say there was a certain poetic justice in that little fender bender.

He drove the remaining short distance to the clinic and pulled into the driveway, wondering how close he could get before the motion sensor lights came on. He inched forward, watching—then stopped suddenly, staring at the windows in the distance.
What . . . ?
Jack squinted, trying to imagine what could cause so much light. Flickering like a big-screen TV, but there wasn’t one, and—

Fire!

He slammed the Hummer’s pedal down, roared up the driveway, screeched to a stop, and hit the ground at a sprint.
Bandy . . . no, don’t be . . .

“Bandy!” He pounded his fists on the front door, yelled again—raced along the side of the building, saw that the fire was in the kitchen. Fully involved. Too hot. Bandy was in the office, so . . . He raced back to the front porch, heart slamming against his ribs and breath heaving. He heard the smoke detector shrieking as he dug into his pocket for the key.

“Bandy!” Jack shouted, shoving through the door and seeing the thick cloud of smoke clinging to the ceiling. He coughed, felt the heat even from the distance, and charged across the waiting room toward the inner hallway. “Bandy, where are you?”

“Here . . . I’m . . .” Bandy staggered from the office doorway, coughing. “What’s happ—?” A deafening explosion shook the building and scorched the air.

Jack lunged forward, heaved Bandy onto his shoulder, and ran like he was escaping hell.

32

Vesta opened her eyes. Even in the dim light of the Alamo Grace hospital room, she could tell her vision had dramatically improved. She could make out the IV pump with the bag of antibiotics, the tray table, and . . .
She’s still here. Thank you, God.

“Hi.” Riley moved to her bedside, smiling. “Your blood sugar’s coming down.” She lifted the melting ice pack from Vesta’s forehead. “And so is that goose egg on your head. You dozed awhile. How are you feeling?”

“I’m . . .” Vesta licked her lips, winced as her tongue touched the lower one. “Mostly embarrassed. And so sorry about your car.”

“Unh-uh.” Riley shook her head. “We’ve been over this. It’s not a problem. I’m just grateful that you’re okay.” She patted Vesta’s hand. “And I’m the one who should apologize. I promised to check on you. If I had, maybe I could have helped you with whatever it was that had you so upset.”

Vesta saw the question in Riley’s eyes and wondered if the scrapbook had been left in the car. She still had to take care of—

“Vesta?”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Vesta said softly, thinking that there was something full circle about being back at Alamo Grace. Looking up and seeing the chaplain. Only this time—even after a car accident and everything that had led up to it—she didn’t feel the fear she had before. It was strange, considering. But then, maybe not so strange. She thought of those frenzied moments in the garage as she struggled to start the car. How she told God to buckle his seat belt.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Riley said. “And I’ll stay as long as you need me.” The question gathered in her eyes again. “I’ll listen if you want to talk.”

“I think . . .” Vesta felt tears well. “I’d like you to pray with me now. Can we do that?”

Riley nodded. “We sure can.”

* * *

“How’re you feeling?” Jack pulled up a chair beside Bandy’s hospital bed.

“You mean after you lugged me around like a sack of spuds?” Bandy smiled, eyes teasing as if the oxygen cannula were just another clown prop, this whole scene no more than a skit for the kids at the Sunshine Center.

Jack’s throat tightened. If he’d lost Bandy . . .

“I’m good, Doc,” Bandy continued after glancing at the bedside monitor. “And ready to go home, if they’d only let me.”

Home.
How badly was the clinic burned? The fire department had arrived moments after Jack got Bandy out. But . . .

“I’m taking you back to my condo,” Jack told him, “as soon as you’re released. Probably in the morning. They want to observe you overnight. Considering how long you abused your body by eating rodeo food.” He smiled. “As soon as I leave here, I’ll go back and look for Hobo. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. He’ll be fine,” Bandy said with certainty. “The boy survived being stomped by a bull; a little fire’s not going to shake him up. Probably took cover in the bushes for a while. You’ll find him.” He reached up to touch the oxygen tubing, grimaced. “I checked the stove before I turned in. I always do. Can’t imagine what happened.” He shot Jack an I-told-you-so look. “Our good neighbors called the fire department.”

Or started the fire.

“Guess so,” Jack said, recognizing the difference between them. Bandy saw hope, and Jack . . .
will wait for the investigator’s report.
All he knew right now was that he was grateful—beyond grateful—that Bandy was alive.

Bandy’s smile was stretched by a yawn. “Pain pills. Still gettin’ to me.”

“I’ll go. Let you sleep.”

“Not before you tell me what happened when you talked to Riley.”

“I didn’t. She wouldn’t even let me through the gate. So . . .”

“So you go back.” Bandy rolled his eyes. “The man thinks nothing of jumpin’ out of a perfectly good plane . . .” He pointed his finger. “Promise me you’ll go back.”

“Sure.”
If a promise lets you sleep.

“And one more thing,” Bandy said as Jack started to go.

“What?”

“Thank you. For what you did tonight. I appreciate it. Though . . .” He inspected the hospital ceiling, that knowing look on his face. “You know I’m not afraid to die.”

“Because I know where I’m going.”
How many times had Jack heard that? He shook his head. “You’re not dying.”

“So they tell me.” Bandy shrugged. “But if I’m not afraid to die, then don’t you be afraid to
live
, Doc.” He smiled the same smile that he offered to the kids at the Sunshine Center—life lessons with a red sponge nose. “Now come here and give me a proper
hasta la vista
.”

Jack grinned, stretched out his hand. Bandy grasped it firmly, then hauled him into a bear hug, IV tubing dangling. “
Hasta mañana
, Bandy.”

Bandy let go, and despite his smile, his eyes shone with tears. “You’re a good man, son. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Jack’s heart cramped. “You need anything?”

“The CD player. But I guess it’s gone now.” He tapped his fingers over his heart. “Good thing I have the songs right in here.”

* * *

Riley leaned forward in the chapel chair, thankful for the quiet. She glanced through the dimly lit room to the cross on the wall.
Thank you, Father. Thank you for being patient with me. For understanding that it would take me time . . .

She shook her head, still rocked by the rush of feelings. And the truth. In a year fraught with struggles and filled with pleading prayers, she’d completely missed it. Riley’s short laugh echoed in the room. She raised her hand and stared at it, flexed her numb fingers. What had Bandy said that day at the clinic about God’s hands?
“Feel his hold and trust it.”
It was about
his
hands. And she’d stubbornly made it all about hers. Her arm, her hand—her unspoken pact with God. If she got her strength back, if she could get back to the ER,
then
she’d trust him again. The truth was she’d taken the chaplain position as a bargaining tool. In that respect she was a fraud. And then—Riley squeezed her eyes shut at her stupidity—when she got angry at God for denying her all she wanted . . .
I jumped out of a plane and dared him to catch me!
She’d never seen any of it before. Not until tonight.

Riley’s heart tugged, remembering Vesta’s request for prayer. And the gratitude she’d expressed for the times that Riley had been there for her—the day she’d had a panic attack here in the chapel; at her home when she’d finally admitted to being housebound; and then tonight, when they prayed together. She remembered Vesta’s expression afterward. It was the first time she hadn’t seen fear in the woman’s eyes. It was as if Vesta had opened a far bigger door than the one in The Bluffs, walked through—kept going. And suddenly it felt that way for Riley too. Clear, for the first time in so very long. She had no doubt that God had wanted her there for all of that with Vesta. And for so many other patients and staff, too . . .
as a chaplain.

Tears welled in her eyes. Riley had been so afraid of being broken . . . that she hadn’t seen God’s plan to make her whole.

There was another truth she needed to face. And she wasn’t sure yet how to do that.

Jack.
Riley grimaced at the things she’d said to him a few hours ago. She’d been completely unfair. In the same spoiled, foot-stomping manner that she’d made demands of God, she’d arrogantly accused Jack of using her. When the truth was she’d been using him, too—from that first moment she’d decided to volunteer at the clinic. She wanted the experience and a recommendation. And then so much more. More than he wanted to give? She had no idea if that part was true. But still . . .

Riley pulled out her cell phone and brought up the text screen. She typed in the new gate code and pushed the Send button. She was trusting God on this too. Putting it all in his hands.

* * *

Jack retraced his steps and took the elevator up to the third floor, still confused. He’d stopped by the ER to thank the staff who’d cared for Bandy, and the charge nurse told him that a patient upstairs had called to see if he was on duty. Vesta Calder. Apparently she’d been in a car accident and was hospitalized. She’d insisted it was urgent that she speak with him as soon as possible. It was nearly midnight and none of this made sense, but . . .