The Bride Wore Red Boots

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “There wasn’t any reason for people to thank me. I wasn’t a hero. It was an easy diagnosis.”

  “I never said you were a hero. But you did get the win.”

  “I won’t win until I find out what the allergen was. I need to talk to his foster mom, but she hasn’t shown up yet—can’t get off work.”

  “I’m not too sure about her.” Brooke removed her pinafore and dress of clashing stripes, polka-dots, and checks. Mia made a show of shuddering.

  “You do know that standing there in tights with a face the color of a skull, you’re now a hideously frightening clown?”

  “You need to get over yourself.” Brook huffed out a breath. “Clowning is a noble art.”

  “It’s an obsession. Case in point: you’re in a hospital, a kid stops breathing, and you don’t even break character for that.”

  She hadn’t really meant to bring it up, but Brooke was defending it as a noble art. Her friend, however, quickly became a very annoyed hideous clown. The stars painted over her eyes shrank as she lowered her lids.

  “Okay, hang on a dang minute. It scares kids if a clown breaks character when in make-up. You actually find me scary now because I’m not talking like Bitsy.” She crossed her arms. “For your information, it was very difficult to stay in character and pretend it was Bitsy helping. But it was worth it, which you didn’t hang around to see. Learn a little about people why don’t you, Amelia?”

  Mia rubbed her eyes. She had to concede. She could see how a child would find it freaky if a clown with a high, squeaky voice suddenly began talking like a normal person.

  “All right. I apologize,” she said. “I’m still trying to deal with the whole Rory situation and I’m touchy. I react to adrenaline a little differently than most.”

  “You overreact. Like Rocky Balboa to a fight bell.” Brooke smiled kindly. “You just need to relax and be a little more of a team player with your coworkers. Trust us to know what we’re doing, too. But, hey, why am I telling you this for the millionth time?” She grinned.

  Mia stuck out her tongue. “Face it, I’m your challenge. Everyone has to have one.”

  “Except you, right?”

  “Sure. I’m perfect. No challenges.” She sighed.

  She could say such things to Brooke, who’d always understood Mia’s sarcasm and even her sometimes-gruff personality. Brooke was one of the nicest people on the planet and had proved it many times during their seven-year friendship.

  “Speaking of perfect, I heard you had a dustup with our new Freddie Wilson today.”

  “I don’t know that I’d call it a dustup. He was irritating Rory, so we had a little disagreement.”

  “That right?” Brooke grabbed a towel and make-up bag and headed toward the nearest sink. “Well, from what I hear, you might want to consider apologizing.”

  “What you hear? Good grief, it wasn’t that big a deal, and I’ve already apologized.”

  “All right. Just remember, he is one of the people you need on your side right now. When do they decide on the head resident’s position? You really don’t mind going back to being the equivalent of a student?”

  “No. It’s what I have to do. They announce the choice the beginning of next week—November sixth or seventh. The job starts in early December.”

  “And if you get it, you can take your certification exam next fall.”

  “I need that one year back in a lower-level position of authority to be eligible for the exam, yes. And then Sidney March over at Mount Sinai retires, and his spot as associate chief of pediatric surgery will be vacant. I’ve got a solid reputation there, and they’ve all but promised me a good shot at the job if my certification is complete. You know that’s been my dream job since the beginning.”

  “And, you deserve it; you’ve worked your butt off. Everyone knows there’s not a better surgeon in New York.”

  “You and I know that.” She scoffed and shook her head. “No, I know full well I’m hardly the best, but there’d be no better way to keep climbing toward it than getting that job. I only wish the timing weren’t so tight.”

  It was one of the few things that got Mia’s stomach into knots—the fact that she’d been kept so busy with her general surgery duties she hadn’t been available to apply for the chief resident’s job before now. She could juggle a lot of balls, and she was capable of advancing through required tasks and performance reviews faster than any other candidate, but she couldn’t make the AMA change policy for her. The cert tests were given once a year, and she had to have the leadership component of her training completed in order to qualify to take the exam.

  “You and your life plan.” Brooke smiled fondly. “I sure don’t know anyone with more talent and drive than you have. But if you’re nervous, I advise you to kiss and make up with Doc Freddie. You do need to play the game to win the prize.”

  Mia approached the sink adjacent to Brooke’s and watched her friend smear make-up remover over her white face. “I don’t kiss up.”

  “Don’t I know it? It wouldn’t hurt you to learn how, sooner rather than later, so you can nail this job and quit whining.”

  “I don’t whine either.” She didn’t. Whining was always counterproductive.

  “Look.” Brooke turned, her makeup puckered from the remover, looking like a clown whose skin was melting off. “Just be nice.”

  “Too late for that,” Mia replied flippantly. “I’m now planning to hold my tiny reserves of sweetness and light safe for Samantha down in the community outreach clinic. If I’m lucky, she’s going to find me a cat.”

  Brooke sputtered into the washcloth that was finally starting to remove Bitsy’s face. “Forget sucking up to Fred. You need to start making friends with the staff up on eight.”

  The psych department.

  “You’re not far from right. Rory asked me to rescue his cat from a homeless man.”

  “And you listened to him?”

  “I—”

  Her phone rang from the open locker, and Mia cut herself off, since she was waiting for a call from Samantha Evans. Sam, a social worker with endless connections, had been another good friend and valued ally since Mia had begun her quest for this second specialty field. She grabbed the phone from her purse. The number was completely unfamiliar. She didn’t answer unknown calls on her private phone. The person could leave a voice mail.

  “Anybody important?” Brooke asked.

  “No. Look, I know how freakily attached to this cat Rory is, so I’m going to see what I can dig up.”

  “Just watch young Mr. Beltane. He’s a cocky little guy. Cute as a fox kit but smart as the daddy fox.”

  “He’s precocious—has been ever since I first met him. Now, though, he’s mostly scared. His mom is in pretty bad shape.”

  “Addicted to prescription opioids, if I read the history right.”

  “And a very recent cancer survivor. Monique and I have developed a trust over the years, maybe even a friendship. I owe her to look after her son as best I can.”

  “Okay, you’ve made your case. As for Rory, I said it before. I’m not entirely sure about his foster family. The mom is nice enough, but she’s kind of a ditz. Sorry, shouldn’t say that.”

  “Hey, all I know is they haven’t even gotten her to come in yet because she’s at work. Hell’s bells, I’d have been here two seconds after he’d gone down.”

  Brooke gave her face a last long swipe with the washcloth. “And this is what I’m saying. Turn some of that empathy you have for the kids on the grown-ups, and you’ll be unstoppable.”

  “Why do you think I’m a surgeon? Like my dad always said, ‘I don’t have time for the extra bull crap.’ I don’t either.”

  “Your dad didn’t say bull crap.” Brooke laughed.

  “No, he didn’t. But I’m a genteel young professional woman.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Finally laughing, Mia said good-bye to her friend and made her way back to the pediatrics floor, quiet now that the af
ternoon party was over. Naps were in progress, and preparations were underway for the dinner hour.

  “Dr. Crockett. Great! You’re still here. I was about to page you.”

  Darren met her as she approached the nurse’s station, his face as friendly and open as a big kid’s, and surprisingly welcoming considering there’d been precious few fuzzy moments between them in their short acquaintance.

  “Looks like I saved you the trouble. What did you need?”

  “Shawna Murray, Rory’s foster mom, is here. We thought you should be the one to see her.”

  The conspiratorial look he gave her forced a smile from her lips. “Even though I’m not the department head?”

  “You know, I can’t seem to find him right now, Dr. Crockett.”

  Darren’s unspoken vote of respect only proved the point that straightforward talk, along with curbing extraneous emotions, made for efficient and effective patient treatment. Take that, Brooke, you old mother hen. He likes me even though I don’t know how to play nice.

  “Well that’s certainly a shame. But, since he seems to be unavailable, I’ll be happy to talk to Mrs. Murray.”

  “Mrs. Murray?” Mia entered the room to find Rory half-asleep and his foster mother watching the TV, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, her foot jiggling so hard the chair beneath her squeaked. “I’m Dr. Crockett. I took care of Rory this afternoon.”

  Mia had met many foster parents throughout her medical career. They came in all shapes, sizes, and colors, but Shawna Murray was unique. Dressed in brightly patterned Lycra workout pants, equally blinding neon-yellow tennis shoes, and a white, Nike zippered jacket, its collar flipped preppily up against her ears, she looked like she was headed for a high school gym class. She even had her blonde hair gathered into a bouncy, beach-worthy ponytail.

  “I’m so glad to meet you.” The woman jumped to a stand as if grateful to do so. She shook hands like The Flash would shake: in triple time and with power she didn’t realize she possessed. “Thank you for everything you did. I’m so sorry I was slow in coming, I was in the middle of teaching a Zumba class.”

  That explained the high-end workout clothing. But a three-hour Zumba class?

  “I see.”

  “I tried to get my boyfriend to come, but he had the two other kids to watch, and then he had a get-together with friends, so I waited for my mother to get off work and finally here I am. I’m so relieved Rory is all right. Do you think there’s any chance of a relapse?” She spoke like The Flash, too, barely taking a breath between long sentences.

  No more caffeine for you, Mrs. Murray.

  “A spontaneous recurrence can happen on occasion, although it’s rare. Rory’s regular doctor and surgeon can decide how long they’d like him monitored.” Mia indicated Mrs. Murray should sit, and she did, her knee immediately taking up a frenetic bobbing.

  “He was supposed to come home tomorrow or Thursday. Do you think that will still happen?”

  “I’m not familiar with the details of his surgical case, so I can’t tell you for sure. The nursing staff will make sure Rory’s doctor speaks with you.”

  A stirring from the bed pulled Mia’s attention from Shawna Murray to Rory, who opened his eyes and squirmed in an attempt to sit. Mia smiled. “Hang on there,” she said. “Let me raise the head of the bed—that’s way cooler.”

  “You’re my doctor,” the boy said as his bed transported him to a sitting position.

  “I was your doctor for this accident, kiddo,” she said. “But Dr. Thomas knows what’s best for taking care of you after your operation. And all we want is what’s best for you.”

  “You can look at my chart. Then you can be who decides.”

  Mia squelched the laughter threatening to spill out. Rory’s fear and the fog from his meds had lifted. Here was the feisty Rory she knew: much more self-aware than the average ten-year-old.

  “I’m glad you have so much confidence in me.” She patted his leg. “But we’re friends, remember? A doctor isn’t supposed to treat her friends.”

  “But you saved me even though we’re friends.”

  As flattering as his unswerving belief was, Mia shook her head. “Lots of people who work in a hospital know about the kind of thing that happened to you. I think anyone would have saved you, honey.”

  “Nope. Anybody didn’t save me. You did.”

  His findings were final and absolute. Mia sighed. “Well, I’d do it again because you’re kind of cool, you know that? A little crazy maybe . . . ”

  He laughed. Mia turned back to Mrs. Murray, who was watching the exchange with a blank expression. “You sound like you know Rory,” she said.

  “I do. I met his mother several years ago and we became friends. This is a strange coincidence.”

  “Everyone says it’s a small world,” she said.

  “Yes. But the most important thing is that we learn what caused this reaction and make sure to keep Rory away from the allergens that trigger it. His reaction was life-threatening. You need to be aware of that and be vigilant at all times.”

  “I can’t imagine what it was,” she replied. “I made him chocolate cupcakes out of a mix and brought them up to the hospital this morning so he could have them for the party, but nobody ever said he was allergic to chocolate. Just peanut butter.”

  “You didn’t report that to the staff,” Mia said. “There’s no notation of his allergy in his chart.”

  “I didn’t? Oh, dear. I guess it slipped my mind in the panic.”

  Mia sighed. “Regardless. There were no nuts in the recipe at all? Even the frosting?”

  “No. None of the kids like nuts.”

  “No nut oils? Peanut oil or even olive oil—”

  “Peanut oil?”

  “Yes . . . ”

  “My boyfriend, Matt, bought peanut oil last night because the gas station convenience store was out of regular cooking oil. I know, who bakes with peanut oil? But I had no time to get anything else. Besides, it’s oil. I never even thought about that being an issue.”

  Are you serious?

  “You didn’t know peanut oil was made from peanuts?”

  “It’s processed.”

  “Ma’am, are you aware that people with severe allergies to nuts can react just by kissing someone who’s eaten them? Any nut product is dangerous.”

  “I . . . Kissing? For real?”

  That was her reaction? “Yes. Something you maybe should have known or looked up when you knew you had a child with allergies in your home.”

  “I am sorry. I’ve fostered lots of kids over the past few years and never dealt with this. We have a busy household, and somebody from the state should have warned me how dangerous this could be. Matt didn’t know about the oil either.”

  Her contrition would have been more palatable if not for the web of defensiveness she wound around the apology.

  “I’m not sure if Matt is part of the original application for approval as a foster care home or not,” Mia said. “If not, then it isn’t his responsibility, it’s yours. Regardless, you made the food. Mothers are responsible for their children, whether they’re biological or fostered.”

  Shawna Murray looked like she might haul back and slug her. Mia stood her ground. She had dealt with social services enough to know the dire responsibility fostering children in crisis situations entailed. In her opinion, this woman’s clueless attitude was entirely too flippant and self-centered. Not that Mia expected hysterics or tears, but some regret might have been appropriate. Maybe a hug for the boy?

  “You can rest assured there will be no more peanut oil in any food in the house,” Shawna said at last, her voice tight. “And you’ll know what to look for now, too, right Rory?”

  “I guess.”

  “And we’ll train Matt.” She smiled.

  Rory frowned and turned his head slowly away. One little fist clenched against the white sheets. “Don’t think that’ll help.”

  “He and Matt are still getting to know ea
ch other,” Shawna said.

  “How long has your Matt been in the picture?” Mia asked.

  “Oh? Six months.”

  “And you’re sure he’s safe with the children?”

  Shawna stood again. “Excuse me? What are you insinuating?”

  “I’m only asking questions any county inspection worker would ask. I’m not insinuating anything.”

  “For your information, he’s a great guy who loves people. He’s a body builder and personal trainer at the gym where we both work. He’s in great shape and can do all kinds of great healthy, physical fitness things with the kids.”

  Sounded like Matt was simply a great person all around. Awesome. Two gym rats caring for kids. Thinking of them as such was unfair and a gross generalization, Mia knew, but with every sentence, Shawna Murray sounded more and more like Workout Barbie.

  “Big deal. He can bench press Lisa.” Rory still didn’t look at them.

  “Bench press?”

  “Lisa is my daughter. She’s six. She thinks it’s funny that Matt can lift her up like a barbell. It’s very cute.”

  It probably was. What had Brooke said? Loving and nice, but ditzy? So far, so accurate.

  “Ms. Murray,” she said, calming her voice, trying to follow Brooke’s earlier advice and channel some of the patience she had with Rory. “Now that we know the source of Rory’s trouble today, you can probably use some information. I think if you go out to the nurse’s station and tell them I sent you, they’ll have pamphlets you can take home that will help you know how to prevent this from occurring again in the future. I have a couple of questions for Rory about how he’s feeling, so I can stay with him until you come back. Is that all right?”

  She deserved a medal for that sweet performance.

  Shawna relaxed in place, seemingly accepting the apology at face value. “That’s a good idea. I’d like the information to read over. Who knew allergies could cause such issues?”

  Mia shook her head and turned back to Rory when his foster mom had gone. “Okay, you. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “It’s good Mrs. Murray finally came, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Whatever.”