by Emily Forbes
He held a hand out to her and she walked towards him, allowing him to wrap an arm around her and hold her close. He dropped a kiss on the top of her hair, a gesture of caring that sent her pulse skyrocketing as much as the most intimate embrace could have done.
'Thank you for last night.' The smile he aimed at her was a little crooked, as if he was uncertain where he stood with her, which couldn't be the case, but it made hope soar. Combined with what they'd shared last night, maybe it was possible to hope he saw her as more than a passing encounter for old times’ sake.
Lexi parked her car as close as she could to the marina berths. As they approached the water Tom saw a fit, grey-haired gentleman approaching. His hair was cut in a short back-and-sides style and Tom assumed he was a policeman.
' Thanks for coming, Lexi.'
'No problem, Max. This is Dr Tom Edwards, another pair of willing hands. Tom, this is Max Stoppard, Police Chief.'
Tom extended his hand and Max shook it with a firm grip. ‘What's the current situation?'
Max started walking back to the berths, talking as he went. 'We've sent a couple off to hospital already with suspected fractures—nothing too serious—but there are a few still here who need some fancy needlework.'
'Any news on the missing pair?'
'Nothing yet.'
'Who is it?'
'Rick and Sam Markham.'
'Oh.' Tom glanced at Lexi. Sam Markham was the father of the twins he'd help deliver. Lexi nodded. 'You know Sam. Rick is his father. Let's hope they're found soon. Is there no sign of their yacht?'
'The coastguard is out searching but I haven't heard anything for a while.'
'Let's get to work on those that are here.'
'This way.' Max led them to a makeshift tent, a tarpaulin stretched across the gangway to keep the sun off the weary victims.
The heat of the day was quite incongruous after the ferocity of last night's storm. Tom could see some bags of fluid hooked up next to some of the yachtsmen, vital hydrating fluids being fed back into their systems to ward off dehydration.
'Can you start at this end?' asked Max. 'The ambos gave these two priority.'
Tom closed his mind down like a vice, shutting out anything that wasn't work-related. He couldn't afford not to. He was liable to make a complete hash of things if he let his mind go where it really wanted to, namely to wherever Lexi was. She was working so close he just had to ignore her presence.
The mental effort it took to shut out Lexi was much more tiring than his work, which was straightforward enough. He'd just finished suturing a deep gash on a forearm when Max reappeared.
'The coast guard's on their way in. They've picked up Sam. He's battered and bruised but alive. Can you come down to their berth?'
Tom and Lexi stood up together, stripping off bloodied gloves and grabbing the first-aid kits as they headed for the coast guard berths.
Sam was still in his wet-weather gear when they arrived. Somewhere along the way he'd lost his shoes and his feet were bare, as was his head. He was shivering uncontrollably.
'We found him harnessed to the boat but he was overboard. He's been in the water for several hours.'
Lexi knelt beside him. 'Sam, is anything hurting? Are you injured?'
His answer was a silent shake of the head. Sam's teeth were chattering so rapidly that Tom doubted he could speak.
'Hypothermia?'
'More than likely,' Lexi answered. 'We need to take his obs. I'll get his BP, can you take his temp?'
'Rectal temp is the most accurate.' Tom found the sphygmomanometer as he listened to Lexi explain to Sam where she'd need to place the thermometer and why. He then tried to distract Sam with his BP reading while Lexi took his temp.
'Thirty-three point three degrees C, with lower-limb stiffness. He's hypothermic'
Tom spoke. 'Sam, we need to get you out of your wet clothes, get you warm, OK?' To Max, he added, 'We need some blankets over here, preferably warmed, but just get some here as quick as you can. We also need an ETA on the ambulance. Sam needs to go to hospital.'
'There's a space blanket in the kit.' Lexi dug it out, covering Sam with it as Tom stripped him of his wet clothes.
'The ambulance is still at the hospital.' Max handed some more blankets to Lexi and she wrapped them around Sam's trunk, under the space blanket.
'Do you want more blankets for his legs?'
'No. We don't want to encourage the cool blood in his legs to return to his heart too quickly. It's more important to warm his trunk.'
'Tell the ambulance to get back here, stat.' Tom caught Max's attention. 'Can you patch me through to the hospital?'
'Sure. I'll get your call put through to Pete,' said Max as he handed Tom a mobile phone.
'Hi, mate. Sam Markham been found. No apparent injuries but suffering from hypothermia. Can you organize some warm oxygen and warmed IV fluids, 500 ccs?' He waited for Pete to confirm. 'Thanks.'
'Check his obs again, Tom.'
Tom carried out the brief procedures then updated Lexi. 'His temp hasn't dropped any further. And his BP is rising.' As Tom spoke he heard the wail of the ambulance siren and his mind flicked briefly back to the beach with the drowned man, the last time he'd been involved with an ambulance pick-up. Living by the coast might have undeniable benefits but sometimes there was a high cost.
The officers climbed out of the parked vehicle and ran straight over with their stretcher. Tom filled them in. 'We need an ECG monitor, oxygen mask, usual vitals. Keep him warm. Have you got any warmed fluids?' The ambos shook their heads. 'Keep him warm with the blankets, then. Pete's expecting him.'
'Are either of you coming?'
Lexi shook her head. 'Pete can handle it. You haven't got far to go. Just watch the ECG. He should be OK but keep an eye on it. Are you happy to take him?'
'Yep, no problem. Let's go.'
'You'll be fine, Sam. We'll take good care of you.'
Tom and Lexi stood side by side as Sam was lifted onto a stretcher and taken to the ambulance. Tom sensed her tension and wanted to put his arm around her, offer physical comfort, but verbal reassurance was all he could give in such a public setting. 'He'll be OK, Lexi. He's young and fit and his hypothermia was only mild. It's lucky for him it's summertime—it could have been a lot worse.'
'I'm worried that it's going to get worse. There's still no sign of Rick.'
As she spoke the coast guard vessel moved off again, no doubt to search for the missing vigneron, reinforcing her words.
'We can only wait. Let's get back to work. Keeping occupied is the best distraction.' This time he did wrap an arm around her shoulders, guiding her back up the gangway to the makeshift treatment site. Back to the walking wounded waiting for their various injuries to be attended to.
'Two more down. How many left to go?'
Tom looked around and did a quick head count. 'Last few. We're almost done.'
'Can I have a word when you're finished here, Lexi?' Max was back, his expression grim.
'What is it?'
‘Rick Markham's been found.'
'How is he?'
He shook his head, his expression grim. 'I need you to come with me.'
Tom knew from Max's tone that Rick hadn't made it, and watched Lexi's face pale as she came to the same conclusion. He could see the exhaustion in her posture as she walked away, her energy drained. The aftermath of the storm was taking its toll. He wished there was more he could do to ease some of her tension. He turned his attention back to the yachtsman in front of him, someone he could help, and continued tending to his bleeding forehead. He was content to work in silence. It gave him an opportunity to mull over the events of the previous night.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn't been thinking. That much was obvious.
He'd been feeling, wanting, needing, and had acted on those instincts. Without conscious thought about what he'd been doing and what the consequences would be.
Lexi had been like a dru
g to his senses. Her warm breath on his skin, her softly rounded curves under his hands, her pink lips, inviting him to explore, and her apricot-scented hair. If he closed his eyes he could still smell the aroma of apricots coming from her damp curls. She was like a drug he didn't have the strength to refuse. He hadn't been able to stop himself from giving in to his desires.
Had he taken advantage of her?
That thought bothered him for a brief moment until he recalled her undisguised enjoyment, remembered that it had been Lexi who had led him to her room, Lexi who had undressed him. Even now the memory of her fingers running down his spine speared shivers of longing through him.
His time in Pelican Beach was nearly at an end. Their physical intimacy had led them down the obvious path and now he'd have to walk back up that path without her, return to his life, newly single after his failed marriage and dead-end affair with Lexi.
He had to walk away, and he knew he would. He was in no position to make rash decisions. He'd made no promises, could make no promises, and he knew Lexi didn't expect him to.
But he'd seen it in her eyes that morning: last night had changed things for her. She wouldn't want him to know that, but last night, wonderful as it had been, had altered the status quo for her. Would she still be happy with the no-strings-attached offer he'd made before? If not, they had to end it now, before she got too involved emotionally. She'd had enough heartache in her life in the last few years, even discounting the way their relationship had ended and the loss of their baby. If she was in deeper now than she'd counted on, he wasn't going to be responsible for recklessly continuing their involvement.
If that was the case, then last night would have to last in his memory—sustain him through any dark hours—because it couldn't be repeated. The only problem was going to be remembering that.
Lexi awoke at seven, surprised to find she'd slept soundly all night despite the drama of the preceding day. Her first appointment was in an hour at the hospital. She was meeting the police chief to deal with the deceased Rick Markham. She got ready on autopilot, letting her mind process yesterday's events.
She was still thinking about the impact Rick's death would have on his family as she arrived at the morgue and waved a hand at the chief.
'Hello, Max.' Lexi stepped back as he pushed open the doors to the morgue, before following him and breathing through her mouth for a moment as she adjusted to the distinctive chemical smell of the room.
She crossed the floor, flicking on the CD player. Classical music played softly through the speakers. It was always the first thing she did before she started work in this room.
Donning a cap and gown, she scrubbed, then pulled on a pair of gloves before walking over to the autopsy table, positioned in the middle of the room and covered discreetly with a sheet. Max flicked on the bright lights above it and she stood by and watched as he pulled back the sheet with care, then stepped away to let her get on with her job. He was a kindly man, a gentleman, and in the numerous times he'd kept her company here at the morgue, she'd never yet seen him treat the deceased with any less respect than he did the living. She should know—she'd first met him when her sister and brother-in-law had been killed.
She took a moment to study Rick's face. He was hardly recognizable as the handsome vigneron. 'What a tragedy,' she muttered, and Max nodded his agreement.
'Should've had years ahead of him yet, been able to watch his grandchildren grow up, enjoy seeing his son as a father.' He
cleared his throat. 'Do you want me to stick around?'
Lexi shook her head. 'Tom will be here soon. I'll let you know how we get on.' She waited for Max to leave and then cleared her mind, ready for the job ahead, still conscious of the chemical smell of the place. It was always a shock to the senses, walking in here, but within a short time she'd have adjusted and not be aware of it any more. Picking up the scissors, she began cutting away the clothing, sliding it into a plastic bag.
She lifted her head as she heard the door open. Her heart was hammering in her chest in anticipation of seeing Tom, but instead she saw the portable X-ray machine being wheeled in.
Thanking the radiographer, she slipped her arms into the proffered lead apron and wound the long ties about her waist before she positioned the machine. This time she kept her focus on the X- rays in progress, even when the sucking sound of the rubber door seal told her the door was being opened again. She heard Max, standing guard at the entrance, speak and then Tom's voice, and as the door sucked shut again she knew he was in the room.
Her automatic reflex was to sneak a glance at him, but she resisted. The two-person policy on autopsies might be providing special benefits today, but it was time to concentrate on work, not the unassailable attractions of Tom. Even if it was the first time they had been alone since the night of the storm, this was about work, not them. She nodded to the radiographer, who pressed the button for the last X-ray, and was aware of Tom in her peripheral vision, scrubbing at the sink before he joined her.
'Thanks for coming. The preliminaries are done.' She waited until the radiographer had left the room before greeting Tom, aware that the atmosphere had become charged the moment he'd arrived and not wanting to alert the radiographer to her feelings for him. He'd be gone soon, and it would be easier to deal with if the whole town didn't know they'd been involved, however briefly.
She nodded towards the sink, businesslike, and bent back to the still form, pretending to be absorbed in something, anything, to keep her attention from wandering to Tom.
She felt him pause beside her but she moved away to turn on the Dictaphone to record her findings. She'd write her notes up later. She started to check the body for any obvious signs of injury with quick, careful motions while she waited for Tom to finish scrubbing and join her. He came to stand by her side, not too close, all professional but, still, she was aware of him, every inch, despite the clinical setting. She spoke her findings out loud as she proceeded with her examination. 'No cuts, abrasions or contusions to trunk or limbs.' Moving her fingers over the skull, she felt a large lump at the back of the head and described her finding to Tom.
'Consistent with being knocked by the broken mast?'
'Possibly. Help me roll him over and I'll take a closer look.'
Together, they rolled Rick onto his side, Tom's hand resting on hers as they turned the body. She glanced up at him to see if he'd done it deliberately, but his full concentration seemed to be on their task. She moved her hand to check Rick's head, breaking contact, and Tom kept working in unison to steady the body, not seeming to notice her touch was gone. At least one of them had their mind firmly on the job.
'There's bruising around the lump but the skin's intact. No sign of a penetration injury. It's consistent with a blow from a blunt instrument. Nothing else of note.'
Tom rolled Rick back into a supine position. 'What next?'
'I open him up.' She felt a slight thrill run through her. Not at the circumstances that had brought her here, nothing to do with the fact that a good man was dead. But her old desires to specialize in surgery had not been altogether extinguished and it was during autopsies that she was always confronted with that dilemma. Autopsies hardly required specialist surgical skills but it was a lot closer than the general nature of her work as a GP.
The job never seemed macabre. She never forgot that she was working on a person who had lost their life, and she never had anything less than absolute respect for that fact. Nonetheless, that part of her that still longed for the challenge and adrenaline, the total concentration of surgery, received the tiniest nod when she performed autopsies. 'Can you pass me the snips?'
Tom found them on the instrument trolley and passed them to her. Lexi put her full strength into cutting through the rib cage to open the chest cavity, straining her upper body muscles to get the leverage she needed.
She was glad Tom seemed to understand her need to work in silence, except for the music. It was nice having another living person in the room but
she never carried on a normal conversation and even though it was Tom, she wasn't tempted to make an exception. She simply didn't perform autopsies often enough to work with less than total concentration and having Tom here at all was enough of a distraction without trying to chat.
'Syringe, please.' Tom took the secateurs from her and replaced them with a syringe, the touch of his fingers sending another pulse of awareness straight through her, tempting her mind off her work for a moment. She took a deep breath, bringing her awareness back into line. Plunging the syringe through the lung wall, she drew a sample of fluid, holding it up to the light to check the color of the contents. She picked up a sample vial from the trolley and injected the fluid into it, passing it to Tom.
'Can you label this for the lab and request a test of the contents?' She twisted around to dispose of the syringe as she kept giving him instructions. 'Tell them we suspect seawater. The forms are in the cupboard by the sink.'
'Will do,' he said. 'When will you get the results?'
'In a day or two.' Now she turned her attention to the heart, examining the muscle for evidence of a myocardial infarction but found none. Tom was back at her side, watching in silence, and she liked having him there, despite the added distraction.
She took another syringe from the trolley and inserted it through the heart muscle to draw a blood sample directly from the heart chambers, necessary because all major blood vessels in the extremities had collapsed. Injecting it into a sterile vial, she once again handed the tube to him for labelling.
'Blood alcohol level?' he asked. She nodded and he added, 'Is that it?'
'That's all.'
'Do you want some help stitching him up?'
'No, I won't do it perfectly now. I may need to investigate further, depending on the lab results. I doubt it, but it's possible.'
She started stitching, aware that Tom was still watching her. but the scrutiny didn't perturb her. She was confident of her skills, knew her strengths. It hadn't always been the case. She'd really let her break-up with Tom throw her off course in her fifth year of medicine, and it had taken her so long to get her act into gear, she'd lost her nerve and her belief in her talents. She'd let that experience dictate her life in ways she didn't like to think about now. If she'd handled things differently, she probably would have specialized. As it was, she'd fallen behind and lost her chance. Maybe she could have made up for her poor track record in her final two years of study, but she'd left it too long and her confidence had taken a beating. She'd let that shake her performance as an intern, too, and then there had really been no chance she'd be accepted into the surgical program. And now here she was.