A Mother's Special Care

by Jessica Matthews

  His self-imposed penance.

  Blythe Monroe, one of his nurse-anesthetists, blonde and thirty-eight, came in and spoke in hushed tones to Talia. A quick swipe of her pen and one more patient was allowed to leave the recovery room. As Talia readied the youth for discharge, he realized that if he didn’t approach Lori now, before he was scheduled to administer the first of several epidurals in his pain clinic, he’d lose his opportunity.

  Unwilling to waste another moment, Mac strode in her direction and stood at the foot of Mr Clark’s bed. She glanced at him and he saw the question in her chocolate brown eyes.

  “Where do you live?” he asked without preamble.

  “Wh-what?”

  He rephrased his comment. “What’s your address? My son just called and asked for permission to go with you to the Resource Center.”

  Understanding replaced her puzzlement. “I didn’t realize Corey was your son.”

  Her mention of Corey by name made it seem as if he was the last one to be included in his son’s plans. The idea rankled. “You knew about this excursion?”

  “Oh, yes. Last night Ronnie asked if we could go after school. She’d explained how they were working in groups and I volunteered to take Corey if he wanted to join us. Although I didn’t know until you brought it up that you’d given your permission.”

  “Oh.” He felt marginally better. “Then you don’t mind if he tags along?”

  She smiled. “Not at all. Shall I drop him off at home after we’re done?”

  “I’d rather pick him up at your house. In case I’m late.”

  “No problem. Our address is 5235 Wid—er, Willow Lane.”

  He wondered why her face had turned an endearing shade of pink. Was she uncomfortable with giving out such personal information? Or was she simply uncomfortable with sharing it with him?

  “Do you know where it is?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Then I’ll see you later.”

  It didn’t make sense why his afternoon suddenly seemed brighter, or why he found himself eager to complete his scheduled appointments. Corey had gone home with other friends before and Mac hadn’t felt like he stood on the brink of a new discovery.

  It was pure curiosity, he decided as he scrubbed, gowned and gloved. He’d seen Lori Ames at work and now he wanted to see her in her home environment. Of course, he’d only have a glimpse, but it would be enough.

  He strode into the surgery suite and greeted his patient, who was already on the table.

  “Hello, Mrs Eyestone. I presume your pain hasn’t gone away on its own, has it?”

  “I wish,” the sixty-year-old woman said. She’d been in a car accident six months ago that had left her with a herniated disk, a pinched nerve and chronic back pain. Her family physician had run a battery of tests to rule out other etiologies before he had referred her to Mac. In fact, Brad had been in the same car accident, but his injuries had been minor.

  “Does it still hurt in the same area?” he asked.

  She nodded her graying head. “Lower back and down into my left leg.”

  “Muscles still weak?” He referred to her quadriceps.

  “Oh, yes.”

  The MRI, or magnetic resonance imagery, had revealed a herniation in the L3-4 disks, which fit the signs and symptoms Mrs Eyestone displayed. Because of the rupture, she suffered a nerve root inflammation, which Mac hoped to alleviate.

  “OK. Let’s see if I can’t do something to give you some relief.” Mac nodded to the nurse, who rolled her into a side position.

  “You’ll feel a pinprick,” he warned before he injected the lidocaine into her spinal column, between the third and fourth lumbar disks, to anesthetize the area. “How does it feel?”

  “Much better,” she answered.

  Her comment confirmed that the tip of the needle was in the epidural space at the appropriate level. After swapping syringes, he injected the corticosteroid that would reduce the inflammation.

  A few minutes later, he was done.

  “Your symptoms should improve,” he told her as he rose. “If they aren’t completely gone in one to two weeks, we’ll bring you back. I want you to call my office next week and let us know how you’re doing so we can decide if we should schedule you for a repeat visit.”

  “All right. Thank you, Doctor.”

  Mac moved on through his list of tasks, which weren’t many since today was a light surgery day. He was fortunate that in Redwood nurse-anesthetists were allowed to function more independently than their counterparts in larger cities. There, they worked under the direct supervision of an anesthesiologist who was responsible for the induction itself.

  During his days in the teaching hospital, he could oversee up to four of his subordinates at a time. Here, he was still technically responsible for them, but when he or his colleague, Josh Barnett, weren’t on duty, the surgeon took over the supervisory role. Otherwise Mac would work longer hours than he did now.

  The hours ticked past. He knew without peeking in the PACU that Lori had left for the day. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he found it difficult to concentrate on the job at hand. Five o’clock wouldn’t come soon enough.

  “Mom, we’re hungry.”

  “I know, dear. Dinner is ready right now. You and Corey can wash up while I bring the food to the table.” Lori removed the hamburger patties from her inexpensive barbecue grill and replaced the lid. She’d love to own one that used gas rather than briquets and starter fluid, but after she’d sold their home to pay her husband’s debts after his accident, such things had become a luxury.

  “Can we eat outside?”

  “Do you want to?” she asked the two children.

  Corey’s eyes brightened, but he looked at Ronnie before he nodded.

  “We do,” Ronnie affirmed.

  “There are a lot of bugs,” she warned. It had been an Indian summer day and the insect population had come out of their hidey-holes for one last fling before the cold snap hit.

  “We don’t mind,” Corey said.

  “Let’s compromise,” Lori said. “We’ll fill our plates indoors, then sit outside to eat.”

  “OK,” the two chorused.

  Corey started to follow Ronnie inside, presumably in search of a sink, soap and a towel, but he stopped at the door. “If my dad comes, can I still stay and eat with you?” He pushed his black, oval-shaped, wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.

  Lori smiled. “Of course.”

  A broad smile appeared on his face before he hurried after Ronnie.

  She couldn’t help but compare the two third-graders. Her daughter was a bright, vivacious child who was constantly in motion, and her personality shone as brightly as her copper-colored hair. Corey, by contrast, appeared much more quiet, studious and somber than other children his age which made their willingness to be together so unusual.

  He’d seemed unsure of himself around Lori at first, but as she’d talked to him about his vision for their project and had helped him find his supplies, he’d relaxed. By the end of their session at the resource center, she’d been flattered by his insistence on hearing her opinion. It was as if he wanted her approval and her heart went out to the motherless boy. Why Dr Grant didn’t talk about his son or display each new school photograph he carried in his wallet like every other proud parent, she didn’t know.

  And thinking of the anesthesiologist, she would never have believed that Corey was his offspring. Corey’s hair, while appearing as if a trim was past due, was as black as midnight and as straight as a board, while his father’s was light brown with a natural wave. Their skin tones were different also, with Corey’s having a more olive hue than his father’s. Mac’s features seemed to be a blend of various cultures whereas Corey’s showed distinct signs of Spanish ancestry. Obviously the youngster looked like his mother since the only evident traits of Mac were the dimple in his chin and the shape of his mouth.

  Corey wasn’t tall for his age but, then, boys didn’t sprout until t
hey were older. She wondered what he’d look like when he was sixteen, or twenty. He’d probably have to fight the girls off, unless he developed his father’s cold stare.

  Lori balanced the plate of burgers and her utensils as she walked into the kitchen. Minutes later, she was back outside, seated at the picnic table with her two charges, their full plates and glasses of milk at hand.

  “This is really good.” Ketchup smudged Corey’s cheek, but Lori simply passed out napkins for later use.

  “I’m glad you like it,” she said.

  “We hardly ever have barbecued stuff,” he said between bites.

  “You don’t?” Whenever her brother-in-law Tim was responsible for a meal, he always threw something on the grill. She assumed most men would do the same.

  “Oh no. Martha, our housekeeper, did all the cooking. Now that she’s gone, we’ve been going to a lot of restaurants.”

  “Really.” Lori found that interesting.

  Corey nodded. “Dad says he isn’t good in the kitchen. Maybe you could teach him.”

  “Maybe,” Lori answered. Somehow, she couldn’t see herself sharing recipes with Dr Grant, but stranger things had happened. After all, for a man so totally immersed in his profession, he had a home and a son, so he did have a life outside St Anne’s walls.

  “How long has your housekeeper been gone?” Ronnie asked.

  “It’s been a week,” Corey answered. “I really miss her.”

  The sadness in his voice brought a lump to Lori’s throat and she struggled to swallow. “I’m sure she misses you, too,” she said gently.

  “She lived with us the longest.”

  Ronnie’s mouth formed a perfect O. “You’ve always had a housekeeper?”

  “Just since I was two.”

  “Wow, Mom,” Ronnie exclaimed. “Too bad we can’t have a housekeeper. Wouldn’t it be nice not to have any chores?”

  “It would,” Lori agreed, “but it’s not going to happen, so don’t waste your time dreaming about it.”

  Ronnie spoke to Corey. “Is that when your mom died? When you were two?”

  “Nah,” he said. “She died when I was born. I lived with my aunt until then.”

  He spoke very matter-of-factly about a story that tugged at Lori’s heartstrings. According to Rob, Mac was thirty-five, which meant that his life had turned upside down at the age of twenty-seven and probably still in medical school. Suddenly, the bleakness in Mac’s eyes made sense.

  “Dad’s trying to find someone to live with us,” he added, “but he says that Martha is irr—irr—”

  Although he couldn’t quite get the word out, Lori guessed at it. “Irreplaceable?”

  Corey nodded. “That’s it. One lady will clean but not cook, and one will cook but not do laundry. Nobody wants to move in so I won’t be alone so much.”

  Her protective instincts reared up as she imagined a young boy fending for himself in an empty house while Mac’s long hours kept him from home. How could he think of allowing such a thing!

  “You’re totally by yourself?” she asked. Although it seemed rather underhanded to coax private information out of his son, her concern over Corey took precedence. Mac surely knew the dangers of leaving a child by himself. He couldn’t be that irresponsible, could he?

  “Only after school,” Corey hastened to say. “Which is why Dad’s so anxious to hire someone to live with us.”

  It made her feel marginally better to know that Corey’s plight was only temporary. Yet she knew how easily “temporary” could become “permanent”.

  “What do you do when your dad is on call?” Lori counted her blessings for Susannah and how she met Ronnie’s babysitting needs so well. She couldn’t imagine what she’d do if her job was as busy and as unpredictable as a physician’s.

  “For now, our neighbor comes over, but Dad doesn’t want to im—im—”

  “Impose?”

  Once again, Corey nodded. This time, he raked one hand through his hair in a motion characteristic of his father’s. “Since Martha left, he’s been trying to stay at home more. Last night was the first time he was gone for a long time. Mrs Boyd, from next door, stayed with me all night.”

  “I’m done,” Ronnie pronounced.

  Corey shoved the last bite in his mouth and chewed. “Me, too,” he said, clearly ready to participate in whatever activity Ronnie suggested.

  “Did you finish your homework?” Lori asked.

  “No,” they chorused. “But we don’t have much.”

  “Then you’ll be able to finish it lickety-split. I’m sure Dr Grant will appreciate having time to do something fun with Corey before bedtime.”

  “It won’t matter,” Corey volunteered. “Dad usually works in his study and I play computer games or get on the internet and chat with my cousins.”

  “Oh?” Once again, she wondered at Mac’s relationship with his son. She couldn’t imagine not spending at least an hour playing board games or cards with her daughter, taking the time to discuss their day or just giggle and have girl-talk.

  “We can do it later. Mrs Cooper didn’t assign us much since we’re supposed to be working on our science projects,” Ronnie told her.

  “Now,” Lori commanded. Then, softening her tone, she added, “Afterwards, we’ll play Go Fish or Old Maid. And don’t forget to take your plates with you.”

  “OK.”

  By the time Lori had cleaned up the kitchen, it was after six-thirty and Mac still hadn’t arrived. Although she could imagine any number of possible explanations for the delay, she was concerned on Corey’s behalf. What if she hadn’t taken him with her today? Would he have been at home by himself, eating whatever he could find in the refrigerator, or would he simply have gone without?

  Not likely, she decided. With all the pizza deliveries available, Corey certainly wouldn’t starve, but the idea of an eight-year-old at home alone for hours on end bothered her nonetheless.

  It’s not your concern, she told herself. Mac’s a responsible parent. He would have made other arrangements if she hadn’t brought Corey with them.

  All things considered, she understood why young Corey had wanted her approval so much. Clearly, Martha had been a major influence in his life and now the poor boy was practically lost without her. Mac might be trying to adjust his schedule, but Corey would probably be left on his own far more than he should be at his age.

  The question uppermost in her mind now was should she ask Mac to be Ronnie’s stand-in dad? If he could hardly find time for his own son, he certainly couldn’t carve out additional minutes of his day for her daughter. Rob might think Mac was perfect for the job, but sometimes the logical choice wasn’t the best. Fortunately, Ronnie was too caught up with her guest and her school project to mention the father-daughter breakfast, but once Corey went home the subject was bound to surface.

  What should she do?

  Determined to forget all else but entertaining the two, Lori suggested a rousing card game. By seven, she’d been officially crowned “Old Maid” twice, to both Ronnie’s and Corey’s delight, and it appeared she could earn the designation for a third time when the doorbell rang.

  She glanced at Corey to test his reaction and was surprised to find disappointment rather than excitement. She unfolded her legs in order to rise from her spot on the floor next to the children.

  “You can leave your cards,” Ronnie said a trifle too innocently.

  Corey smiled with a toothless grin. “We won’t peek.”

  “That’s right—you won’t,” she said, holding her last three cards to her chest in a theatrical pose. “I’m taking them with me.”

  Amid their giggles, Lori answered the door. “Hi,” she said, suddenly aware that her rapid heart rate wasn’t due to the fun she’d been having. Seeing Mac on her porch, looking tired but still inordinately handsome in a gray dress shirt and black trousers, made her realize how unkempt she must look in her blue leggings and oversized white T-shirt.

  “Sorry I’m late
,” he said. “I had a few last-minute referrals to my pain clinic and then—”

  “You don’t need to explain,” she said. “Won’t you come in?”

  As he crossed the threshold to stand in her living room, his shoulders seemed more broad than she remembered, and the space in her house became smaller than usual. It was a silly wish, but she hoped he wouldn’t see the threadbare carpet or notice her cheap furniture. Strangely enough, she wanted to impress him, not gain his pity.

  “Dr Grant, this is my daughter, Veronica.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ronnie,” Mac said politely.

  He’d surprised Lori by using Ronnie’s nickname without being told. Somehow, it added another point in his favor.

  Corey rose, but didn’t run to embrace his father as Lori had seen other children do. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hello, yourself. Did you have a good time today?” Mac asked.

  “Yeah, I did. We just have to arrange our pictures and the fact bubbles on the posterboard and we’re done.”

  “That’s nice,” Mac said, sounding formally polite, which struck Lori as odd. Was Mac uncomfortable, being around his own son?

  “I thought we’d stop for a burger on the way home,” he added.

  “We’ve already eaten,” Ronnie interrupted. “Mom made extra for you, if you want.”

  “Thank you, but—” he began.

  “The hamburgers were really good,” Corey added. “You can eat while we finish our game.”

  Indecision appeared on Mac’s face but the plea in Corey’s eyes made her decision for her. If Mac accepted the invitation, she’d have a few more minutes to bolster her courage before she asked for her favor.

  “Please stay,” she encouraged. “As Ronnie said, we have plenty. It will only take a minute to get everything ready.”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “Don’t go to any trouble just for me.”

  “It’s no trouble at all.” She headed for the kitchen, but not before she brandished her cards at the children. “I’m still taking these for safekeeping.”

  “Mom,” Ronnie wailed.

  “We’ll play at the table while Dr Grant eats. In the meantime, why don’t you two show off your project?”