by Dianne Drake
“Lorna!” Gideon called. “You and Tom come up top. Jason, there’s nothing we can do here until morning, so take Max back and grab a couple hours of sleep.”
Jason handed over a flashlight to Lorna, then she set out to follow Gideon up the face of the hill, passing Priscilla who was on her way back down with Philo. “I don’t know what to say,” Lorna commented in passing. “It happened so quickly.”
“The dogs did in minutes what it might have taken us hours to do.” She gave her dog a pat on the head. “The first time I saw it happen I knew I had to have a dog.”
“As far as I’m concerned, his status of dog just elevated to hero.” Lorna also gave Philo a pat, then continued her way on up toward Gideon. “Oh,” she called back, turning, “I want to do a special segment on just the dogs. Frayne…would you get some footage?”
When she arrived at the spot the dogs had located, Gideon was taking a hard look at the area in the very limited light available that far up the hill. “She’s in there,” he said. “But we can’t get her out yet. It’s going to take several people to get the roof off her, and I can’t bring anybody else up here until we have a better look at the area. First thing in the morning, when we have more light. Tom, what I need for you to do is go back and get the medical supplies ready. Don’t know her condition, but dehydration for sure, probably shock. Get yourself rested up because I want you up here when we lift the roof…want you to be the first one in.”
Tom laughed. “Like I didn’t see that coming.”
“Tom’s the athlete in the bunch. We take advantage of it,” Gideon explained to Lorna.
“More like abuse it,” Tom teased, giving Gideon a playful punch on the arm as he headed back to base camp.
“He’s born for the work,” Gideon commented. “Comes out on just about every rescue. Jason and I are thinking about grooming him to head up another unit in due time.” He bent down, picked up a board, and tossed it aside. “Now, talk to her. Under better circumstances I’d get one of the locals up here to interpret, but one of our policies is that we don’t put the local volunteers in danger, and until I can get a better look at the area, I can’t have any of them coming up here.”
“But you heard her again?” Lorna asked, still so overwhelmed at the speed by which this rescue was taking place she was nearly speechless.
“Heard her, and she responded to me. I’ve got to do some clearing to get a better idea of where she is now, so keep talking to her.”
Lorna nodded, fully understanding the importance of mere words. “We’re going to get you out of there,” she said to the woman, and this time she did hear a response. The whimper turned into muffled words, and her heart lurched in her chest. Suddenly, it became urgent. She’d made the connection. She was the lifeline. “We’re all here, and we won’t go anywhere until we can find you,” she promised. Then she stopped for a listen, her medical instincts taking over. “Words a little slurred and thick,” she said.
“You can tell?” Gideon asked.
“It’s hard to, since I don’t speak the language. But there are speech patterns, and she’s a bit sluggish. Probably dehydration and exhaustion. Hope it’s isn’t diabetes or a slight stroke. But she seems almost too alert for that.”
“Damn, Lorn,” he said, heading up the hill. “I’d forgotten how good you were at diagnosis. You listen to her for a minute and you can diagnose her. You always did have that gift.”
“And the next thing you’re going to tell me is what a waster I am, being on television instead of spending all my time in a medical practice.” That was rather testy of her, but she wasn’t comfortable with a compliment from Gideon. She always felt like the compliment came first and there was a big negative addendum to follow. You always did have that gift, Lorna. Too bad you don’t use it. Or, You always did have that gift, Lorna. And just how do you use it making your diagnosis on the telly?
“Actually, I was going to tell you that you look pretty good on television. Got a good voice for it. Nice mannerisms. Useful information, at least what I’ve heard.” With that, he disappeared into a clump of bushes, and continued his way around the scene, assessing it as best he could in the near darkness.
A real compliment from Gideon? And on top if it, he watched her? That was a bit of surprise. Not so much that he’d watched her, but that he’d admitted it. He’d refused to tune in when she’d been doing the local broadcast back when they’d been married. To her knowledge he’d never once seen her then. In fact, he d made a point of letting her know he wouldn’t watch her.
So, should she tell him that when she’d had the chance, she’d watched news accounts of his work these past years? And that he had a good voice for the telly, too?
No, she decided. Some things were better left alone. Admitting that she’d watched him admitted to a sentiment she wasn’t comfortable with. So instead of dwelling on anything to do with Gideon, she set about her task of talking to the trapped woman, and ten minutes later she was still talking when Gideon finally made his way back to Lorna. “Her name’s Ana Flavia,” she told him. Lorna was sitting on a piece of wall now, keeping herself out of the mud. “Her voice is a little stronger, still a bit thick, though. She’s been asking for water.”
“Wish we could get it to her.”
“Wish we could just pick up the damned roof and get it off her,” Lorna snapped.
Gideon dropped down next to her and gave her hand a squeeze. “We’ll stay with her until morning. Then at first light, when we can make the proper evaluation on how to go about the rescue safely, we’ll get her out.”
“And there’s nothing we can do until then?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer. Gideon was cautious, and he had to be. But sitting, doing nothing, was so difficult.
“It’s not always easy, Lorn. Sometimes the waiting’s the hardest part, especially when you’re so close. But it never does any good to put others in danger, which is what we’d be doing if we tried getting her out now. We need daylight.”
Lorn. He’d called her that earlier, and she’d almost forgotten that had been his pet name for her in their more casual moments. Lorna for proper, Lorn for everything else. “Well, I’ll stay.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Gideon said. “We’ve got plenty of others who can, and it’s going to be a long night.”
“Except she knows my voice, responds to me, and I know how it feels to want someone with you and not have them.” Lorna scooted away from Gideon, already regretting that little dig at him. This was neither the time nor the place. Maybe there wasn’t a time or place since it had happened so long ago, and they were no longer connected. But it had simply slipped out, and she did feel bad. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“I deserved it,” he said, his voice so flat she couldn’t read anything into it.
“No, you don’t. And I am sorry.” The lights from the few volunteers below who’d remained on the scene followed Lorna as she stood up and made her way closer to the roof, one cautious step at a time. Oh, for the balance of a mountain goat, she thought as she tripped over a shattered chair, was nearly felled by a broken door, and banged her shin on a galvanized sink. Once there, fairly intact, she squatted down in the mud. “I’m not going away,” she declared for both Ana Flavia’s benefit, even though the woman didn’t understand English, as well as Gideon’s. “So I think I could use some of that nasty coffee right about now.”
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” he asked. “I wanted you to have a firsthand look, but you don’t have to get involved here.”
“I’m involved, Gideon. I’ve been involved since the moment I stepped off the helicopter and I can’t turn my back on it now.”
“You’re full of surprises tonight,” he said.
“Maybe you wouldn’t so surprised if you’d paid more attention to me when we were married. I’ve always been involved, Gideon. Just not in ways that suited you.”
“You gave up a brilliant practice to go into
television. How was I supposed to feel about that?”
“Happy for me because I’d found something I truly loved doing. And I didn’t give up my practice. I just didn’t work at it full time. In spite of what you’ve thought about me, Gideon, I’m still a doctor. I see patients, I direct care.”
“But television comes first.”
So he was still being judgmental. She’d thought maybe she’d noticed some change in him, some softening, or tolerance, but perhaps she was seeing only what she wanted to see, because this had been one of the arguments that led to the demise of their marriage. “My duty to my patients comes first, no matter where they are. That’s the way it’s always been, and, whether or not you want to admit it, what I do on television provides a service.”
“And you diagnosed a woman’s condition from only listening to her voice. You can’t compare the two.”
“No,” she admitted. “I can’t. But I don’t have to. Just like you don’t have to compare the surgical practice you gave up to your search-and-rescue operation. You were a brilliant general surgeon. One of the best. And how often do you get to use those skills?”
“OK, so maybe I overstepped a little in my opinion.”
“You always did,” she said quietly. It was amazing. They’d had this argument so many times, yet this time there was no zing to it. It was more an intellectual discussion than a back and forth with a punch. They had changed with time, it seemed. They were more mellow now. Maybe even more tolerant. Pity they couldn’t have been like that five years ago. “So, how about that coffee? And maybe something to snack on. It looks like it’s going to be a long night.”
“OK, if that’s what you want. We never leave them alone once we’ve found them but, like I said, we can spot you here. Trade off every hour.”
“She trusts my voice, Gideon, “ Lorna said. “I can’t leave her.” As she spoke, the woman responded in words Lorna didn’t understand, and that sealed it for her. She wasn’t budging from that place until she was able to take the old woman with her. “So keep the coffee coming.”
Down below on the path where a handful of rescuers and as many local volunteers had gathered, the lights continued to shine. And Frayne continued to film. But Lorna wasn’t anxious to turn this into a scene in her documentary. So far, she wasn’t anxious to turn anything into documentary footage. It was too intrusive, but more than that, in only a few hours, she’d come to feel like part of the team. The medical team, not the television team. Perhaps in the light of day she’d feel differently. Maybe she’d get her journalistic edge back when the sun came up. But until morning she was only a doctor, squatting in the mud, comforting a very frightened woman.
It was a nice feeling.
It was an even nicer feeling having Gideon by her side as she went through it.
CHAPTER FIVE
“IT’LL keep some of the rain off,” Gideon said as he draped the rubber rain slicker over Lorna’s shoulders.
She was sitting on a sheet of plastic now, drinking coffee and talking to the woman. They still wouldn’t let the translator come up because of the precarious weather setting back in, but it was amazing how, when Ana Flavia didn’t understand her and she didn’t understand Ana Flavia, they’d formed a close bond in the past few hours. “I never realized how long the night could be,” she said wearily, desperately fighting the urge to scoot a little closer to Gideon and lean her head against his shoulder. He hadn’t made a gesture toward her, though, except covering her with the slicker, and as much as someone strong to lean on for a little while seemed nice, it wasn’t going to happen. Not with Gideon.
“Neither did I, until the first time I was on a rescue that had to suspend the search until daylight. We were looking for a child lost in the woods. She was five. Her parents were on a picnic and didn’t notice when she wandered off. By the time we were called in, it was late, maybe seven or eight hours after the local authorities had done their search and failed. It was almost dusk by then, but we set up the operation, laid out the grid, and just barely got started when they called off the search for the night because the area was too rough—ravines, wild animals. Too dangerous, they told us. I remember sitting up until daylight, drinking stale coffee like you’re doing, thinking about all the things that could happen to the child, and cursing the night because we couldn’t get out on the hunt for her. That was the longest night of my life.”
“Did you find her in the morning?” Lorna asked.
“No,” Gideon whispered. “Not alive, anyway. She’d fallen down one of those ravines, not too far off from where her family had picnicked. The coroner ruled she’d died instantly.”
They were silent for a moment, Gideon lost in memories, Lorna feeling a deep sadness at his words. “Were we married then?” she eventually asked. “Because I don’t recall your ever saying anything about it.”
“No. It was after. I’d just quit the hospital and decided to go full time as a rescue doctor. And let me tell you, I almost changed my mind again after that, but a day later we went into a cave after an injured spelunker and saved his life, and that changed my mind again.”
“What made you decide to make the switch from surgery? When we were married you said you were only going to do search and rescue on a part-time basis.” Although the longer they’d been married, the longer part time had become. Finally, at the end, his surgical practice had become part time and his rescue pursuits had taken up most of his time.
“For starters, I liked it better than surgery. Even back when I was a student, and I wasn’t allowed to do much more than basic first-aid, I loved going out and doing something most people would never see, or understand. Thinking about someone being trapped and injured, and alone…” He shook his head. “Like Ana Flavia…If we weren’t here, she might never have been found. I mean, it’s a big world out there and we do such a small part, but it’s…”
“Important,” Lorna offered.
“And fulfilling.”
“I’m not surprised, really. I think I could see it coming when we were together. You were kind of like Max and the way he gets excited when he knows he has a live rescue spotted.”
He chuckled. “Except I didn’t bark like that.”
“Maybe not bark, but it was the same thing. You couldn’t wait to get out, and your regular surgery seemed more like it was passing time for you. I knew you weren’t happy as a surgeon. Or not happy enough.”
“You saw that?”
“Believe it or not, I did pay attention. Even when you were being a regular horse’s rear end.”
“As in being a horse’s rear end about you accepting the television job?” he asked.
“About me accepting the television job,” she confirmed.
“So why did you do it, Lorna? You never told me you were thinking about it. You just came home one day and flatly announced that’s what you were going to do, then you did it. It was like my opinion didn’t matter.”
“It mattered, Gideon. But you wanted your opinion to be the only one in something that was my decision to make. You didn’t want me to accept the position, and as far as you were concerned there was only your side to it. What I wanted didn’t count. And maybe your opinion might have mattered more but you actually demanded that I quit. Demanded, Gideon! If I’d done the same with your rescue work, would you have? I mean, I did worry when you went off. It would have been easy for me to demand you quit, stay in your surgical practice, stay safe.”
“You wouldn’t have done that,” he said stiffly.
“Which is the point. You shouldn’t have. And you know what, Gideon? I liked what I was doing. Liked working part time at the television station and part time at the hospital. After my very first broadcast I got letters from people thanking me, telling me I’d made a difference. And you know what that first segment was about?”
“No, I never—”
“You never watched,” she interrupted. “I remember. But others did, and on my first segment, when I talked about the symptoms of cervica
l cancer, I had three different readers write and tell me that because of what I’d said they’d recognized the symptoms in themselves, gone to their doctor, had the tests, had the diagnosis, and were on the road to recovery. Each one said I saved her life. And if three women who saw me wrote in, how many more who saw me and recognized the symptoms in themselves didn’t write but got help?” She drew in a deep breath. “Public awareness is good medicine, whether or not you choose to admit that.”
“Do you still like what you’re doing?” he asked.
“I love it. From that very day until now, my feelings about what I do haven’t changed.”
“Then I’m glad you didn’t listen to me,” he said. “So how long after the divorce before you moved to New York?”
Well, that was certainly a peculiar thing to say. Not exactly an apology, but it was a step forward. “About six months. I was offered a network position on the morning news program. Five days a week. And an offer came through in a little hospital to go on staff as a hospitalist. Seemed like everything was falling into place for me, so I went. And that’s where I’ve stayed. Happy, I might add. And you? How long before you gave up your surgery altogether?”
“Three months. No point in drawing it out. I quit the hospital three months later, moved to Texas to be nearer the base of operation, and that, as they say, is the end of the story.”
“Except the part where you’re in charge now. I’m impressed, Gideon. I know we had our difficulties, and I went through some strange things when I was pregnant…” Like extreme separation anxiety when her husband had been away. Like feelings of total inadequacy. Like she wanted to tell him how she was feeling, but couldn’t. “But I’m glad you got what you wanted. This worked out well for you, and I’m impressed.”
“You’ve changed,” he said quietly. “You’re more confident, assertive.”
“We all do change, I suppose. Experience, time…it’s bound to leave a few marks, hopefully for the better.” It was good to get off the subject of her television career. They would never agree on it no matter how much fighting they did, and right now she just didn’t want to fight. Didn’t want to take a scalpel and open old wounds. Besides, her legs were beginning to tingle…going to sleep. So instead of saying anything else to Gideon that would, invariably, cause more argument—like, yes, she was more confident and assertive thanks to her career before the camera—Lorna stood and walked around for a minute. “Ana Flavia, are you OK?” she called out as she was trying to stomp some circulation back in.