by Fiona West
His mind raced. He could hear the podcast he’d listened to, still in his head. “They’re less likely to include chest pain and more likely to happen during rest than exertion.”
“Good. Dr. Trout, what else?”
“Women are more likely to have pain outside of the chest, and to experience feeling faint, a cold sweat.”
“Dr. Udawatte?”
“Severe inability to sleep, pale or clammy skin.”
She set down her papers quietly. “I’m glad you’re all so up to speed on this. Can you explain to me, then, why none of you caught the two heart attacks that Mrs. Graves had over the weekend? Dr. Harper from Cardiology was just here after Nurse Lopez realized that her stomach pain and sleeplessness were due to more than just the cafeteria food. Mrs. Graves had a myocardial infarction on Friday night and Saturday morning, based on her echocardiogram. She’s being taken into surgery this afternoon.” Daniel’s own heart clenched; he’d prescribed her a sleeping pill Friday night, but they’d all been in there with her, discussing the case on rounds. They thought she had the flu; Tharushi had helped her to the toilet when she felt like she was going to pass out. They thought she was just dehydrated.
“You all owe Nurse Lopez a debt of gratitude. Know the symptoms. Did any of you touch her hands, her feet? Did you look at her health history? Her mother died of a heart attack around the same age. You must be more thorough. Look at everything. Assume nothing.”
They all nodded, and the mood was somber. After they discussed the new cases and did their rounds, Dr. Baker excused them to tackle the various tasks they’d been assigned. Daniel’s list was long today; it took him three hours to make a dent in it. His stomach growled; it had been a long time since his 5:30 a.m. breakfast with Winnie. They’d eaten on the couch despite her general objection to the activity, snuggled together, her in her pajamas. It was the best part of his day.
But this part, this was the worst. Or at least, he hoped it would be the worst. Every patient he interacted with now, he felt his paranoia growing that he was missing something. That some obvious piece of the puzzle was eluding him. He should have been eating lunch, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Mrs. Graves . . . After two bites of his salami sandwich, he put it back in the fridge and went down to Cardiology. His pager went off just as he knocked at Mrs. Graves’s door: Come to the ER for an intake. They’d just have to wait a few minutes. At her voice, Daniel opened the door of her room quietly.
“Dr. Durand. I didn’t think they let interns down here,” she said with a grin. He’d known her for more than twenty years; her husband was his mailman. She had a weekly appointment with his mom to get her toenails painted.
“They probably shouldn’t,” he said softly, trying to grin back, but it felt like lifting a hundred pounds. “Mrs. Graves, I just wanted to apologize—”
Someone knocked on the door, and it opened before either of them could say anything.
“There you are,” said Dr. Baker. “You’re needed in the ER.”
“Yes, I’ll be right there.” He swallowed hard, frustrated that he’d now have an audience for what he wanted to say. He lowered his voice. “Mrs. Graves, I’m so sorry I didn’t catch what was happening to you over the weekend. How are you feeling? Have they talked through the surgery with you?”
“Oh yes, Dr. Harper just explained everything. And don’t worry about it, dear: it could happen to anyone. You weren’t the only one who missed it.”
“No, but I’m still sorry. Our team should’ve caught it sooner.” He patted her hand gently, avoiding where the IV was attached to the back of it. “I’ll come see you afterwards, all right? I’ll bring Jell-O.”
“I like the strawberry ones. Don’t get a cherry by mistake. It tastes like cough medicine.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled. “Best of luck. See you later.”
“Of course you will.”
He turned to leave and was surprised to see Dr. Baker still standing in the doorway, watching him, pressing a chart to her chest. She followed him down the hallway.
“You need to be careful,” she said.
“I know, I screwed up the diagnosis with the sleeping pill.”
“Not that. Admitting your mistake. You don’t want the patient to be able to come back with a malpractice suit.”
He stopped walking, and she stopped, too. He glared at her for a long moment, debating about what to say before he took a deep breath.
“With all due respect, she already knows we made a mistake. It doesn’t hurt to apologize. I’d rather have a patient who trusts me to be straight with her than one who’s wondering what I’m trying to hide.” He strode away before she could answer, knowing that he was pushing the boundaries of professionalism by calling her out. But that’s who he was: integrity mattered. That’s how his dad and his brother were, too. He knew it wasn’t just him.
He made it down to the ER quickly and processed the patient into the hospital. He took longer than necessary to check him over: four-year-old male, high fever, bright-red patch rash on his face and body. Daniel started with his hands and feet, checked his pupils—heck, he even checked his spine. The mother seemed annoyed with him, but he would not be rushed. Not this time.
“How was he before the rash started?”
She shrugged a little. “He said his skin hurt, but I didn’t know exactly what that meant. I mean, it could be a paper cut, you know?”
“Did your throat hurt, buddy?” he asked the child, who nodded miserably, his blistered mouth puckering as he held back tears.
By the time he’d diagnosed him with Stevens-Johnson syndrome, likely triggered by the acetaminophen he’d been given after his annual shots, it was two o’clock. Daniel’s stomach growled so loudly, people in the hallway were giving him weird looks. Winnie was at the nurses’ station, as usual, her head bent in concentration over her work, her sunshine hair pulled back in a high ponytail. God, he loved her. He fingered the bracelet he’d bought her in his coat pocket. As if she sensed his attention, she looked up and smiled at him. “Did you eat already?”
He shook his head.
“Oh, good, me either. That’s a happy coincidence. I’ll just go get my food . . .”
“I’ll go with you.”
His exchange of words with Dr. Baker was still weighing on him, and now he had the joy of Winnie’s presence without the pleasure of touching her. They’d agreed on no PDA at the hospital . . . but he wanted a taste of her. Just a tiny one.
“Everything okay?” Of course she would notice that he was stewing. Looking up and down the hall to see that the coast was clear, he pulled her into a supply closet and pressed her up against the door. Her lips met his, and comfort flowed through them. She gave a little hum of approval, and he felt his shoulders drop with relief. He hadn’t been sure if this counted as PDA in her mind, since they weren’t on display, even though they were at work, and he couldn’t disappoint anyone else today. He pulled her closer, admittedly taking more than a little taste, and cradled her face in his hands.
Winnie pushed on his chest lightly, and he broke the kiss.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SHE DIDN’T WANT TO break the kiss, but he wasn’t quite acting like himself. It was a distraction kiss, and she’d rather hear about the problem. Daniel sighed deeply, and his breath warmed her face. “It’s complicated.”
That troubled her, and she let her bag slide off her shoulder onto the floor to hold him better. “What happened?”
“I screwed up. A patient was having myocardial infarctions right in front of me, and I didn’t see it.”
“Oh, wow. That’s not good.”
He let out a rough laugh. “No. Not good.”
“But someone must’ve caught it . . .”
“Martina.” He shook his head, and she could see his frustration rising again. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”
Winnie rubbed his arms, squeezing his shoulders to help relie
ve his tension. “You know, when my mom was a resident, she accidentally prescribed a medication that conflicted with what the patient was already taking. The man almost died. It happens to everyone sometime. I know you’re doing your best, hon. Just be patient with yourself.” She remembered the gift in her bag, and she bent to retrieve it. Winnie handed him the box with a coy smile. “Maybe this will cheer you up.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she just grinned. Cautiously, he opened the white box. “Oh, hey, it’s Groot!”
“It’s a plant.” She smiled. “And don’t worry, it claims it’s very hard to kill, much like the actual Groot.”
He smiled down at her, and she was immensely pleased with herself. “I got you something, too.”
“You did? That’s an odd coincidence.”
“Like it was a coincidence last week when we got each other the same issue of Spiderman?”
“That was less of a coincidence, since we’d just talked about it over breakfast.” He pulled out a bracelet with a tiny pink cupcake on it. “It’s a charm bracelet,” he explained needlessly. “I’ll get you more parts to it as time goes by. But I liked this one, because you help people have a happy birthday and you have a thing for pink. And you’re sweet.”
He was staring down at her warmly, searching her face to see if she liked it, and Winnie felt a thought surge through her veins like a drug: I want him. Not because he wanted her, which was usually how it went with other men. A sort of mirrored desire; she liked being wanted, and the other person wanted her. But this wasn’t that. This was 100 percent hers; her body demanded to own him, and it had very specific ideas about what it would do once it did. He was planning a future together, and she wanted that forever.
“Fred,” he groaned, and he cursed under his breath. “You can’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” She wanted to know what this deep desire looked like on her face.
“Like you want to burn all our clothes and see where it takes us.”
“That’d be a good start,” she said, playing with the top button of his coat, and his eyes narrowed.
“We promised . . .”
“Yes,” she said softly. “And it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” She let her gaze fall to his neck, but he put his fingers under her chin to lift it back to his.
“I’m not. I want you to want me, I just . . . can’t handle seeing it so plainly in your eyes right now. It’s my problem, not yours.” He lifted her arm and opened the clasp of the bracelet, putting it on her left wrist. A devilish thought came into her head, and she couldn’t resist.
“Heroes are made by the path they choose, not the powers they are graced with.”
Daniel’s eyes fluttered closed. “So it’s come to this. We’re reduced to quoting Iron Man.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s go find somewhere a little more public to be right now, before I strip down and try your idea.”
“I like Iron Man. He’s ridiculous.” She leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “But Thor’s still my favorite . . .”
“Out, Fred. Exit the closet. Now.” He pulled her gently away from the door to open it.
“Plus, even if we did burn our clothes, you know that’s the moment Kyle would show up . . .”
Daniel cackled and gave her a big, smacking kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Fred.”
“I love you, too.”
She was still glowing when she got back to the nurses’ station. Martina was eating carrot sticks that smelled lightly of vinegar, scrolling through an article about Prince Harry, ignoring an open textbook in front of her.
“A new batch of fermented carrot sticks? That extra brain power must be what’s got you catching all those new doctors’ mistakes.”
Martina’s tawny skin paled slightly. “Were they upset?”
“Daniel was upset with himself; he was very glad you caught it.”
“I had to say something . . .”
“Of course you did! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“My auntie was the same way. No one caught hers, either, and she ended up with a lot of scarring. Heart attacks are so sneaky.”
“Sounds like it.” Winnie gave her a reassuring squeeze around the shoulders. “You did good.” Her mother would object to her grammar, but it seemed to comfort Martina nonetheless. “How are your classes going?”
“Pretty good. It’s kind of fun to be back in school. Plus, my dad always wanted to have a kid with a master’s, now he’ll have two.”
Winnie grimaced. “Parental pressure is so fun.”
“Oh, it’s the best. But it actually is a good program. I’m enjoying it, for the most part; it’s really interesting studying all the things that can happen in adult gerontology. And nurse practitioners get paid more, so hooray for money.”
“We’re quite the unlikely pair: I’m helping people into the world, as you help them out of it.” She paused, not really ready to hear the answer to her next question. “And are you going to stay with us at Santiam once you’re done?” Martina was part of what made being at the hospital fun, and Winnie wasn’t interested in losing her in the nurses’ station or as a friend.
Martina’s eyes dropped to the keyboard. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Well, I’d miss you.”
Her friend bit a chunk off another carrot stick. “We’d still see each other. I promise.”
“We’d better.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WINNIE WOKE TO THE sound of her phone ringing, blaring “Ride to Observatory” from the Thor movie soundtrack, a less than subtle nod to Daniel’s status in her life.
“Hello?”
“Oh, thank God. Winifred, where are you?” Panic. Sandra Baker’s voice was like a tidal wave, knocking Winnie awake. Where are you? Where was she? The living room was dark except for the TV, which had reverted to the Netflix menu. Someone’s lovely, lean body was mostly under hers as she stretched. They must have fallen asleep watching TV again. Working strange hours, “Netflix and chill” was more like Netflix and pass out. Not that “chilling” was on the menu at the moment . . .
“Oh, I’m . . .” She made eye contact with her boyfriend’s unfocused blue eyes just as she said, “I’m at Daniel’s.”
“Who is it?” he mouthed.
She mouthed back, “Mom.”
“Good, bring him, too,” Sandra went on. “He’s good with women. Bring your bag.”
Winnie sat up. “What’s going on?”
“Penny Wallace’s niece is visiting, and she’s gone into early labor. She’s hysterical, refusing to go to the hospital. We tried Nurse Mitton, but she’s still in Dallas. The patient says she can’t do this without her husband, who is on his way, but he’s still in Boise.”
“That’s what, six, seven hours away?”
“At least.”
Winnie searched for her shoes: not under the table, or under the couch . . .
“What time did her labor start?”
“Penny wasn’t sure, Angela’s been cagey about it. She only knew something was wrong because she wouldn’t come out of the bathroom.”
“We’ll be right there.” She hung up before she got the address. “Do you know where the Wallace place is?”
“Sure. We used to swim in their irrigation pond, which is pretty gross now that I think about it.”
“Get your keys. Let’s go.” Winnie grabbed her bag from her car and filled him in on the way. Driving these back roads at night always made her nervous: deer were everywhere. People out here didn’t seem to find them as cute as she did; not too surprising, considering they were tired of having their gardens eaten and their cars destroyed. She forced herself to calm down and prepare to be there for Angela, who must’ve been scared out of her mind.
They were walking up to the porch when the door flew open. Three women all started talking at her at once, one of them crying, and Winnie reached out to grab two of their hands. Gee, she thought, I can’t imagine why our laboring mother locked herself in the b
athroom if this is the emotional climate of the room . . .
“Take a deep breath with me. Ready?” Winnie breathed in deeply through her nose and held it, looking into each of their eyes, until they’d all breathed in and held. Squeezing their hands, she slowly let it out and watched the tension drain from their shoulders. “One more.” The look in her mother’s eyes told her she was pushing it, but she ignored her. The two other women complied, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Daniel obeying as well. She hid her smile at that, but she let the happy feeling prompted by his support swim around inside her chest. “Okay. Now where’s my patient?”
The nervous babble started up again, overlapping like a flock of birds fighting over a feeder. Winnie held up her hands, and they silenced again. “Who’s Penny?”
A woman in her sixties with gray hair at her temples raised a timid hand.
“Okay, Penny, lead the way.”
“She’s locked the bathroom door,” she reported over her shoulder as they started upstairs. “She won’t open it for anyone, not even me. We’ve always been close, and I’m just so concerned—”
Winnie stopped her with a hand to the shoulder. “I’m here now. I’ve got it. I’ve worked with plenty of frightened mothers. It’s late. You should all go to bed.”
Penny’s eyes widened. “Go to bed? While she’s in labor?”
Winnie nodded. “It would be very helpful. A more peaceful atmosphere may convince her to come out, which would allow me to check her vitals and assess the baby’s progress.”
The older woman protested, and Winnie escorted her back downstairs as she listened to her concerns quietly.
“Those are some good points, and I’ll keep them in mind,” Winnie said over her shoulder as she started back up the stairs, Daniel trailing her.
It was the only closed door upstairs, between two bedrooms.
“Hi, Angela,” Winnie said, resting her forehead against the door. “I’m Winifred. I’m a certified nurse midwife.” She applauded herself inwardly for avoiding telling her she was Dr. Baker’s daughter—the d-word would probably not put her at ease right now. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m here and I’m available if you want my help. I could hold your hand or get you a snack if you want. I’ve sent the others to bed, so it’s just you and me.”