Hope for Tomorrow

by Patti Berg

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE HEAVENLY AROMA OF STEAMING MOCHA LATTE with a dollop of whipped cream and cinnamon on top wafted about Elena as she paid the cashier at Cuppa Coffee. She went extra heavy on the cocoa today, hoping to fight off the fact that she and Cesar had stayed up way too late last night.

  Even though it was just past six o’clock, Anabelle and James were already seated at a small table, sipping coffee when Elena joined them. She saw Candace at the counter chatting with Heath Carlson. Heath was talking as Candace laughed, her eyes sparkling. Their fondness for each other was apparent, and as she did every day, Elena prayed for Candace to find peace in her turbulent heart.

  Turning her curious gaze away from Candace and Heath, Elena said “Good morning” to her friends as she unwrapped the turquoise scarf from around her neck, slipped out of her coat and hung both over the back of a chair.

  “You’re late,” James said, emptying a packet of sweetener into his coffee, a plain old-fashioned cup of Colombian, made good and strong. He was already in green scrubs and wore a Chicago Cubs blue and white hoodie. “This is a first.”

  Elena looked at her watch, while stifling a yawn. “Only two minutes, give or take a few seconds. Cesar and I stayed up way too late last night watching The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.”

  “John Wayne did it,” Candace said, joining her friends as Heath left the coffee shop. “Everyone thought it was Jimmy Stewart who shot Liberty Valance, but no, it was good ol’ John Wayne.”

  James cocked one brow. “One of your favorites?”

  “One of Dean’s. He loved anything with John Wayne or Jimmy Stewart.”

  “I’m more a Cary Grant kind of girl,” Anabelle added, a wistful smile on her face. “Charming. Tall, dark and handsome.” She sighed.

  “Does Cameron know you have this fixation on Cary Grant?” Elena laughed lightly before taking another sip of mocha.

  “Fortunately for me, he doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body.”

  For a good ten minutes they talked and laughed, as they often did before heading to the hospital and the busy day ahead.

  Anabelle swirled the vanilla latte around in her cup. “How did your meeting about the Boy Scout troop go last night?” she asked James.

  “Real good, for everyone but me.”

  “Did you agree to be scoutmaster?” Anabelle folded her arms on the table. “You’d be great, I’m sure, but you’ve got too much on your plate already.”

  “That’s what I keep telling Fern and Nelson. But Fern’s insisting I should get out more, that she’s perfectly fine on her own, but—”

  “But what?” Elena asked.

  “I’m worried about Fern. I’m worried about time constraints. I’m worried my heart’s just not in it to be a Scout leader, but I don’t want to disappoint Nelson. Plus I’m fifty-two years old when most of the other dads are in their thirties.”

  “If that’s what’s bothering you,” Candace said, “it shouldn’t. You’ve got more going for you than most of the thirty-year-olds I know. If Howie were old enough for Scouts, he’d love to have a scoutmaster like you.”

  “You would be terrific,” Elena said. “Cesar was a scoutmaster when Rafael was a kid and he loved it.”

  “Maybe he’d like to take over Nelson’s troop.” James pushed up out of his chair and filled his cup from the thermal pump pot, then grabbed another packet of sweetener when he sat down.

  “You know, James,” Anabelle said in all seriousness, “your children are only young once. When they get older, they don’t always want to spend a lot of time with you. They have families or friends of their own, and most of the time they do their own thing…without you. How old’s Nelson?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Three more years and he’ll have his driver’s license,” Anabelle added. “When that happens, you’ll cease being the most important person in his life.”

  “A moment ago you were reminding me how much I have on my plate.”

  Anabelle, with her elbows resting on the table, lifted her usual cup of vanilla latte, holding it close to her mouth. “True, but then I was just thinking how much I enjoyed having my children at home. Not that I don’t love Cameron and I having alone time, but I miss that special closeness I had with the girls. Kirstie has a boyfriend now. Ainslee’s going to have a baby. It’s not the same. In a few years Gideon and Nelson will be on their own, too. And trust me, that time sneaks up on a person all too quickly.”

  “Talk to Cesar,” Elena said. “He’ll give you the scoop on how time-consuming he found it. He’ll also let you know if he thought it was worth it or not.”

  “Thanks for the support,” James said. “I haven’t ruled it out yet, but I haven’t ruled it in, either.”

  Elena was downing the last bit of her mocha latte, listening to Anabelle as she chatted about the art quilt for the Harvest Festival, when her cell phone rang, something it rarely, if ever, did at half past six in the morning.

  As organized as she was, she had to dig to find her cell phone and noticed the familiar number for ICU. “Hello,” she said, and when she heard the words on the other end of the line, learned that a near miracle had occurred, her throat tightened.

  “I’ll be there in less than five minutes.”

  Elena wadded up her cup and lobbed it into the recycle bin. “Caleb O’Mara came out of his coma. He’s talking. Smiling.”

  Even with James helping, Elena couldn’t get her coat on fast enough. She grabbed her tote, threw her scarf around her neck and sprinted out the door, calling Cesar as she ran down the street.

  Cesar’s groggy voice answered the phone, but she didn’t think he’d mind being wakened out of a sound sleep. Not for this.

  “Caleb’s out of the coma.”

  If she said anything more, she wasn’t sure what it could have been. She was in too big a hurry to get to the hospital.

  She caught the WALK signal at Bureau Street and ran at nearly full speed toward the hospital, through the front doors, past Frederick Innisk who frowned at her—what was he doing in the hospital so early?—took the stairs two at a time and almost slid to a stop at the ICU nurses’ station.

  Out of breath but smiling, she tore off her coat and scarf, shoved her bag under the desk and quickly pulled her windblown hair into a ponytail. Then, trying not to burst out in tears, she walked into Caleb’s room.

  Dr. Wanda Hunnicutt, one of the physicians who specialized in neurology, leaned over Caleb’s bed. Using an ophthalmoscope, she examined the interior of his eye, checking movement and reaction, while Caleb’s mom and dad hovered nearby, holding each other.

  Elena could only wonder what was going through their minds. Was Caleb going to be okay? Would he slip back into a coma again? Even Elena wondered those things, and she dealt with it all the time.

  Tears streamed down Christine O’Mara’s face, and she let them fall, not bothering to wipe them away. There were far too many. Her husband looked shell-shocked. Happy. Scared. Wishing he could do something for his son, rather than standing by feeling powerless.

  Elena gave Christine a quick hug before stepping in to help Dr. Hunnicutt and Gloria Main, one of the RNs who worked the night shift, if they needed her assistance. And, like the doctor, she wanted to observe Caleb’s movements, wanted to catch a glimpse of a smile from the little boy who’d been so close to death.

  Dr. Hunnicutt was thorough. She wanted an MRI stat and a few other tests, and Gloria left the room to order the work.

  With Caleb’s eyes opening and closing, falling in and out of sleep, Dr. Hunnicutt, rather imposing at six foot one, with blue-black waist-length hair plaited into a thick French braid, turned to Mr. and Mrs. O’Mara. She smiled warmly.

  That had to be a good sign.

  “Caleb’s looking pretty good,” Dr. Hunnicutt said, “which I imagine is just about the best thing you’ve heard in days.”

  Mr. O’Mara took a deep breath. “He’s going to be all right then?”

  “I�
�ve ordered more tests, and I’m not in any big hurry to move him out of ICU, but I’d say our worst fears are over.”

  Christine attempted to smile through her tears. “Can his brothers and sisters come see him?”

  Dr. Hunnicutt shook her head. “Actually, what I’d like right now is for the two of you to spend just a couple of minutes with him, no more than five, please, and then I’d like you to go home and get some rest.”

  “I need to stay with him, Dr. Hunnicutt,” Christine said. “I—”

  “I know how difficult it’s been for you, Mrs. O’Mara.” Dr. Hunnicutt placed a comforting hand on her arm. “But we need Caleb to rest. I imagine he’ll be asleep more than awake for the next day or two, and I’d prefer he not have a lot of sensory overload, like talking and laughing and getting excited.”

  Christine attempted to wipe away some of her tears. “Okay.”

  “We’ll get out of here in just a few minutes,” Mr. O’Mara said. “We just want to tell him we love him.”

  “You can come back again tonight, if you’d like, but for ten minutes only,” Dr. Hunnicutt said. “If you need or want to speak with me at any time, let one of the nurses know, and I’ll give you a call.”

  Dr. Hunnicutt gave Mrs. O’Mara’s hand a quick squeeze before leaving the room. Slowly, as if they were afraid of what they might see, Mr. and Mrs. O’Mara stepped close to Caleb’s bed. Mr. O’Mara’s hand shook as he grasped Caleb’s fingers, holding them gently, while Christine leaned over her son and kissed his cheek.

  “Hi, Mommy.” Caleb’s voice was soft. Barely a hoarse whisper. “Hi, Daddy. I kinda hurt.”

  Mrs. O’Mara’s head spun around, looking at Elena in fear. “Can you do something for him? Should he still be hurting?”

  Elena smiled, stepping close to Mrs. O’Mara and putting an arm around her shoulders, hoping to calm her before she frightened her son. “Dr. Hunnicutt will have orders for pain control, and I’ll take care of that right away.”

  “And he won’t hurt anymore?”

  “He’ll probably fall asleep right away.”

  Mrs. O’Mara turned back to Caleb, kissing his cheeks, brushing his hair off his brow, while Elena slipped around to the other side of the bed to check his computerized chart.

  “Mommy and Daddy will be back tonight,” Mrs. O’Mara whispered to Caleb. “You be a good boy, okay?”

  Mr. and Mrs. O’Mara were backing away from Caleb’s bed, not wanting to take their eyes off of him, when Elena saw Cesar standing in the doorway.

  “Come in,” she whispered.

  “This is my husband, Cesar,” Elena said, introducing him quickly to Mr. and Mrs. O’Mara.

  “Mind if I say a quick hello to your son?” Cesar asked. “Elena’s told me a lot about him…and you.”

  “Just for a moment,” Mrs. O’Mara said. “Dr. Hunnicutt doesn’t want him getting excited.”

  Cesar walked toward the bed and stood next to Elena. He wasn’t all that tall, but at the moment her husband looked like the hero of fairy tales. He looked down at Caleb, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, a sight Elena hadn’t seen since Isabel was born and Cesar held his granddaughter for the first time.

  Cesar smiled. “How you doing, little guy?”

  “Okay.” Caleb smiled weakly.

  A lump welled up in Elena’s throat and tears filled her eyes.

  Mr. O’Mara squinted at Cesar as he stepped close to the bed. “Are you the one—”

  “I was lucky enough to be the one to find Caleb,” Cesar said, interrupting Mr. O’Mara, not wanting any thanks. “This is a pretty special moment, seeing him awake.”

  “How can we ever thank you?” Christine O’Mara asked.

  “I was just doing my job,” Cesar said, shaking Mr. O’Mara’s hand. “When Caleb’s better, maybe you can bring him by the police station, and I’ll take him out in the patrol car. Have a little talk with him about skipping school.”

  Cesar winked at Mrs. O’Mara, said a quick good-bye to Elena and disappeared from the room.

  And not for the first time, Elena thanked the good Lord for blessing her with a husband like Cesar.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ELENA WHEELED CALEB THROUGH THE HOSPITAL corridors, red and blue helium-filled balloons tied to the back of the wheelchair waving happily above him. Doctors, nurses, administrators and other staff came out into the hallways to wave good-bye. It was a joyous occasion for everyone.

  After nearly a week in a coma and two days recovering, Caleb O’Mara was going home.

  “Do you think I can really ride in the police car someday?” Caleb asked, gripping Thumperina, the fuzzy blue bunny that had once been Izzy’s.

  “As soon as you’re one hundred percent better,” Elena told him, as she pushed her patient out into the sunlight.

  Caleb twisted around to look at Elena. “Does that mean tomorrow?”

  Elena laughed. “Maybe next week.”

  A black Ford Explorer sat beneath the covered portico at the back of the hospital, and Elena watched Mr. O’Mara climb out of the driver’s side and rush around to open the passenger door the moment she, Caleb and Mrs. O’Mara exited through the sliding glass doors.

  “Hey, buddy!” Mr. O’Mara didn’t ask for permission, he just scooped his little boy up into his arms and hugged him tight. “Ready to go home?”

  “Yep.” Caleb grinned. “This place is okay, but they don’t have Nintendo or a swing set.”

  “You won’t be playing outside for a few more days,” Mrs. O’Mara said, “but your dad bought the newest Super Mario last night, and your brothers and sisters are waiting for you to be the first one to try it out.”

  “Cool!”

  Mr. O’Mara set his son on the backseat, covered him with a blanket and fastened his seat belt, while Elena helped Mrs. O’Mara load the backseat with balloons and other stuffed animals he’d received, but it was Thumperina Caleb held tightly.

  There were hugs and promises to drop by for a visit, and then the O’Maras drove off, with Elena waving good-bye. When the vehicle turned onto Jeffries Street, Elena walked back into the hospital. It was time to turn her attention away from Caleb and back to her other patients.

  It had been quiet all morning. Knowing that Marge had everything under control in the ICU, Elena headed for Quintessa’s office. She hadn’t heard a thing about Mr. Varner in over a week. No one seemed to know what was going on; and with Frederick Innisk still stalking the halls, the tension in the hospital could be cut with a knife.

  Quintessa was staring at a spreadsheet on her computer monitor when Elena entered the oasis. “Got a minute?”

  Quintessa, dressed in an ultraprofessional long-sleeved royal blue knit dress with a turtleneck that hugged her chin, spun around, smiling. “Just one. Zane’s got a meeting with the board in”—she looked at her watch—“twenty-five minutes, and I’ve got to finish up this report for him.”

  “Just wanted to see if you can attend a meeting about the Harvest Festival next Wednesday.”

  “Let’s see.” Looking at her computer again, Quintessa pulled up a calendar. “Zane’s heading out of town that morning. Why don’t we meet in his office—around noon? I’ll even get lunch for us.”

  “Perfect.”

  Not wanting to waste a moment of Quintessa’s time, Elena waved a quick good-bye. She’d really wanted to ask about Mr. Varner, but she’d wait until Quintessa wasn’t in such a rush.

  Elena ran into Anabelle coming out of Human Resources, and considering the hard set of Anabelle’s mouth, her friend wasn’t happy.

  “What’s going on?” Elena asked, keeping up with Anabelle’s clipped step as she headed for the stairwell, threw open the door and finally stopped halfway up the first flight of stairs.

  “I put together another justification for the additional RN we need in CCU and Leila hemmed and hawed over the whole thing.” Anabelle removed her glasses and tucked them into her pocket. “I know we have ongoing financial concerns, but I was hoping I
could get Leila to see reason. At least let me talk with the head of Human Resources, but she didn’t even give that question a moment’s thought. She said no, absolutely not.”

  Elena shook her head. “When are they going to realize that they’re driving the nursing staff into the ground? That the overtime we work is on our own time, because we’ve been told there won’t be any paid overtime—but what are we supposed to do? Not write up our reports? Ignore one patient because another patient needs more care?”

  “We’re supposed to be miracle workers.” Anabelle smiled at last. “The only good thing to come out of the meeting was that I overheard Penny Risser talking about Albert Varner.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “The board’s meeting in private to talk about his resignation. Whether or not they should accept it and what, if anything, they should do about the proposed children’s ward and pediatric intensive care unit.”

  Elena frowned. “I didn’t know there was any question about the children’s ward and PICU. I thought they were done deals. That the money was in the budget and that they were already in the planning stages.”

  “Apparently not,” Anabelle said. “I’m sure I’m the last person on earth they want input from about any of those issues, but I’ll be writing a letter to the board as soon as I get home from my quilting guild get-together tonight, letting them know how desperately I want Varner back and how much the city needs the addition to the hospital.”

  “Maybe a petition’s in order,” Elena said, knowing she really didn’t have time to put something like that together, but anything that affected her job and the operation of Hope Haven was a priority and was destined for the top of her to-do list.

  Phyllis Getty was draping a silky vine of autumn leaves around the nurses’ station when Elena returned to the ICU. Small, feisty and eighty-four, Phyllis was one of the most delightful volunteers at Hope Haven, and the numerous service awards on her bright green volunteer jacket jangled while she worked.

  “I know we can’t put decorations in the ICU patients’ rooms,” Phyllis said, “but I thought you and Marge and the other nurses could use a bit of brightness while you’re here at work.”