“It’s been a rough week.”
“How long will you be overseeing Brad?” Word had leaked out that the nurse-anesthetist was on probation. He no longer handled cases alone, which meant that either Mac or Josh, the other anesthesiologist, had to watch him perform his duties or assume them altogether. Of course, this was on top of Mac’s usual workload and responsibilities.
Mac rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure. Josh and I will reevaluate the situation in a month. On a more encouraging note, we have a lead on an applicant.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Out of curiosity, who’s on call this weekend since it was Brad’s turn?”
“I am,” he said ruefully. “Everyone else had plans that couldn’t be changed.”
His voice sounded as tired as he looked. “Why don’t you go into the living room and relax?” she suggested. “I’ll clean this up and—”
He shook his head. “I didn’t invite you here to work. This was supposed to be your night off, remember?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m serious.”
She rose. “I am, too. If you think I’m going to sit and watch you work when you’re dead on your feet, you can think again. By the way, Corey mentioned that he’s out of clean clothes.”
Mac pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, he said something about it this morning. I’d better toss a load into the washing machine.”
“Do that,” Lori ordered. “I’ll take care of this and we’ll finish at the same time.”
He hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. On our next visit, I’ll sit back and act like a lady of leisure, but for now, I’ll appreciate your good intentions.” She smiled.
He grinned. “Fair enough.”
As she’d predicted, by the time Mac returned from the laundry room, she’d stored the leftovers in the refrigerator in their cardboard cartons and had stacked the dishes in the dishwasher.
“If I’d been thinking, I would have asked Susannah to babysit while we went to the movies,” he said as he led the way to his living room.
“You wouldn’t have had any luck. It’s football night and the high school team plays at home. I’m sure we’ll find something on television to watch.”
“Everyone at work was talking about a Discovery Channel documentary about sunken ships. How does that sound?”
She didn’t care as long as she could spend a few hours with him. “Sunken ships is fine with me,” she said cheerfully as she sat beside him on his sofa with his arm around her.
Fifteen minutes into the program, she noticed Mac’s breathing had changed. He’d fallen asleep.
Ten minutes later, Corey came running in. “Dad,” he shouted. “Dad!”
Lori answered, hating to see Mac’s rest interrupted. “He’s sleeping. What’s wrong?”
“The washer is making thumping noises,” he said.
“I’ll fix it.” She eased her way out of Mac’s loose embrace. He was obviously out for the count if Corey’s shrill voice hadn’t disturbed him.
Lori adjusted the clothes and the machine finished its spin cycle quietly. While she waited to throw the load in the dryer, she folded a load of towels, noticing the spots of bleached-out color spattered across them.
Poor Mac. He definitely needed a housekeeper.
Or a wife.
She tossed Corey’s clothes into the dryer and returned to the living room where Mac hadn’t moved a muscle. It was tempting to snuggle in beside him, to rest her head on his shoulder, to hold him close, but she didn’t. When she did those things, she wanted Mac fully awake.
A fleece blanket hung over the back of an easy chair and she covered him with it before she settled down to watch the rest of the program.
When the credits rolled, he sat up. “I fell asleep,” he said, sounding incredulous. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s OK. You were tired. And speaking of tired, I need to get Ronnie to bed, too.”
He rubbed his face and she heard the rasp of his stubble against his fingertips. “This wasn’t how I thought the evening would go.”
She chuckled. “There will be others.” She hoped.
“Count on it,” he said.
A week later, Lori finished stirring the pot of home-made spaghetti sauce she’d made at Corey’s request and faced the two youngsters. “I know this is our last night before Mrs Partridge moves in, but I want you to know that every Friday is for us.”
Corey nodded. “I won’t forget.”
“And you can come over on any other day after school or on the weekends,” she said as she gave the little boy a hug and swallowed the lump in her throat. She hated goodbyes and although she’d see Corey occasionally, it would be different. “Our door is always open.”
He nodded, but his red-rimmed eyes gave away his relief.
“Come on, Corey,” Ronnie suggested. “Let’s go play while Mom gets dinner ready.”
Lori returned to her meal preparations. Mac had promised he wouldn’t be late on their last official evening together. Now, with thoughts of the Grant men’s paths diverging from hers, she hated the idea.
Marry Mac.
She was so very tempted but, loving him as she did, she didn’t think she could share him with a ghost. If she was meant to be Mac’s wife, it would happen, whether it was now or later. After proving the truth in the adage “Marry in haste, repent in leisure” with her first marriage, she was wise to be cautious the second time around.
“Something smells good.” Mac entered the kitchen, interrupting her thoughts.
“You’re early,” she said, surprised to see him.
He glanced at the clock. “I guess so. Shall I come back later?”
“Don’t be silly. The pasta is going in the water even as we speak,” she said, putting action to her words.
Mac lifted the lid on the pot of sauce. “Corey’s favorite.”
“Of course. I even baked a cake in his honor.”
“Your four-layer fancy creation?” he teased.
“Complete with raspberries and frosting roses.”
“You’re giving him quite a send-off.”
“He’s a special boy. Anyway, I thought it might ease his transition. He’s worried about your new housekeeper.”
“I know. I thought he was used to the idea, but the closer we’ve gotten to the day, the less he’s said to me.”
“He’s anxious and frightened. Life as he knows it will change again. It’s bound to make anyone uptight.”
“I suppose. I just wish he understood that I didn’t have a choice.”
Lori placed a hand on his arm. “He does, but it’s tough for an eight-year-old to accept. He’s lived through a lot of changes and he probably feels as if he’s lost in the shuffle.”
“How?”
“From his point of view, he’s been passed from one caretaker to another. I’m not criticizing, mind you,” she hurried to add. “I’m just telling you how he feels.”
“He actually said this?”
“More or less. You’re in an impossible situation, Mac. I’m only mentioning it so you know to make amends in other ways. Take him to the park or go to the movies. Don’t ignore him.”
“I’ll try, but you’ve seen how the past two weeks have been. The next few won’t be any easier.”
“Try. By the way, I’ve told Corey that he has a standing Friday night date with us.”
He grinned. “Does your invitation include parents?”
“Of course.” Satisfied that she’d done all she could for Corey, she changed the subject. “I think the spaghetti is cooked. Would you call everyone to dinner?”
Lori kept the mood light as they ate and she avoided all references to Mrs Partridge. Corey’s eyes glowed when she served dessert.
“Is this the somersault cake?” he asked. “The one you make just for special occasions?”
“The exact one. And you can take the leftovers home with you.”
“Gee, Dad. Isn’t that great?” he said, ap
parently forgetting that he wasn’t too happy with his father.
“It certainly is.”
Lori winked at Ronnie who slipped away from the table and returned with a package wrapped in airplane paper.
Corey’s eyes couldn’t have grown any larger. “For me?” he asked.
“You bet.”
“Can I open it now?”
“Now’s as good a time as any.”
He ripped the wrapping and once he’d removed the lid he oohed over the contents. “Wow.”
Lori smiled at his obvious delight. “It’s a care package for you. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
“I will.” He lifted out a pack of Old Maid cards, several “Arthur” books and a Magic Schoolbus story that were duplicates of ones Ronnie owned and Corey liked, a box of Tinker Toys, a pad of writing paper and a pack of colored pens.
“We thought that you and your dad could play some of your favorite games at home. And when we come over to visit, we can play, too.”
It was nearly ten o’clock when Corey and Ronnie started yawning, bringing an official end to the evening. “Thanks for staying so late,” she told Mac as she gathered Corey’s things.
“I didn’t have the heart to make him leave before he was ready. I appreciate you making this night special.”
“It was my pleasure. I think it helps for him to know that he’ll be back next Friday. He can hold onto that thought all week long.”
“I’m sure he will. Mrs Partridge moves in tomorrow, so we’re going to have a busy weekend.”
“If you need anything, please, let me know.”
“I will.” While Mac loaded the car with Corey’s presents and the leftover cake, Lori hugged Corey. “OK, big guy. Do you remember my phone number?” At his nod, she said, “I’m expecting you to call me every night at eight and tell me how your day went. Can you do that?”
“I won’t forget.”
She hugged him again, soaking in the feel of his little body. How he’d wriggled into her heart so quickly amazed her, but he had and now she felt as if he was taking a piece of her with him. Which was silly, of course. He was only about ten blocks and a phone call away. “I love you, Corey.”
“I love you, too.”
Deep in her own misery caused by a sudden attack of self-doubt, she couldn’t watch them drive away. Instead, she closed the door and hugged Ronnie, who clearly shared her unhappiness. As she tidied the house before going to bed, Lori hoped that Mac wouldn’t forget to carve out time for his son.
The following Wednesday, Blythe cornered Mac outside the nurses’ station where he was on his way to another patient’s pre-op visit. “Do you have a minute, Dr Grant?”
“Sure. What can I do for you?”
“What are the odds of getting a bad batch of morphine?”
“Slim to none. What’s wrong?”
She dug a vial out of her pocket. “Lori brought this to my attention. She’s given a dose out of this vial, but the patient doesn’t respond to the painkiller. It’s like it’s lost its strength or something.”
Mac glanced at the vial and the remaining contents. The liquid was colorless and clear, which didn’t mean anything in terms of its efficacy since that was its normal appearance.
“You’re sure?”
“It involved one of my patients, so she called me. I didn’t know what to do, except try an unopened vial. It was fine and the patient experienced almost immediate relief.”
“This is unusual,” Mac agreed. “Is this the first time it’s happened?”
“As far as I know, but you might ask Lori.”
“If it’s just the one vial, I suppose it’s possible, but…” He shook his head. “It’s just not likely.”
“That’s what I thought, which is why I brought it to your attention. Someone else might run into the same thing, so we should be alert.”
Mac studied the label. “Had this vial been opened prior to this dose?”
“I believe so, but I don’t know for which patient.”
He didn’t know what to think, but something definitely wasn’t right. “Thanks. I’ll keep my ears open in case anyone else reports a problem.”
Puzzled by Blythe’s report, he mentioned the situation to Josh when he caught up to him.
“I can’t explain it,” Josh said.
Determined to track down an answer, Mac went to the chemistry laboratory where he spoke to the technologist on duty. “Can you test the fluid and see what concentration of morphine is in this vial?”
The tech shook his head. “I can give you a qualitative result, but not a quantitative answer. Our drug testing only detects a particular substance’s presence. It won’t tell how much is present.”
“That’ll have to do.” He allowed the fellow to remove a small sample of the fluid, but kept the vial. Why, he wasn’t sure, but he felt compelled to keep the evidence himself.
“Do you want me to call with the results?”
“I’d appreciate it,” Mac said.
An hour later, he received his answer.
“I don’t know what this fluid is,” the tech told him, “but there’s barely enough morphine present to give a trace result. Whoever is getting that for their pain isn’t getting their money’s worth.”
“Thanks,” Mac said. The mystery had grown and now he contacted the pharmacy.
“We haven’t had anything like this happen before,” the chief pharmacist said. “The vials from that lot have been distributed all over the hospital and yours is the first I’ve heard of with a problem.”
“It’s probably an isolated incident,” Mac decided. “We’re going to be extra conscientious, so if we see it happen again, we may need to pull all those meds off the shelves.”
This was just what Mac needed—something else to demand his attention. His sleuthing had disrupted his schedule and now it looked as if he’d be working on into the evening. What made it worse was that he’d promised to play cards with Corey before bedtime.
At least Mrs Partridge had taken his household in hand and had whipped it back into shape. No more worrying about arriving at Lori’s too late; no more feeling as if he were taking advantage of her; and no more concerns about dragging Corey out at night. His house sparkled, he found clean clothes in his closet, and if the meals weren’t as tasty as Lori’s because of his housekeeper’s dietary restrictions, it seemed a small price to pay to have his routine back.
Sadly, his routine now seemed so…routine. He missed those evenings he’d grown to enjoy. He especially missed seeing Lori with her hair hanging loosely over her shoulders, her faded blue jeans molded to her slim curves and her smile that turned a bad day into a good one. For years he hadn’t been concerned if his professional life had overshadowed his personal one, but in the space of a few weeks he realized how much he wanted to juggle the two successfully.
He needed someone to help him, and if he couldn’t have Lori, then Mrs Partridge was the next best thing. He’d been so busy that he hadn’t seen Corey since Sunday except in passing. Guilt over how he’d all but dumped him into her care niggled at him, but Corey hadn’t complained about the woman so Mac guessed they were managing.
He wished that he could say the same for his problems at work.
On Thursday, Lori cornered him early in the morning. “At the risk of making you angry when you hear what I have to say,” she said without preamble, “I’m going to say it anyway. I’m worried about Corey.”
“Oh? He didn’t complain about anything this morning.”
“Of course not. He can’t. That woman won’t let him say anything to you.”
“Now, Lori. Mrs Partridge assures me they’re getting along perfectly.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What does Corey tell you?”
“I’ve gotten home late every night, so we haven’t talked.”
“My point exactly. Do you realize that she won’t let him call me at eight before he goes to bed?”
“Are you sure?” He couldn’t imagine why she�
�d restrict Corey’s daily phone call to Lori.
“Of course I’m sure.” Lori stood toe to toe with him as she poked him in the chest. “He can’t call because she makes him turn in at seven.”
“It is early, I’ll admit, but—”
“But nothing. Did you know that she also put him on a schedule this week? According to Ronnie, he gets fifteen minutes to eat his snack after school, thirty minutes to play outside, an hour for homework and another hour for extra reading. Plus, she only allows him fifteen minutes to use the internet and he can only access it if she’s in the room. How would you feel if someone treated you like that?”
He inwardly winced. “She’s obviously a little obsessive.”
“A little? A little?” she screeched. “She’s Attila the Hun. My gosh, Mac, Corey is a little boy and he needs time to play and relax without someone staring over his shoulder.”
He rubbed his head. “All right. I’ll talk to her. I know he’s not fond of her, but are you sure he’s not stretching the truth a little?”
“I spoke with her myself to remind her that Corey would be coming home with me tomorrow after school and she acted as if I was going to corrupt him. And don’t say I’m imagining things, because I’m not,” she warned. “One week together isn’t very long but, believe me, he’s not happy.”
“OK. I’ll talk to Mrs Partridge.”
“Good.” Her shoulders heaved with a cleansing breath. “I know you’re busy, but you need to ease Corey into this transition.”
“I’m doing the best I can, but I can’t be in two places at once.”
“Then you’d better decide which one is more important. You’re not the only anesthesiologist on staff, but you are Corey’s only parent.”
With that, she stomped out of the recovery room, leaving him to feel like an errant schoolboy. He was caught in a tug of war and he simply didn’t know what direction to turn. What sort of father was he if he didn’t even know the depths of his son’s distress?
He’d always taken Corey to school each morning, even while Martha had been with them, but Monday had been rather hectic at their house and he’d gratefully turned over the task when Mrs Partridge had volunteered. To his shame and regret, he hadn’t taken it back.
As for going to bed early, she had always informed him that Corey was tired. Never once had she mentioned the schedule she’d put in place.
A Mother's Special Care Page 11