“Buster!”
“He’s a very nice man. You were lucky he’s the one who helped you when your mom got sick.”
“I would live with him if I could.”
She stroked his cheek. The child obviously craved anyone and anyplace where he could get attention. “I can see why. But you know you can’t live on the street, even if Buster does. And there’s good news for him, too. He got a job. That’s why I took Jack home with me. Buster can’t watch him during the days anymore.”
“Good morning!”
Shawna Murray interrupted the celebration over Jack, entering with a small suitcase and a back pack. Today her workout pants were hot pink and purple, and her shoes a brilliant shade of chartreuse. She’d covered it all with a purple-and-aqua Columbia jacket.
“I have clothes for you to go home in,” she said. “When I get done with my classes this morning, I’ll come back and get you. Matt is waiting and he’s—”
“Look!” Rory forgot to be apathetic and interrupted her by holding out Mia’s phone. “It’s Jack! Dr. Mia found Jack!”
Shawna shot Mia a confused and unhappy look. “The cat he’s always talking about?”
“His cat, yes,” Mia replied.
Shawna watched about ten seconds of the video and handed the phone back. “Rory, you know we talked about this. I won’t have cats in the house. Not with the baby and with Matt’s allergies. He has to find a better home.”
“Mrs. Murray.” Mia stepped closer to the woman. “As a physician, I can tell you how good medically and psychologically this would be for him. He’s in a difficult place, and having someone from his family with him would ease his way. Especially since his activities will be limited over the next few weeks.”
The woman who turned on her—after one of Mia’s better efforts at a pleasant bedside manner if she did say so—was someone she hadn’t seen before. Shawna’s brows pinched into arched arrows, and her pupils narrowed to pinpoints.
“Excuse me, but this is really none of your concern. You aren’t Rory’s doctor, and you don’t know the dynamics of our busy household. You lectured me about the dangers of allergic reactions yesterday. Well how would it be to have a mangy animal come in and set off allergies in the rest of the family? The cat is not welcome in the house, and I made that abundantly clear to the case worker who set Rory up with us.”
On the bed, Rory, whose face had been so euphoric moments earlier, clutched at his blanket and stared at his foster mother, his lip quivering.
“Mrs. Murray, sit down,” Mia countered, her voice calm but unmistakably firm. “There’s a chair right here. You need to stop before you upset Rory further.”
“I am sorry to upset him; that’s not my intention,” she said. “But he knows the rules and knew them from the start. I won’t have you telling Rory he can have that cat,” she said. “What gave you the right to go find it for him anyway?”
“The right one friend has to another,” she said. “Now if you need to calm down so Rory sees everything is all right, I have no problem asking you to leave for a few moments. If you’ll recall, I never insisted you take the cat, nor will I. I merely observed something that could help Rory. Since that won’t work, we’ll find another way.”
“You’re right, we will.”
“Let me help you put this in the closet.”
Mia reached for the backpack, and Shawna whirled it from her, smacking her knuckles on the edge of table. With a cry she finally sank into the chair. “I insist you leave.” She hissed out a breath. “What are you trying to do?”
“No!” Rory was full on crying now. “I don’t want her to leave. She’s the only one who cares about me or my cat.”
At that Shawna seemed to gather her wits. She set Rory’s suitcase on the floor and leaned forward in her chair, blowing on her hand. “I am sorry, Rory. I had a very hard morning with the kids, and I’m taking my crabbies out on you.”
Unkindly, Mia wondered how often that happened. But she kept her mouth shut.
“I just want to see Jack.” Rory held his hands out toward Mia. “I want to be where he is.”
“You can’t be with Jack,” Shawna said, straightening back up in the chair. “I’m sorry, but that all changed when your mother got sick.
“Good morning, troops! How’s my patient this morning?” The room got even more crowded as Fred Wilson entered. “Dr. Crockett. Surprised to see you here.”
“She shouldn’t be here.”
“She found my cat.”
Shawna and Rory spoke simultaneously.
“Do we have a problem?” Dr. Wilson looked directly at Mia.
“Not at all,” she replied. “Rory is correct. I located his cat last night. I came in this morning to say hi and to tell him Jack is fine.”
“I want to take him home,” Rory said, almost sobbing now.
“I have an idea, Mrs. Murray,” Mia said. “I have to leave because I have surgery scheduled in an hour. But perhaps you’d bring Rory to visit Jack? If he could see him once or twice, perhaps he’d feel better.”
“I want to visit. Please?” Rory tugged on Shawna’s jacket sleeve.
“Rory.” Shawna sighed, as if exhausted by the subject. “You know how busy nights and weekends are. We’ll see.”
Mia reached into her breast pocket and pulled out two of her business cards. She handed one to Shawna and the other directly to Rory, who stared in awe, as if she’d given him Willy Wonka’s golden ticket.
“I’ll be happy to get him back and forth from your home to mine,” Mia said. “Please give me a call to set something up.”
Shawna nodded curtly, stuffed the card in her pocket, and turned to Dr. Wilson. “So Rory can still come home today, right?”
Mia sighed. She had little hope Shawna would follow through on her end with the cat.
“Oh, I think we can let him leave.” Wilson chuckled. “Sound good to you, Rory, my man? I’d like to take a listen to your heart and tummy, and if everything sounds good we’ll set you up with an appointment in two weeks and spring you.”
Rory shook his head adamantly. “Dr. Mia can listen. And I want to go see Jack.”
“You can’t go see Jack today,” Shawna said. “And you have to let Dr. Wilson check you out, or you can’t go home.”
Mia brushed past Wilson, garnering a glare, and reached the far side of Rory’s bed. She took his hand. “Since Dr. Wilson is the one who’s in charge of deciding when you’re well enough to go home, he has to be the one who listens. I know it sounds silly, but the hospital has rules. You let him do that, and I’ll stay right here. When he’s done, we’ll talk some more about Jack.”
“Don’t get his hopes—” Shawna began. Mia held up her hand and cut her off.
Rory gripped her fingers tightly and nodded, so she motioned to Wilson.
Once the exam was completed, Mia patted Rory’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Now, here’s what I’m going to do. In my office I have a way to print the pictures off my phone. I’ll do that and make sure you get them before you leave.”
“Will you come and say good-bye?”
“I will try, but I won’t promise, okay? Because I don’t know if the surgery I have to do now will be finished before you go, and I don’t want to tell you something that turns out to be a lie. But I’ll find you soon and show you more pictures of Jack.”
“I’ll come and see him.” His bravado crumbled a little, and he looked toward Shawna who spoke with Dr. Wilson.
Mia leaned in close to whisper. “We’ll keep working on it.”
She patted his arm again and stood, excusing herself. She was pushing the button on the staff elevator for the first floor when Wilson caught her.
“Dr. Crockett. May I have a word with you please?” His clipped words were not a request.
“Anytime,” she said coolly.
“I find your attitude toward that mother in there—and, frankly, toward me—highly offensive and inappropriate.”
“I’m sorry to h
ear that.” She held her tongue, again, with a great deal of trouble.
“You may be some sort of wunderkind in your general surgery group, but up here you do not rule.”
“I don’t rule anywhere, Doctor. My job is to care for the patients, and that’s precisely what I did in this case. I also made it possible for you to examine your patient without a meltdown on his part. I’m not precisely sure what your problem with me is.”
“You’re a surgeon, not a pediatrician or even an internal med doc. You didn’t belong in that room.”
She spun on him. “Have you forgotten I’m a longtime friend of the child’s? I was the only one in that room he wanted to speak with. If I were you, I’d be thanking me.” The elevator beeped and the doors rolled open with well-oiled precision. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a three-year-old’s hernia to repair.”
He didn’t follow her onto the elevator, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the doors closed on his unyielding features. She never intended for words come out as stridently as they did, but she hated having to placate people. The way she saw it, all she wanted was for Rory to be safe and happy. All Fred Wilson wanted was to be in charge.
The elevator doors slid open again, and she made for her office. One voice mail message awaited her, from the suddenly omnipresent Gabriel Harrison. She almost expected the array of emotions, from anticipation to mild exasperation to the thrumming heartbeat that took over her entire body.
“Good morning, Dr. Crockett.” His voice, with its hint of teasing, made her smile in spite of herself. “I’m playing secretary one last time to let you know Joely went for two more follow-up tests early this morning, and if you want to reach her she’ll be back in her room by noon. Also, your sister Harper is back in town, and she’ll be able to take over communications, so I won’t be clogging up your voice mails.” He hesitated slightly and chuckled. “Not that I mind—there’s really nobody else I’d rather cross swords with. So. You have a great day. And call if you have a question. Or need a good argument.”
She covered her mouth with one hand and tried not to laugh. What should have irritated her only made her regret he wouldn’t be Joely’s messenger any longer. The man was aggravation and immaturity, salted with minor helpfulness, and what would have made her rejoice yesterday—the thought of not having to speak with him anymore—today made her slightly sad. Maybe, as her hippie sister Harper would say, Mercury was in retrograde.
She cleaned out her e-mail inbox and gathered what she needed to take with her for surgery. The phone rang while she was reaching to turn out her light. Only Gabriel’s message that Joely was having more tests made her decide to answer.
“Amelia Crockett.”
“Dr. Crockett, I am Justin McNeil, an attorney representing Monique Beltane. I have some news that directly affects you concerning Ms. Beltane’s estate. Do you have a moment to speak with me?”
She had no more than a moment, but there wasn’t any way she was going to let that hook hang unaddressed for two hours. “Of course, Mr. McNeil, what can I do for you?”
“You’re no doubt aware that Ms. Beltane is undergoing treatment for breast cancer.”
“Yes.”
“Before her recent hospitalization, she made some alterations to her will. You consider yourself to be good friends with Ms. Beltane and her ten-year-old son, is that right?”
“Yes I do, although I have only seen her once since she’s been in prison. May I ask before we go on what currently has her hospitalized?”
“I’m not allowed to divulge medical details, as you know well, but I can tell you that cancer was detected in the breast that had been unaffected, and she underwent a partial mastectomy.”
Mia’s stomach dropped in dismay. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“I do know the prognosis is not hopeless, so she’ll continue with chemotherapy. Nevertheless, she has wanted for some time to make arrangements for her son. To that end, she has named you as Rory’s legal guardian should anything happen to her.
“I’m sorry? Guardian? Legal? What does that mean?” Shell-shock was not too strong a word for the panic clawing through her chest.
“Should anything happen to Ms. Beltane, custody of Rory would be yours unless a relative makes a protest, or there are questions about your fitness as a parent.”
That was the most ludicrous thing she’d ever heard. Parent?
“Mr. McNeil, I don’t think I want to accept this.”
“I know it’s a shock.” For the first time he didn’t sound like an automaton. “The will is signed and witnessed, so it’s legal. What I would suggest is you have a conversation with Ms. Beltane.”
“I will definitely be doing exactly that.”
“I don’t have any more details for you, Dr. Crockett. The will was signed and notarized yesterday. I wanted to give you a chance to handle the information as you see fit. You could, of course, refuse, but Ms. Beltane hopes you will accept.”
The room spun slightly and Mia hit her desk chair like a ragdoll tossed by a child. Even when the spinning stopped she couldn’t make herself believe.
“Can I answer any questions for you?” McNeil asked.
“Could I have your contact information?” Mia rubbed her eyes. “I’m sure I do have questions, but I can’t think of a single one at the moment. May I call you?”
“Of course. I’ll send you my contact information in an e-mail. Feel free to talk to Monique. I can get you access to her despite the fact that she’s in a secure wing of the hospital.”
“Thank you for calling.”
She should have been more cordial or chatty, but her brain seemed to have frozen. When the line went dead she had to sit for ten long minutes before she had enough strength to compartmentalize her emotions and head for surgery. There were often surprises in the OR, too, but at least she had a modicum of control over that world. It was more than she could say for what had gone on outside the OR these past two days.
IT WAS ONLY November second, but the Wyoming air had turned into stinging needles of cold. Despite the arrival of wintery weather Gabe walked the two blocks from Pete’s office to the hospital, barely turning up his jacket’s fleece collar and lifting his head periodically to peer at the mountains visible from the front of the VA complex. This had to be one of the most beautiful hospital campuses in the country. He’d grown up in central Nebraska, which had its charm, but he’d fallen hard for the Rockies after returning from Iraq six years before and landing the job here. He could no longer imagine leaving. Even on his lowest days the Tetons could awe him.
It was a pretty low morning.
He’d met with Pete to discuss the conduct of his group, and although the guillotine hadn’t come down, there were hands poised on the lever waiting to drop the blade.
“If the only thing these guys are going to do is run around covering cars with paper and condiments, they can do that without being under a program we’re funding.” Pete was clearly done with their escapades. “The deal for them is this: yesterday’s incident will be forgiven and forgotten so long as there’s not another. And I mean nothing—no getting fired from a job, no drunk and disorderlies, no plastic wrap under a toilet seat, no college-level protest pranks. One more episode and the plug gets pulled.”
It was too harsh a reaction in Gabe’s mind, but he did understand. The program was under scrutiny, and to survive it needed to be clean. The men needed to behave. “Fair enough,” he replied. “They’ll get the message.”
“Gabe,” Pete had said. “Be realistic about this. Don’t get so invested you can’t see what’s going on. You can’t save everyone.”
Gabe entered the hospital cold and far from calmed. He punched the button for the elevator and knew he had to get a grip before seeing his patients, but it was difficult this morning. He detested it when anybody told him he couldn’t save everyone. The trouble with people who spent all their time bean counting was they forgot that everyone deserved to be saved.
Everyone who g
ot sent to wage war at their country’s behest and who managed to get back still breathing was changed forever. They didn’t all have PTSD, not everyone came back with missing limbs or even recurring nightmares. But everyone was changed. And those who did return with the most serious problems deserved every program and experimental program and not-yet-funded-or-conceived-of program that could possibly heal him or her.
Of course he could not literally save everyone. But by heaven he was going to his grave having tried. He owed it to his buddies who hadn’t come back, and Jibril and his family, too.
He took the elevator to the fifth floor where Joely Crockett had been in residence for two weeks. For nearly a month before that, she’d been in the intensive care unit. And now it sounded like she might have even more hospital time ahead of her.
He forced the morning’s bad energy from his thoughts and rapped on Joely’s open door. “Good morning,” he called. “I see you’re back from the torture that is physical therapy, and it’s not noon yet. Pretty good.”
She smiled, no longer shy with him about the scar traversing the length of her right jawline and across her chin. With other visitors, even her sisters, she tended to draw her hair forward to cover those most visible signs of her accident. Today she had the television on, a rarity, as well as magazine open in her lap.
“Multitasking, I see,” he teased.
“I’m supposed to be giving myself motivation but, really, I’m only depressing myself.” Despite her words, she smiled again. “I shouldn’t be watching things about horses.”
“I’m sorry. But maybe it’s good you’re starting to think about them again.”
Her shrug was that of a sad, weary person. “I miss my girl. I’m working on not feeling guilty.”
“Because?” She didn’t answer his prompt so he urged her with his voice. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know. I know.”
She might never be convinced the accident in which her horse had died truly hadn’t been her fault, but he wouldn’t give up telling her. “What did they say after your tests this morning?”
The Bride Wore Red Boots Page 8