by Pat Simmons
Behind closed doors in the charting room, Brecee conferred with Regina.
“It looks like we have a couple patients with neurological injuries,” Regina told her.
“I have an eight-year-old with severe injuries to the left leg and a seven- year-old with penetrating injuries,” Brecee said. “I recommend we admit them immediately.”
Regina nodded. “I’ll have one of the nurses alert the surgical staff.”
There was no time to waste; every year, in the U.S. alone, more than seven thousand children under fourteen years old nationally die from severe injuries, and Brecee refused to let that number rise.
“I’m concerned about patient A’s blood pressure,” Brecee said. “It’s normal now, but the residents are monitoring the hemodynamics for any sudden changes.” A moment later, she added, “Hopefully, we’ll have some downtime to catch up on each other’s weekend.” Regina nodded as Brecee left to assess a patient in one of the treatment rooms.
By late afternoon, Brecee felt she had worked a double shift. She was tired and hungry. The staff had ordered takeout, and she was glad for the food. She was about to take her sandwich and salad to her office to eat when the night receptionist stopped her.
“Dr. Carmen, you had a delivery.” She pointed to the vase of flowers on the counter. “With all the commotion earlier, the day receptionist forgot to tell you.”
“Thanks, Mattie.” Brecee smiled at God’s natural beauty captured in the flowers. The Lord knew she needed them as a calming effect. Shifting her food container into her other hand, Brecee grabbed the vase and tucked it under her arm. Once in her office, she set the flowers on the desk and then ripped the envelope off the cellophane wrapping. It wasn’t that she never received flowers, but twice in one week was any girl’s delight. She hoped they were from Dolan. He seemed compatible with her, especially with his clear commitment to instill the love of Christ in his daughter’s life.
She pulled out the card and frowned.
Thank you.
—Adrian
What he was thanking her for? Brecee wondered, but there wasn’t time to solve the puzzle now, though, because her stomach was growling.
Her dinner was consumed before Brecee realized she had eaten it all. She stood and performed some stretching exercises, then returned to the emergency department for the last couple hours of her shift.
Brecee went home with her heart aching for the little ones and their families. She prayed especially for the two boys who were just barely clinging to life. Before she retired to bed that night, she got on her knees and kept praying until the anointed presence of God filled her bedroom and her mouth poured forth His heavenly language in other tongues.
When she stood, Laura Cole came to mind. Since she hadn’t heard from Dolan, she decided to call Adrian.
“Hi, Adrian. It’s Dr. Carmen.”
“Ah, the lovely Dr. Sabrece Carmen,” he greeted her crisply. “Why do you always keep me wondering if you’ve received what I’ve sent to you?”
How could she have forgotten about the latest floral arrangement? It had lifted her spirits, even if Dolan hadn’t sent it. “I’m calling now,” she said. “Doesn’t that count? Thank you for the flowers. They are lovely, although I don’t know why you felt the need to thank me.”
“Because you came.”
She blinked. His reason was simple, but she found that somehow refreshing, appealing. Brecee liked simple.
And she was embarrassed for failing to properly thank him for all his kindnesses to her. “I also need to thank you for the oil change, the car wash, the tasty breakfast....”
He laughed, and the sound was contagious. “I get it. It was the least I could do, although I wish I could have spent some time getting to know you.”
She wanted to ask in what way, but that would have sounded too much like flirting. “Believe me, I wasn’t bored,” she assured him. “Your little cousin was great company. By the way, I haven’t heard from Dolan. How is Laura is doing?”
“She’s fine.”
That was it? Brecee wanted to ask if they’d gotten a diagnosis and established a treatment plan, but she didn’t want to violate patient confidentiality. “Great,” she replied. “Please tell Dolan I asked about her.”
“I will. Since I have you on the phone, Dr. Carmen—or can I call you Brecee, as you told Dolan to?”
Was that a touch of jealousy she heard? Nah. “Of course.”
“Thank you, Brecee. Do you have plans for Friday?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She had committed to letting Shae drag her to that annual fund-raiser dinner—again.
“Then perhaps another time,” he said, in a tone that indicated the conversation was over. “I’ll make sure my cousins know you asked about them.”
“Adrian?” she said softly, not liking the finality in her tone and blaming her aloofness for it. “You have excellent taste in flowers. And I like the scent of the air freshener they used in my car.”
“Both remind me of you. I hope we’ll talk soon.”
The call left her confused. Maybe Adrian was more complex than she’d thought.
She wondered if that was good or bad.
Chapter Seven
T
here was no such thing as “business as usual” in the emergency department, but Brecee and her staff welcomed broken bones and sprains over traumas any day. However, every change of season ushered in a new set of problems. With the advent of spring, the staff was sure to see more injuries due to bicycles, skateboards, roller blades, and the like. It was impossible to overstate the importance of helmets to the patients and their parents.
Unfortunately, everything was business as usual in Brecee’s personal life. Spending time with Shae filled up her social calendar, usually from Friday through Sunday, unless Brecee went out with some of the other doctors from work.
On Friday evening, after a day of shopping and a hair appointment, Brecee had less than twenty minutes to finish dressing before the limo driver would pick her up for the affair Shae was dragging her to. The ride was courtesy of—or, rather, upon the insistence of—her famous baseball player brother-in-law. Brecee would have been happy to drive herself, but Rahn felt that whenever there was an after-five function, he and his plus- one—or plus-two—should arrive in style.
“Let my husband pamper us until your prince comes along,” Shae always argued.
So Brecee had finally stopped protesting.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror on her closet door and admired her gown. The pastel blue number was form-fitting from the bust line past her hips, then flared out in a short train that swished when she walked.
Usually, she wore her long hair straight or up in a bun, whatever was easier, but she’d had her hairstylist transform it into the mass of curls now swept off her neck and strategically gathered on top of her head.
Peeking out her bedroom window to the street below, she spied the white stretch limo pulling in front of her condo. With one last glance in the mirror, Brecee grabbed her wrap and her clutch purse, then turned off the lights as she made her way to the door. She opened it to find the driver standing there, poised to knock. “Dr. Carmen,” he said with a nod. Then he held out his arm and escorted her to the limo.
Brecee climbed in and found Shae sitting there, posing with her smartphone clicking away.
“More selfies to send back home?” Brecee teased.
“You know it!” Shae said, then puckered up for the camera.
Ever since the birth of her daughter, Shae had taken pictures of everything and everyone to text to the rest of the family.
Shae wrapped an arm around Brecee and held her phone at arm’s length. “Say cheese and hold it,” she said, clicking away.
The driver shook his head as he shut the door.
The ride downtown to the Peabody Opera House took less than fifteen minutes. Seemingly bored with amateur photography, Shae stuffed her smartphone inside her purse and openly admired Bre
cee’s curls.
“You’re looking good, Sis,” Brecee returned the compliment. “No wonder your husband has bodyguards protecting his cargo.”
Shae’s face and figure were a tad fuller since she'd had Sabrina. And while Brecee wasn’t jealous of that, she wouldn’t have minded getting the same glow from a happy marriage.
Slipping an arm through Brecee's, her sister whispered, “You know this isn’t just for show. Rahn treats me like a princess at home. I’m so glad God worked everything out between us. I’m in love to stay.” Shae wore a whimsical expression.
Brecee had yet to profess love to a man. Rahn had introduced her to some of his teammates, but she didn’t want to live in the spotlight like he and Shae did. She got enough of that from spending time with them. “Maybe one day, I’ll be able to say that, too,” Brecee said with a sigh.
“You need to get out more,” Shae insisted. “How else are you hoping to meet the man of your dreams?”
“And miss chaperoning you and Mr. Maxwell? Nah.” Brecee stuck out her tongue.
She did get out, usually with colleagues for group activities—parties, staff softball games, and more parties. Shae kept her busy, too, always dragging her along to various events. At first, Brecee had thought it was a fun way to meet people and get to know her new city of residence. Now, she thought she would prefer a simple candlelit dinner with a genuinely Christian man. Unfortunately for her, most of the men at Bethesda Temple were either engaged or already married.
Brecee was the lone Carmen holdout. “Maybe St. Louis doesn’t have any exciting eligible Christian bachelors for me.” She paused with a sigh intended to produce the maximum effect on her sister’s sympathies. “Maybe I should move back home, where all the fine men reside.” She smirked as she waited for Shae’s reaction.
“Don’t even think about it!” Shae snapped in all seriousness. “Shari and Stacy have each other in Philly. I want you here with me—please.”
In truth, Brecee had no desire to return home—not yet. She was closer with Shae than with her other two sisters, and she wasn’t ready to relocate again. Brecee figured she would give herself five years in St. Louis. Then, at thirty-six, she would reevaluate her options.
After reassuring Shae that she had no intentions of going anywhere, Brecee glanced out the window. The streetlights sparkled on Lindell Street as they traversed the Central West End, passing Forest Park. The scene reminded her of The Oval on Benjamin Franklin Parkway back home in Philly, with its outdoor cafes, vivid night life, and various festivals.
“You’re going to love the place where we’re going to tonight,” Shae interrupted her reverie. “I covered its grand reopening after the multimillion-dollar renovation. It was originally built in the mid-nineteen thirties as the Kiel Opera House. The attached auditorium closed in the nineties and was scheduled to be demolished to make way for Scott Trade Center.”
Brecee tried to listen attentively. For Shae, one of the biggest perks of being a news anchor/reporter was having a chance to learn all about the city’s culture and history. And she seemed to feel it was her duty to inform Brecee as a recent transplant to the “Gateway to the West.” At times, Brecee could take it or leave it.
“Here’s a little-known fact I found interesting: It was there that, in the mid-sixties, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Sammy Davis Jr. performed their only televised concert as the Rat Pack. Remember Johnny Carson? He was the emcee. It closed decades later.”
“I’m sure Mother, Auntie and Uncle Bradford would appreciate those ancient tidbits,” Brecee mumbled.
“Yep. But the grand reopening featured Jay Leno, Aretha Franklin, and Chuck Berry—at least they were from our lifetime.”
“You know Mr. Berry is my idol,” Brecee said, patting her chest.
In a sense, he was. When she was first learning how to play the guitar, she’d wanted to mimic his antics, foolishly figuring that if he could get away with them, so could she. Her parents weren’t amused and had constantly reminded her that his type of behavior wasn’t appropriate when performing for the Lord. Even so, with her rebellious streak, Brecee had tested her limits—with her mother, especially.
When the Arch appeared in the skyline, Brecee knew they were minutes from downtown. Shae transitioned from reporter mode to mommy mode by switching to her favorite subject—Sabrina.
As the unofficial in-house family pediatrician, Brecee always quizzed her sisters on her nieces’ and nephews’ gross and fine motor skills, making sure they met the expectations with each stage of development. Brecee presented Shae with a short checklist of questions regarding Sabrina’s mental development, and Shae beamed as she answered each one with a yes.
They passed the imposing figure of Union Station. The next stop was Peabody Opera House. After parking the limo on Market Street, the driver assisted them out.
Linking arms, the sisters fell into step and entered the lobby together. Brecee was impressed. “This is nice. I love the ambiance.” She felt like prancing around like a princess at a ball.
“I told you,” Shae said as an usher greeted them and asked for their tickets.
“So, when is Hubby supposed to get here?” Brecee whispered.
Shae took out her phone and pulled up the St. Louis Cardinals app to check the score. “They’re in the bottom of the seventh inning against the Texas Rangers, and they’re ahead, four to one. If they can hold them off until the top of the ninth, it won’t take Rahn long to get here. He’ll shower and dress at the stadium.”
Once they found their assigned table and Shae snagged a chair for her and Rahn, Brecee wondered if the spot next to her would remain empty. Why were the seats always grouped in twos, with the assumption that every guest would bring a date?
She glanced around, looking for anyone she recognized. Soon she spied some colleagues from the hospital as Shae waved at a reporter and a camera- person who were there to cover the event.
Soon, the musicians onstage began serenading the guests with soft jazz. Brecee tuned out all the instruments except for the guitar. Perfection. As she soaked up the music, their table mates began to arrive, all of them coupled off, as predicted.
While the servers delivered their salads, Brecee, Shae, and the others seated at their table took turns introducing themselves.
An older woman who'd identified herself as a jewelry store owner chuckled at Shae’s introduction. “Who doesn’t know St. Louis’ hat lady?” she asked, then gushed about how much she loved watching KMMD. Then she raved about how much she and Shae looked alike.
Early on in Shae’s St. Louis television career, she had made headlines by closing out the Sunday newscast wearing a fashionable hat she had worn to church that morning. Now, the viewers tuned in not only for the news but also to see the latest hat trend.
Once the program began, Shae turned her head left and right, checking for Rahn. Over her sister’s shoulder, Brecee saw her brother-in-law striding with determination toward their table. He held a finger to his lips, warning her not to alert Shae of his approach.
Rahn pulled out the chair next to Shae and delivered a lingering kiss to her lips before acknowledging the other guests at the table. He winked at Brecee, and she smiled.
What a difference a few years made. Her mind drifted back to a similar event at which Shae had been nominated for several awards. The organizer had invited Shae to kick off the musical entertainment. Of course, her sister had obliged, with the stipulation that her sisters accompany her on stage. It had been a blast, with Shae on the drums, Stacy on keyboard, Shari on tenor sax, and Brecee tearing up the guitar strings as the four sang in perfect harmony.
That was one thing Brecee missed—performing as a family. She and Shae didn’t even play in the church band on a consistent basis. Shae had an excuse: She would rather hold her baby and enjoy being a mommy as a member of the congregation. Brecee didn’t have a legitimate reason, and God had chastened her. The gift I’ve given you is for My glory, not yours! His voice had seemed to thun
der.
Brecee had gotten the message: Use it, or she would lose it. She’d repented, then spoken with the band director, Minister Vance.
“Sister Carmen, although I can never have too many guitarists in our band, I already have three: brothers James, Pride, and Dobson,” he’d told her.
Brecee had gnawed on her lip as Use it or lose it echoed in her head. Back home, she and her sisters had played in the band every Sunday and for many different church functions. Plus, Brecee had been trained to challenge any musician on string instruments.
“I could put you in the rotation to fill in when members get sick or take vacation,” the minister had finally conceded. “Basically, you’ll be a substitute. But when I need you, you’ll have to come through.”
Exhaling a sigh of relief, she’d thanked him and said, “You and the Lord can count on me.”
Ever since that negotiation, Brecee had played sporadically at the church. She never turned down an opportunity.
When Rahn put his arm on the back of Shae’s chair and scooted her closer, Brecee was brought out of her daze. But soon her mind drifted back to that same ceremony when Shae and Rahn’s relationship had fizzled, or so the family had thought. When Shae’s name was called for the award, Rahn stepped out from the shadows and escorted her to the stage.
Releasing a sigh, Brecee wondered when—-and if—the man God had for her would step out of the shadows.
She tried to clear her mind and focus on the program. After all, it was a fund-raiser to help children with special needs. As she listened to the speaker explain how every donation would benefit the organization, she glanced around. In the distance, a handsome face caught her eye, but then someone else at his table leaned to the side, blocking her view.
Brecee forced herself to turn around. It was rude to stare, anyway. Soon, she was distracted again, this time by the floral centerpiece on their table. It reminded her of the flowers Adrian had sent.
Both bouquets were still adding beauty to her dining room. She liked flowers as much as the next woman, but the man who wooed her had to have a different approach. Basically, he had to do something unique that no other brother could copy.