by Leah Shay
"Thanks, Amy."
"Thank you, Kyra. Have a good night," Cattleya said.
"I like her," Amy whispered to her mom as they walked away.
I got the antibiotics and the admissions paperwork. I opened the door to the sitting area of Mr. Stone's room. It was empty. I knocked on the door, and a female voice called me in. I entered the room. Mark was on his phone texting, J.C. was by the window in a recliner watching television, and Gabby was on the sofa using her iPad.
"Kyra, this is my sister Gabby, and I think you've met J.C.," Mark said, looking up from his phone.
"I'm here to make sure he behaves," Gabby said, as she settled into the sofa across from Mark's bed. "He can be a handful."
"Shut up, Gabby," Mark said jokingly.
She smiled.
"Nice to meet you, Gabby."
"Likewise, Kyra." She turned her attention to her iPad.
"Do you need me for anything, Kyra?" Mark asked in that mellow voice.
"I'm hanging your antibiotics," I said as I placed the antibiotic on the pole and connected it. "I also have to do an admission, so I'll need to ask you a few questions if that's okay with you."
"Now is perfect," he said, and placed his cell phone next to him.
I heard Mark call to J.C., and I turned around to see J.C. and Gabby walking toward the door. I jumped as the door slammed shut behind them. When I entered and saw that Gabby and J.C. were in the room, I had been so thankful. Now I was all alone with him. Why did they do that?
I steadied my shaky hands and placed my fingers on top of the black X on his left foot where his pulse should be. I felt a tingle in my fingertips. He had such soft feet, nice toes, well-pedicured. I was not into feet, but I could...
"How am I doing?" he asked, interrupting my thoughts.
"Just fine," I answered and removed my hand from his foot. The tingling lingered.
"Are you married, Kyra?"
I picked up my papers and flipped through the pages. "No, I'm not," I answered.
"Are you engaged?" he probed.
"I think I should be the one asking the questions."
"How about this: for each question you ask me, I ask you one."
"No deal. Can we get started?"
He nodded, but I knew he was not the kind of guy who gave up easily.
"What's your height and weight?"
"Five-ten, 175 pounds."
"Are you allergic to anything?"
"I have no medication or food allergies, but what I am severely allergic to is not getting my questions answered, and I tend to get this uncontrollable urge to dig further."
I shifted uncomfortably as his eyes pierced through me.
"Do you have a primary care doctor?"
He gave me the name and number of his doctor in Brazil. "Who would you like to make health care decisions for you if you are unable to?"
"My mother."
"Name and number."
"C-a-t-t-l-e-y-a." He spelt her first name. "Stern."
"Phone number."
He gave me her number and I wrote it down.
"Do you smoke or drink?"
"I don't smoke, but I drink occasionally."
"Are you on any medications?"
"No."
"Any health history, surgical history, psych history?"
"No."
"Any previous accidents?"
He smiled, and the warmth from his eyes traveled to the dark recesses within me. I looked away.
"Very intuitive, Kyra," he said. "Motorcycle accident two years ago broke my left arm, and a car accident four years ago broke four of my ribs and punctured a lung."
So, he was no stranger to accidents, I thought to myself.
"Are you a terrible driver or just plain unlucky?"
"Maybe a little of both."
"I'm so sorry. I should not have said that," I apologized.
"I'll accept that apology only if you tell me about that beautiful ring on your left ring finger."
"Sorry, I don't want to talk about it," I snapped at him.
"I know when to back off," he said, and grimaced as he tried to adjust himself in bed.
"Do you need me to help you?" I offered.
"Please adjust the pillows for me," he asked.
I noticed that his left wrist was wrapped with gauze. "Did you hurt your left wrist in the accident?" I asked.
"No," he answered awkwardly.
"Can I take a look?" I reached for his hand.
"Please don't," he said abruptly. As he pulled his hand from my reach, he winced in pain.
"Let me reposition your pillows," I said as I leaned over him, avoiding his eyes, but a very faint and familiar scent overcame me and I almost staggered backwards as the bad memories flooded in.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, with great concern on his face.
"Let's just say I'm allergic to Clive Christian No. 1."
"I thought you saw a ghost."
"I'm sorry. Can you please sign here for me?" I handed him the papers and my pen.
"Nice pen," he said, as he signed the paperwork and handed them back to me.
"Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"
"I'm fine, Kyra. I'll call if I need anything. Thanks for your help."
I hurried from the room. J.C. was in the sitting area watching soccer on the television. I opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, and leaned against the wall, hyperventilating. Clive Christian No. 1 was Robert's favorite cologne and a scent that had lingered in our house for a long time after Robert's death. I had not encountered that distinct, hauntingly rich scent of Indian sandalwood and Arabian jasmine for years until now.
Marie, another RN on the unit, came out of Room 822. She looked at me questioningly. The frown lines on her forehead wrinkled her smooth, flawless, dark brown face.
"Are you all right, Kyra?" she asked. "Is your VIP giving you problems?"
"I'm fine, Marie," I said, controlling myself.
"Are you sure?" she insisted. "I've never seen you so flustered before. You're always so cool and calm."
I needed to get off this floor for a while, so I called Jenn to see if she was available for lunch. She agreed to meet me in the cafeteria. I got our food, even though I did not feel like eating, and sat at a table and waited for Jenn.
"What's up? You don't usually take your lunch this early," Jenn said, as she sat at the table. She eyed me suspiciously, and stuck a French fry in her mouth.
"My patient got me a bit flustered. That's all."
"Which patient...oh, you don't have to tell me. Mr. Beautiful," she laughed. "When was the last time you got flustered over a man? This is big."
"This guy has been on the floor for three hours," I said. "The sound of his voice, the look in his eyes, the tingle in my fingers when I touch him. I'm acting all weird. He asked me if I was engaged, married, what my ring meant..."
"Hey, hey," Jenn interrupted. "You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you're attracted to him, and from the questions he's asking, he's interested in you."
"I don't think so."
"What? That you are attracted to him?"
"Yes."
"When was the last time you felt this way about a man? I've never heard you talk like this before."
"He is not attracted to me."
"Kyra, if I were a man, you would be my girlfriend...my wife, the mother of my children. I'd have you knocked up, tied up..."
"Can you be serious, Jenn?" She was not making the situation any better. "He's a patient. There has to be something wrong about that. No, let me correct myself. There is something wrong about that. I could be brought up on charges of sexual misconduct of a health-care worker."
"This is a very gray issue, Kyra. First and foremost, he's not a vulnerable patient, he's not cognitively impaired, he's hospitalized for an injured leg, and you did not force yourself on him or intimidate him."
"I was taught in school that it was inappropri
ate to have anything other than a nurse-patient relation, and accept it as that."
"Actually, the Code of Ethics states that you are responsible to establish and maintain ethical boundaries with your patients, and if faced with unethical issues, to remove yourself from the situation."
"What's the hospital policy?"
"Zero tolerance. Can't date a patient or patient's family member for six months after discharge or you'll be fired."
"So, I'll be violating hospital policies?"
"Yes, and the Code of Ethics. Even if he's the one that pursues you, they can say you did not act in the patient's best interest, and you abused your nurse-client relationship."
"What I'm afraid of is if I continue to be his nurse, I will eventually cross a whole lot of boundaries."
"Then remove yourself from the situation, Kyra."
"I don't think I can."
"Kyra, please be careful," she warned. "You know this place. There are eyes and ears everywhere."
"Jenn, I want to do the right thing, but I can't. I don't have the mental or physical strength to separate myself from him."
She smiled. "My friend, you have got it bad, but do you think you are the first nurse to fall for a patient? You know Kathy. Her husband was her patient, but she asked for a temporary transfer back to the ER until he was discharged from her unit."
"No." I shook my head. "Not a patient, not me. No way."
"Kyra, there is nothing wrong with love. It's been eight freaking years. It's time for you to let go and move on. You are a beautiful person inside and out. You deserve to be happy. You need to let someone back in your heart, baby. Life is not fair; we see that almost every day. It's your comeback that counts. You have to give love another try." She stuck some more fries in her mouth. "You are your worst enemy, you know that? You have chased away so many good men. You remember Steven? He is now one of the best plastic surgeons in Miami. We could have gotten free work if we ever needed it. And he was hot, too."
"I don't know why I talk to you sometimes."
She spoke the truth, but I had no idea how to do what she was suggesting. I'd cut off all feelings for so long. I didn't know how to turn them back on. I began to play with the ring on my left hand.
"You know, sometimes you make me regret finding that ring and giving it to you," Jenn said.
"If it was not for this ring, we would not have been best friends," I pointed out.
"Who knows? Maybe you would have been happier and not been held hostage by it. Do you ever take it off?"
"Only to clean it."
"Why don't you try wearing it on the other hand, for starters?"
"I don't know, Jenn, but I'll try," I promised.
She leaned back in her chair, and a smile crept across her face. I knew she was coming up with something smart.
"What?" I said, annoyed.
"After eight years, you should be like a virgin again."
"Oh my God! Jenn, you are insufferable."
"You are going to make someone very happy." She smiled mischievously.
I took up my tray and dumped it in the trash. She sure knew how to irritate me, but I could not ask for a better friend.
Back on the floor, I did the rounds on my patients. I opened the door to 825, hoping that he was asleep, and it seemed like I lucked out. J.C. was in the recliner by the window on his phone. Did he ever sleep? He constantly watched over his friend. I silently closed the door and walked over to the bed. Mark looked so peaceful and angelic asleep. I gently touched the top of his left foot; he had a very strong pulse. The warmth from his foot traveled through my fingers. I looked at his pain pump. He had not pressed it since the last time I was here. As I placed my hand on the door handle to open it, I heard: "Thank you, Kyra."
It was Mark, and he had not been sleeping.
"You're welcome," I mumbled, pulled the door open, and stepped out.
.
Seven o'clock could not come fast enough. I needed an escape from the hospital, Mark Stone, and hopefully, my conflicting feelings for him. My body and brain were fatigued and I could not think straight anymore. Maybe after getting some sleep I'd realize how ludicrous all this was. A patient...how could I feel this way about a patient? Sophia would be Mark's nurse today. I know she shared my exact sentiments about VIPs, but she was a very good nurse, with a great personality, and would take excellent care of him.
I loved to see the day shift in the mornings. It signaled an end to my stressful twelve-hour shift. I finally got to go home.
"Kyra, am I getting two VIPs?" Sofia asked, a worried look on her face.
"The VIP is in 825, and his family has 826."
She was baffled, just as I had been. "Who is he?" Sophia asked.
"Nobody knows."
"I hate taking care of VIPs," she mumbled under her breath.
"Likewise, and we always get stuck with them, but we do our jobs the best we can, and it is such a good feeling when we convert that terrible patient, and he or she requests you as their nurse. Otherwise, there is nothing you can do to make them happy."
"By now we are experts at kissing butts and smiling through the pain." She fidgeted with her pen nervously. "So, is he a bad one or a good one?"
"I think he is a good one," I assured her.
Relief washed over her face.
We'd had patients that were so demanding, inconsiderate, and rude that we had to rotate nurses to take care of them. Nurses refused to take care of them, and would even call off from work to escape that assignment. With the VIPs, the stress was greater because of who they were or who they knew. Nobody wanted to be the one that dropped the ball.
I gave her the report and we both walked to the room, so that I could introduce her to the patient. Maybe I should have given her a heads-up on his attractiveness. I knocked quietly and stuck my head in to see if he was sleeping. Mark and J.C. were awake, and watching soccer.
"Come on in, Kyra," Mark said and turned the light on.
"Mark, this is Sophia. She will be your nurse today."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sophia."
"The pleasure is all mine," Sophia replied, staring at him.
"Sophia, can you please check the pain pump?" I asked, before she started to drool.
"Uh...okay," she said, and walked over to the pump to check the settings.
"So, will you be back tonight?" Mark asked.
"Yes, I will."
"And will you be my nurse?"
"I'm not sure." I knew Amanda was going to give him back to me tonight, but I didn't want him to know that yet. "I'll see you tonight," he said. "Get some sleep."
"Thank you and have a good day," I said politely.
"He is so gorgeous," Sophia said, as the door closed behind us.
I smiled. "See you later, Sophia."
It was always such a relief to walk out those hospital doors in the morning. This morning, it was a bit different. I felt like I had forgotten something, and could not remember what it was. I flashed back to Mark's reaction when I offered to look at his bandaged left wrist, and wondered why he had been so abrupt and guarded. Why wouldn't he let me take a look?
My cell phone rang. "Hi, Nate."
"Good morning, Mom." His voiced sounded over the car speakers. "Calling to say good morning, and I'm on my way to school."
"Have a good day."
"Aunt Maggie is going shopping. She said she'll see you later."
"Okay, I love you."
"I love you, too, Mom. Bye."
Aunt Maggie had rescued us after Rob died. She never had kids of her own and I'd always considered her my second mom. She moved in with us and had taken care of us ever since. I pulled into my garage and noticed my recurve bow mounted on the wall. I removed it, got the arrows, and went into the backyard where the target was set up. I put on my arm guard and finger tab, assumed an open stance, and notched my arrow. I held the arrow, raised the bow, and drew in one smooth motion. I aimed, pulled the strings farther, and released the arrow. The arr
ow went flying. Nothing was more exhilarating. I heard the thud, worst shot ever. A few more inches and the arrow would have been in the lake. Concentrate, concentrate, I chanted to myself. I notched another arrow.
Rob's voice was in my head: Lift your head, and focus on the target. I did.
Now draw the bow. Take a deep breath and hold it, Rob's voice said.
Now release the strings.
The arrow went flying right where I wanted it, the center of the bullseye. I fired off a few more arrows, and was very happy with my target practice.
"What's going on, Kyra?" Aunt Maggie called from the back porch. "Haven't seen you do that in a while...bad night?"
"Something like that." I planted a kiss on her cheek as I passed by her.
I returned the weapon to the garage, showered, and went to bed. As I lay there, I could not help but wonder how Mark was doing, and for the first time ever could not wait to get back to work. My right hand instinctively played with the ring on my left hand. I quickly pulled the ring off my finger and gently placed it on the night table. My hand felt free, light, and unburdened. I settled in bed, hoping sleep would take away all this anxiety. Then a thought came to me. Who was Mark Stone? I grabbed my iPhone and googled "millionaire," but the list was too long and Mark Stone was not his real name. I remembered his mother's last name was Stern, and Carlos had said he was in telecommunications, so I typed in "Stern Brazilian telecommunications millionaire" and presto! A picture of him appeared on my screen, along with an article on how he started his business and his rise to billionaire status. He was Jared Stern, Brazil's most eligible bachelor.
The Stern family was American-Brazilian and their primary residence was in Brazil. He owned the largest mobile-phone carrier in Latin America and the Caribbean. His parents owned a successful real estate firm, which he had taken over and expanded internationally into commercial real estate, therefore, acquiring a mass interest in both telecommunications and real estate. His charitable contributions had placed him amongst the top twenty-five philanthropists in the world. His causes addressed severe social and economic problems and provided education, food, and medication to children in high poverty areas around the globe. He made my contributions to saving an inner city dance studio seem so minute, but if we all gave a little, we would make such a positive impact on people's life.