NECESSARY MEASURES

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NECESSARY MEASURES Page 24

by Alexander, Hannah


  He laid his forehead against the edge of the mattress again. Just say the words. Ask God to bless Mitchell. It didn’t take heartfelt love for the man. It only took a whisper of compassion and then God would do the rest. It was yet another necessary measure.

  It would be easier if Mitchell hadn’t hurt Beau. It was easier to pray for his own enemies than for his child’s. Just last night Grant had prayed for his enemies in this case.

  And yet his anger with Mitchell Caine was so harsh, his pain for his son so fresh, he could not say the words. In spite of the truth he knew, his own spiritual resistance held him silent and there was no more time—

  There was another click of fingernails on the door. “Grant! That woman’s here! You need to get in here and tell her what you want because I don’t know.”

  “Coming.”

  He couldn’t do it. Could not bless his son’s enemy.

  He got up and opened the door, straightened the collar of his shirt, and stepped out to meet the nice lady in her sixties who would be Mom’s new companion...if this worked out.

  ***

  Lauren sat between Brooke and Beau in the bleachers of the high school gymnasium. Taped organ music floated over them as Mr. Brisco—that feisty old farmer who had come to blows with his neighbor last summer—staggered toward the front of the auditorium between an obviously grief-stricken middle-aged couple.

  Brooke leaned close to Lauren’s ear. “That’s Oakley’s mom and dad with the old guy, I think,” she whispered. “They live in Little Rock, Arkansas. Can you believe it? They sent Oak up to live with his grandpa because they couldn’t control him.”

  Lauren shook her head. How did they handle their grief? She was having a hard enough time dealing with the loss of her brother but to lose a fourteen-year-old son? “I can’t imagine how they must feel.”

  Brooke reached over and took her arm and squeezed.

  Lauren patted her hand and tried hard not to cry during the eulogy and prayer. When the high school’s mixed chorus sang “Amazing Grace,” the tears flowed. She heard Brooke sniffing beside her and handed her a tissue. She glanced at Beau. His face was red and the muscles at his jawline flexed. When the singing ended and the overhead speakers fell silent there was sniffling all around her. Many in the crowd—adults and kids alike—sobbed openly.

  She saw Sergeant Tony Dalton and Caryn down on the floor where chairs had been arranged between basketball court lines. Just a few seats from them sat Archer Pierce. Several members of the Baptist congregation were peppered throughout the gymnasium.

  Brooke blew her nose and sniffed one last time. “We’re going to get this guy,” she muttered.

  Lauren leaned closer to her. “Who’s that?”

  “The guy who did all this.” Brooke gestured around the room. “The guy who sold him the dope in the first place. I just wish I could get my hands on him.”

  Lauren patted her knee as one of the local ministers stepped up to the lectern to give the homily. “It looks to me as if there are a lot of people here today who feel the same way.”

  “Good,” Brooke said. “Then maybe he won’t keep getting away with it.”

  ***

  Beau was cleaning an exam room when he heard the voice of Dr. Caine behind him.

  “I think we have something to discuss.”

  For a moment Beau didn’t realize that he was the object of the doctor’s interest.

  “Sheldon.”

  “Uh, yes?” He turned to find his doorway blocked by the man in the white coat.

  “It seems I was not fully informed about a particular condition. Because of that misunderstanding I may have been uncharacteristically gruff yesterday.”

  Uncharacteristically? Beau didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

  “I apologize for hurting your feelings.”

  “Thank you.” Beau returned to his work but the uncomfortable sense of Caine’s presence did not disappear.

  “You do understand that my first concern must always be for the patient.”

  Beau suppressed a sigh. With Dr. Caine this couldn’t be just a simple apology. “I understand.”

  “You know...” Dr. Caine said slowly.

  Beau straightened a sheet and turned to look at the doctor again. This wasn’t over.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to develop a better bedside manner.”

  “I’ll work on it.” And have you checked on yours lately?

  “I don’t think you understand. Is there no chance for reconstructive surgery?”

  Beau picked up a cellophane package of syringes. He didn’t want to get into this discussion. He didn’t even like to talk about this with friends and Caine was no friend.

  “Am I talking to an empty room?” the doctor complained after a moment of silence.

  Beau sighed, making no attempt to suppress his own impatience. “My father took me to the best plastic surgeons he could find. There seems to be some nerve regeneration recently but I’ve been told my face can’t be repaired.” He risked a quick glance up at the doctor and saw the typical focus of scientific interest that he had encountered several times in the medical community.

  “That’s a shame.” A trace of pity threaded his voice and floated across the room like cold bacon grease that cracked at the edges. “A smile can be one of your best allies when you’re treating a patient.” He showed his own beautiful set of straight white teeth. “I would say it’s as vital as a stethoscope. In fact it could be even more important. Some physicians don’t even use stethoscopes anymore. Often they’re just props, something for the patient to believe in. Medicine has changed and we have to change too. It’s all about the perception of care.”

  “Yes, Dr. Caine.” The man didn’t know how to apologize. Did he even know how to use a stethoscope? Beau had begun to play with Dad’s old one before he went to kindergarten. That connection to the heart of the patient was vital. Human connection was vital.

  “You wouldn’t dream of becoming an actor on stage without a full range of facial motion,” Dr. Caine continued.

  Beau could feel the flush come up his neck. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to be an actor. I don’t want to be an actor and I don’t want to be on stage. I’m going to medical school because I want to be a doctor who helps people. Maybe I won’t smile at all, or maybe I’ll wear a mask to keep from frightening children and grumpy old ladies but I’ll be a good doctor.”

  Caine showed no offense, which probably meant the full meaning of Beau’s statement had probably sailed right over his head. “I can’t believe a good surgeon couldn’t repair a few simple facial nerves. Smile for me.”

  “What?”

  “I said smile. That accident didn’t injure your ears too, did it?”

  “No.”

  Caine reached up and pressed the first two fingers of his right hand against Beau’s left cheek and jawline. “Smile.”

  Beau obliged with the offending grimace, bracing himself for further scrutiny.

  Dr. Caine palpated Beau’s face and frowned. “Hmm. I would definitely advise you to refrain from that when you’re with a patient. I see what the frumpy old woman meant.”

  “Grumpy. She was grumpy, not frumpy.”

  “You said you think there’s some regeneration?” Caine asked.

  “I have more movement in my right cheek than I had last year at this time.”

  “Then how can any surgeon in his right mind tell you that your face cannot be repaired? I think you and your father need to seek another consultation.”

  “We’ve already been to the best.”

  “When?”

  “A year and a half ago.”

  “New technologies have been discovered since then. If Grant Sheldon cares enough he’ll keep looking.”

  “He cares.”

  Caine turned to leave and then hesitated and turned back. “One more thing.” He took a step closer to Beau and lowered his voice. “I hope you don’t make a habit of eavesdropping on private conversations.”

/>   “I don’t.”

  “You spent quite some time in the supply room the other day. I suspect you were privy to some personal matters that I would prefer to keep to myself.”

  “I’m not a gossip, Dr. Caine.”

  Caine nodded. “Then you did overhear the fact that I am experiencing some…difficulties in my private life.”

  “I didn’t hear anything intentionally.”

  Another nod. “My personal problems are no one else’s business.”

  “Neither are mine but it doesn’t keep people from talking.”

  There was a softening in Dr. Caine’s expression. “Just so we understand one another.” He glanced at his watch. “I have patients to treat and you have beds to make. We’d better get busy.”

  Chapter 24

  It was a groggy two o’clock on Friday morning when Grant walked into the emergency department. In spite of his weariness from the long drive and the lateness of the hour, he reveled in the familiarity of the surroundings and the friendly face of the secretary at the central workstation. All appeared calm. No crowds lined the hallway, no monitors beeped, no bad smells emanated from exam rooms.

  Becky looked up from the depths of a novel and her lips parted with a pleased smile. “Dr. Sheldon? Is that really you?” She took off her glasses. “It is!” She placed the novel facedown on the desk and got up to greet him with a typical Becky-beam. “You’ve been gone so long I was afraid you’d left us for good. Didn’t I hear Beau say you’d be stuck up there a little longer?”

  Yes, it felt good to be home. “I had a chance to get away and I couldn’t resist the temptation. I miss my kids.” He missed Lauren. “And I don’t want to miss the wedding.” He turned to scan the quiet department. “Where is everybody?”

  Becky shrugged. “Lauren’s taking a break and I think Dr. Caine is asleep in the call room. Lester’s down the hall visiting with his buddies in the—”

  “Lauren’s here? Is she covering for someone?”

  “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Becky glanced toward the closed door of Grant’s office. “Uh, maybe I shouldn’t be the one to...why don’t you check out your desk? Maybe you should talk to Lauren while you’re here.”

  “I think you’re right. The last time I looked she wasn’t scheduled to work tonight.”

  “A lot has changed. You’d better see for yourself.”

  “How much can change in eleven days?”

  Becky shrugged and shook her head. “You’ll see.”

  ***

  Lauren sat staring into the shimmering blackness of her third cup of coffee this shift and chewed endlessly on a sawdust-and-cheese sandwich from the vending machine. Why hadn’t she allowed Beau to fix her that wonderful chicken sandwich he’d offered?

  She had to stay awake. She could be fired for dozing on the job.

  But just a short break would help. If she could close her eyes for a few minutes...

  She rested her forehead against the knuckles of her clasped hands. It was a trick she’d learned in school, though she’d seldom used it. Her roommate had taught it to her when they were studying for finals at the end of one particularly busy semester—just a short doze until she lost her balance and caught herself would help refresh her brain. If she had known then that she would be stuck working with cranky doctors on unpopular night shifts for the rest of her life she might have quit before graduation.

  “When did you become a night owl?” The deep voice came from the hallway.

  Lauren jerked upright and blinked. She had not fallen asleep—she’d just been resting her eyes. That voice... She turned around and saw Grant standing there in black jeans and a sweater of soft blue. A joy of unnamed proportions rushed through her, waking her like a splash of spring water.

  “Grant! You’re home!” She pushed away from the table and jumped from her chair, nearly tipping her coffee in the process. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to shout for joy. She did neither of those things but simply walked toward him, grinning like an idiot.

  “It’s good to see you too,” he said softly.

  “What are you doing here at this time of night?” she asked. “Have you been home yet?”

  “No, I just thought I’d stop by here first. And I might ask you the same question. What are you doing here?”

  She held her hands out from her sides and glanced down at her purple scrubs. “What does it look like I’m doing? Trying to stay awake and praying that I don’t lose concentration. The kids are safe at home in bed. I just spoke with them a few hours ago. They’ve got Archer and me on speed dial in case anything goes wrong. I didn’t want to leave them alone overnight but lately I haven’t had much of a choice.”

  He sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m not concerned about that at all. I just want to know what’s going on here. Why the shift change? Dr. Caine wasn’t scheduled to work tonight either but according to Becky he’s in the call room.”

  “Want some coffee?”

  “Looks like I’m going to need some but I’ll get it myself. You look worn out.”

  “That’s what a girl likes to hear.” She kept her voice light as she watched him pour a cup of black and set it on the table. He pulled out a chair for Lauren and one for himself. She sank down with a sigh. “I hope you realize you have been sorely missed.”

  “Thank you.” He sat down across from her and rested his elbows on the table. “What’s going on? I’m surprised my kids haven’t mentioned any problems.”

  “I...uh...I asked them not to.”

  He continued to watch her, obviously waiting for further explanation while he sipped his coffee.

  “Please don’t blame Brooke and Beau.”

  “I’m not blaming anyone for anything. But are you going to tell me what’s going on?” His firmly chiseled features were pale and drawn and outlined by a dark evening shadow.

  “I’m trying to decide where to start.”

  He groaned.

  “Okay, here’s the good news. You have raised your kids right. They have been compassionate and supportive of me through a very difficult period.” To her embarrassment she felt her throat swell with the threat of tears. This was not a good time. She was tired. Her defenses were down.

  His attention focused on her more completely. “Beau told me about Oakley Brisco.”

  “His funeral was this afternoon at the school gymnasium. The gym was packed and the tears could have filled Farmer Brisco’s pond.”

  “I know that had to be hard on everyone.” Grant studied her face carefully. “What else happened?”

  She swallowed. She would let Beau tell him about the Tuesday night debacle with Dr. Caine if he hadn’t done so already.

  He leaned forward and rested his chin on his fist. “You said the kids helped you through a difficult time. What happened?”

  She hesitated. “My brother.” She swallowed. “Hardy was killed in an accident at work last week.”

  Air escaped his lungs as if he’d been kicked. His fingers whitened around the coffee mug and he sat back in his chair with a slow deep breath. “Lauren, no,” he whispered.

  She felt the compassion. She also felt his reproach though she couldn’t tell if it was some unspoken thought betrayed through his body language or if it was her own personal remorse. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you before this but the timing was bad because of what you were going through. I didn’t want to risk distracting you from something so vital to your future.”

  He raised a hand and his exhaustion was evident in the gesture. “I know you didn’t.” His voice was gentle but sad. “When did it happen?”

  “Just before midnight last Tuesday. The funeral was Friday. If I’d known the deposition would be postponed—”

  “That doesn’t matter. I would have been here for you no matter what the circumstances in St. Louis. My attorney is a friend. He would have helped me out. I wish I could have...” He sighed and held his hands out in frustrated helplessness. “How are Sandi and the girls taking it? How are
you taking it? Your parents?”

  “Not well.” Lauren swallowed. Fresh grief welled to her eyes. “Beau drove Brooke and me to Knolls the night after he was killed and they returned with me every time I went back for funeral preparation, visitation, and for the funeral. They’ve been taking care of me more than I’ve been taking care of them.”

  He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and leaned back in his chair. There was an awkward moment of silence as he watched her. At last he gave her a hesitant smile as if making an effort to shrug off the issue. “Are we rubbing off on you?”

  “What?”

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed these past few months that my family has a tendency to try to ‘protect’ one another from bad news. I’ve done it with the kids in the past. I didn’t notice that they’d been doing it much lately.”

  “I should tell you that Brooke was offended by my request to remain silent about Hardy while you were gone. How’s your mother?”

  “Oh no you don’t. You’re not brushing this whole thing off that easily. I want to know how you’re doing.”

  “I promise to talk about it later. It’s just that ... everything’s still too fresh and I’m tired and I’m not handling my emotions that well right now anyway, so—”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  “So why don’t you tell me how your mom’s doing,” she suggested.

  He held his hand out and rocked it back and forth. “Iffy. I have someone staying nights with her and two of her friends have promised to check on her at least once during the day. But she hates it and I’m not sure it’s going to work out. I already spoke with Beau about asking her to come and live with us.”

  “How will that help? She would be alone in a strange house during the day while everyone’s gone. At least now she’s in familiar surroundings.”

  Grant rubbed his forehead wearily. “I want to do what’s best for everyone concerned but it doesn’t seem right to leave her alone in St. Louis without family nearby.”

  “I know you had a good reason to move here.”

  “Among other reasons, I moved the kids away from St. Louis to keep them out of my parents’ continued feuding.”

 

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