URGENT CARE

by Alexander, Hannah

  “Sis?” Heather said. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I guess I’m still a little nervous about the weather after that tornado last week.”

  “You could stay at my place tonight.”

  Jessica considered the possibility but shook her head. “I want to get home to Archer if I can.” Besides, she wasn’t really worried for herself. “It’ll be okay.” She watched the blowing tree limbs for another couple of seconds and then turned her attention back to her sister. Everything would be fine.

  ***

  When Archer arrived at the hospital he found Grant busy but not frantic. Five exam rooms were occupied and one more patient was being checked by one of the night nurses in the triage room. Glad he hadn’t overdressed for the deacon dinner, Archer saw a familiar face in exam room four. Without stopping to disturb Grant, he went straight to talk with Mrs. Cecile Piedmont. The elderly lady was a member of his church. To her extreme irritation she had developed heart trouble this past year and had been forced to curtail some of her much-loved gardening and yard work.

  Before Archer could speak he heard another familiar voice carry from the exam room next to Cecile’s. It was Dr. Mitchell Caine, apparently here to see one of his private patients, since Grant was on duty. Mitchell was lecturing some apparently malingering patient about the nasty results of drinking more than one glass of wine per day and about the dangers of obesity.

  Archer ignored Mitchell’s voice, kissed the delicately lined skin of Cecile’s cheek, and looked at the monitor above her bed. “Chest pain again, Cecile?” He kept his voice low, aware of Mitchell’s presence in the next room and heedful of the doctor’s disdain for the chaplain program.

  Cecile nodded and looked away. “No more outdoor activity until I’ll let them stick a machine in my chest,” she growled.

  “In your chest?” He took her hand and sat down beside her. “Pacemaker?”

  She gave another curt nod.

  “And you’re going to do it, right?”

  She continued to stare at some imagined spot on the wall for another few seconds and then she looked at him sadly. “I’m tired, Archer. I don’t want to be hauled up to Springfield and let them cut on me.”

  “I tell you what, why don’t you call a couple of our church members who’ve had the procedure done recently. I know of two in the past three months. My aunt had it done three years ago and she’s able to do all the things she did fifteen years ago. You’ll be more independent, Cecile. I know how important that is to you.”

  She fingered one of the wires that connected her to the monitor. “Like I said, I’m tired.”

  “I know. It’s because you don’t feel well. This pacemaker procedure isn’t like open-heart surgery. You would recover quickly.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Did James call you about this?”

  “Nope.”

  “Rebecca? Martha?”

  He chuckled. Mrs. Piedmont’s six children doted on her. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to any of your kids lately. I’m speaking from my own experience.” Once again Archer regretted the busy state of his life, which prevented him from doing the things he most enjoyed, such as talking at length with Cecile’s family about their concerns.

  She laid her head back against the pillow as Mitchell Caine’s voice droned on in the other room. Cecile was understandably depressed and upset right now.

  Archer had just finished praying with his old friend when her son and granddaughter came rushing into the room in an apparent response to a summons from the hospital. He greeted them and stepped into the hallway as an apparition emerged from the exam room next door—Dr. Mitchell Caine in his dress shirt and tie and long white lab coat.

  “Hi, Mitchell.” Archer nodded at him and passed.

  “Let me guess,” Mitchell said dryly. “Our super chaplain has finally discovered that it takes more than God to fix some hearts.” He fell into step beside Archer.

  “God can watch over the surgeons.”

  Mitchell thumped his fingers on the hallway wall as he passed by. “Sound travels well from room to room. What do you think you did for your patient just now?” His steps slowed. For a moment it seemed as if he swayed sideways, out of balance.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Mitchell gestured to the empty alcove near the back entrance. He strolled to the window and indicated with a nod of his head for Archer to join him.

  Archer hesitated. Mitchell Caine was not one for small talk.

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I prayed with her.”

  “You offered her some practical advice.”

  Lately it seemed that Mitchell had been going out of his way to engage Archer in debate about Christianity and the act of prayer in a medical setting. He even seemed to enjoy it at times. Ordinarily, Archer did, too, but tonight he wasn’t up to intellectual or spiritual sparring.

  “Besides offering prayer, what did you do for your patient tonight?” Mitchell flexed his fists and reached up to straighten the lapel of his white lab coat.

  “Besides prayer? Very little. I only attempted to draw God into the medical equation.”

  “Just to comfort the patient?”

  “Look, Mitchell, let’s not get into this tonight, okay?”

  The doctor frowned at him, then turned away. The uncompromising line of his shoulders lost some of its definition. “A simple question.”

  “I believe it does comfort patients when I pray but my main reason for prayer is to call on God’s power of healing. I’m aware you disagree.”

  “You don’t have any idea what I’m thinking at this moment,” Mitchell said. His voice was barely loud enough to carry into the hallway and he continued to stare out into the darkness. He reached up to rub his neck and Archer saw a tremor in his hand.

  A streak of lightning flashed across the sky, followed several seconds later by a rumble of thunder. Archer turned from the hallway and stepped up beside Mitchell, joining him in fascination at the array outside, one more display of God’s creativity and power. And yet Mitchell was antagonistic toward that very same God.

  “You’re right,” Archer said at last. “I have no way of knowing what’s going through your mind right now. On the other hand, I would think that by now you would find me boringly predictable. You should be able to guess what I’m going to say before I say it.”

  “Why is that?” Mitchell didn’t look at him.

  “Because my faith hasn’t changed. My security in God hasn’t changed.” He hesitated, still resisting a debate but unable to avoid the subject. “Am I to take it that you actually want to know more about that faith?”

  “What I want is most likely impossible.” Mitchell cleared his throat. “What I would like is an opportunity to ask questions of some... knowledgeable person, some person who truly believes he is acquainted with this God of yours, without taking the risk of being put on a visitation list or a Sunday school class membership list.”

  Archer chuckled. Coming from Mitchell Caine, this was powerful encouragement. “I think I can do that. I’m sorry if you’ve been offended by Christians in the past.”

  “I’ve come into contact with too many who behave as if they have all the answers to all of life’s questions.”

  “You can count me out on that. I have far too many questions of my own.” Archer stared out at the rain. “The more I read the Bible the more I realize that most of my pat answers to life’s questions have little to do with God’s truth and a lot to do with what I want to be truth.”

  “Are you saying you think you’re a hypocrite?” Mitchell asked with the characteristic edge of challenge in his voice.

  “Not at all. I believe the truths of the Bible. I just think that all too often we Christians have a tendency to try to pick and choose what we want to remember so that we can put God into a box of our choosing. He won’t fit. God works outside those artificial boxes of human design.”

  Mitchell nodded. “I’m not talking abo
ut other Christians; I’m talking about you. Patients listen to you when they won’t even listen to me at times.”

  Archer resisted the urge to ask Mitchell again if he was feeling okay. “I’m a preacher. I’m not sure why but that seems to carry authority for some people.”

  Mitchell waited.

  “Okay, let me tell you what I’ve discovered for myself about God. He doesn’t love us dispassionately, in a detached way, but with more passion, more desire, more longing than we can imagine, and with more generosity.”

  “My argument to that,” Mitchell said, “would be to point out, once again, my daughter’s drug addiction. How does that reflect God’s love?”

  “That reflects her choice. But her redemption has already been paid for. There is a way out for her, for you, for all of us, if we’ll take it.”

  “I thought you just sh… said weren’t into those pat little answers.”

  Archer frowned at the slight slur in Mitchell’s words. “It’s a mystery, not a pat answer. It has to do with where we meet God.”

  “And then what?” Mitchell challenged. “What have you discovered about God since you first met Him?”

  “I’ve discovered His mercy. There have been times in my life when I’ve tried to turn away, to block Him out and choose my own direction, but He never lets me go. It’s like He’s always there and every time I seek Him out He allows me to see more of himself.”

  “And that m-makes you invincible to the problems we lesser mortals experience.”

  Again, Archer noticed the slight slur of Mitchell’s speech. “I’m far from invincible. For instance, right now I’m watching that storm and thinking about last Friday night and wondering if we’ll have another tornado warning. My fear of it is very human.”

  Mitchell lowered his voice. “Tell me something...” He hesitated. Cleared his throat. “I was wondering...”

  Archer stared at the window as if mesmerized by the rain, when in fact he was watching Mitchell’s reflection in the glass. What was wrong with him? Sick, perhaps? Sleep deprived?

  “The night Simon Royce died,” Mitchell said at last.

  “I remember it.”

  “I told you... some things.”

  “Which will remain in my confidence.”

  “They say... Some people have suggested...”

  Archer turned to Mitchell. The man seemed to be having some trouble collecting his thoughts. “Mitchell, I know you did all you could to save his life in spite of the way you felt about him.”

  “I told you I wanted him to die.”

  “There were several times I felt the same way you did, considering the things Simon Royce did in this town.”

  There was a long pause. “Do you believe in hell?”

  “I couldn’t be a good Baptist and not believe there is a hell. Are you asking if I believe in divine retribution?”

  “I suppose that’s what I’m asking.”

  “Yes, but I also believe that there’s someone standing between me and the same retribution Simon Royce is receiving.”

  Mitchell scowled and fluttered his hand in annoyance. “Yes, yes, I know, Jesus Christ, Savior of the world. I don’t buy it. You’re not a drug pusher. You can’t compare yourself to Simon.”

  “No, but I can’t earn my way to heaven with good deeds. My faith in Christ is what gives my life meaning—it gives my eternity meaning—and if there’s any good in me, it’s because of Him.”

  Before Archer finished Mitchell was yawning. “Time for me to leave before we get into another one of your famous dissertations.” He no longer slurred his words but he seemed to be choosing them with care.

  “If you ever want to ask me any questions, without the dreaded threat of an onslaught of witnessing tracts and pastoral calls, feel free to do so.”

  Mitchell nodded and thanked him, then turned and walked slowly down the hallway.

  Archer watched him for a moment. He didn’t stagger but he didn’t seem especially steady on his feet. When he reached the end of the hallway, he turned and looked back.

  Archer waved and returned to the ER proper.

  Grant was standing at the central desk filling out a T-sheet. He looked up when he saw Archer. “I didn’t realize we’d called you tonight.”

  “You didn’t. I just got out of a meeting and thought I’d drop by.” Archer nodded toward the secretary.

  “Hi, Archer.” She smiled at him, pretending to inspect his wool jacket. “I don’t see any damage. Wasn’t that Dr. Caine I saw you talking to a minute ago?”

  “That was him.”

  Grant put his pen down and turned to face Archer. “Forgive me for saying this but you don’t look overjoyed to be here. Bad meeting?”

  “Disappointing. I need to ask your advice about something but I see you’re busy.”

  “Not too busy right now. I’m just waiting on test results and Dr. Caine took care of his own patient for some reason.”

  “Dr. Sheldon.” Eugene, the tall, quiet young man who was one of the night-shift nurses, came up to the central counter and placed an inhaler box on the Formica. “Mrs. Eddingly didn’t take this with her when she left.”

  Grant sighed and shook his head. “She won’t drive all the way back to town to get it tonight, especially not in the rain.”

  “Mrs. Eddingly?” Archer asked. “Mrs. Racine Eddingly? She’s a member of my church. If she needs that tonight I can take it to her before I go home.” He looked at his watch. “If I leave soon.”

  “Do you know where she lives?” Grant asked.

  “Sure. Down in the valley as deep in the woods as a person can get.” Mrs. Eddingly was eighty-two. Her husband had died ten years ago, but she refused to move away from the farm she and her husband had tended together all their married lives. She suffered from asthma.

  “She’s as independent as ever,” Grant said, “but she doesn’t like driving after dark in that old rust bucket of hers. I don’t blame her. Why don’t I walk you to your car and we’ll talk about that advice you wanted.”

  “I just wondered if you would be willing to let any other local pastors volunteer for the chaplain program,” Archer said as they strolled toward the employee entrance of the department. “I know of a couple of new guys in the ministerial alliance who might be interested.”

  Grant slowed his steps. “Please tell me you’re not quitting.”

  “Just backing off a few hours a month.”

  “Do you need a different day?”

  “Different day, fewer hours, more help at the church.” Archer sighed when they reached the door and stepped out into the deserted hallway. “I’m tired, Grant. I tend to take on more than I can handle and that’s my fault entirely. This chaplain program is one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done but I have a responsibility to the church. People already complain because I’m not there for them.”

  “What can I do to help? Do you need more help with the high schoolers? I can—”

  “What I need is to learn how to say no. As it is, the only person who hears that from me is my wife and that isn’t a good thing.”

  “No.”

  “How about reducing my hours to alternating weeks and have the call on another night besides Friday. That’s my day off and I’m going to start taking it.”

  “Good.” Grant watched him. “You don’t want to leave the program.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “You and Jessica do need more time together. That’s one of the most important things in life.” He sighed. “Time with family.”

  “My father was good about that. I haven’t learned the balance yet.” Archer looked at Grant. “How are things going between you and Lauren?”

  Grant hesitated so long Archer thought he wasn’t going to answer. “I would love for her to be my wife. Brooke and Beau would love for her to be their stepmom.”

  “Is she aware of this?”

  “Yes.”

  Archer smiled. “I can’t think of anything better for all of you.”r />
  “I hope she comes to the same conclusion before Brooke blows a gasket. She’s almost too eager for it to happen and she’s showing a few signs of stress over it.”

  They reached the door, and Archer hesitated as he watched the deluge through the window. He couldn’t back out now. Mrs. Eddingly would need her inhaler.

  Still, he couldn’t prevent a memory of roaring wind, breaking glass, injured people. As he stepped out into the storm he offered up a silent prayer for protection.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mitchell accidentally kicked the doorframe of his Envoy as he pulled himself inside. He muttered a curse at the offending frame as he settled in the seat, carefully pulled on his seat belt, glanced in his rearview mirror, and slammed the door shut. The headlights of Archer’s little sedan streaked through the rain as he drove out of the parking lot, followed by the repetitive flash of the red turn signal.

  “Reverend Archer Pierce, who has special dispensation from the Savior of the world.” Mitchell drawled the words, mimicking Archer’s deep voice. “Why do you concern yourself with me when you’re struggling to keep up with a church full of emotional misfits?”

  How could one man keep up with the needs of all those people? And why even try? It wasn’t as if he was being paid a doctor’s salary—not that the pay for a family practice physician was even worth the effort these days, especially after the divorce attorneys took their cut.

  Mitchell’s attention was drawn to the lights of Archer’s brakes as he slowed for the stop sign and then he watched the red taillights disappear over a hill. With a strange numbness in his fingers, Mitchell started the motor and listened to the low throbbing hum of power before backing the SUV from its prized parking spot. The motor jerked, hesitated, jerked again, until he forced the accelerator to the floor and nearly collided with a car that had sneaked up behind him.

  A horn blared; he slammed on the brakes and cursed.

  Get home. He let the car pass and let up on the brake again, attempting to focus on each action, careful not to make a wrong movement.

  Why hadn’t he waited to take that second pill until he got home? He forced himself to focus. He had a sudden impulse to make a detour—he wanted to follow those red lights that had disappeared over the hill into the dense rain. He needed to talk to the preacher again.