Rescue Team

by Candace Calvert

  Lauren glanced toward the parking lot. “Well then, here comes part of your normal now. Right on cue. Isn’t that your ever-loyal volunteer reporting for duty?”

  “Judith. She’s here more than I am.” Kate watched as the middle-aged woman in a pink Ladies Auxiliary uniform walked between two of the police cars—not easy with the huge tote bag she carried. It was undoubtedly stuffed to the brim with wooden puzzles, magazines, and a bottle of iridescent bubbles to make the children smile. The woman was amazing; she’d even headed an autumn fund-raising event specifically for the emergency department. And best of all—unlike paid employees—Judith Doyle went cheerfully about her work without complaining. If only Kate could clone her.

  Kate started to wave, then lowered her hand and frowned. “Look who else has arrived.”

  “First of the news vans. Better freshen your lipstick.”

  “Better move my car,” Kate grumbled around the last bite of her cookie. “I’m not going to get ambushed in the parking lot. Again.”

  Wedging her Hyundai into the last remaining visitors’ parking space was about as easy as the first few hours of her day. Two huge vehicles flanked her, barely contained within the painted lines. Her playful jabs about “big trucks, bigger belt buckles” held more than a measure of truth. Vehicles this size should span two spaces . . . in the overflow lot. She peered through her window at the late-model Ford pickup beside her—a dually. Because, of course, four massive tires weren’t enough. A business slogan on its side, above eye level from her vantage point, read:

  Got Water?

  Tanner Wells—Drilling, Repair, Rain Catchment

  Kate slid from her car, thinking that at least the reporters would never spot her between these high-testosterone vehicles. She turned sideways and began shuffling toward the walkway, trying not to brush the truck’s dusty door.

  “Sorry! I shouldn’t have—”

  Kate jumped at the deep voice in the distance, yelping as the back of her head connected with the truck’s side mirror. Then before she could blink, the man hurried forward and took hold of her arm. He led her to the walkway, offering an apology for his oversize truck and another for startling her.

  “Are you okay?” His dark brows scrunched as he peered down at her. “I have an instant ice pack in the—”

  “I’m fine,” Kate interrupted, vaguely aware that his fingers still encircled her arm. She studied him for a moment: nearly black hair, beard stubble, wide jaw, dark-lashed blue eyes. No Levi’s jacket, but . . . “You’re the one who held the waiting room door open. And carried the baby to the code room.”

  “Right.” He let go of her arm. “I followed an ambulance in. A woman we found in the woods this morning. My team,” he added quickly. “Search and rescue.”

  “Oh yes. The Alzheimer’s patient.” Kate gingerly touched her fingers to her scalp, noticing the Got Water? logo stitched on his polo shirt—over a broad, muscular expanse of chest. Only the awful chaos of those moments in the lobby could have kept her from noticing how good-looking this man was.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes,” Kate insisted. “I have to get back to the department. But thank you for helping this morning, Mr. . . .”

  “Tanner.” He offered his hand. “Wes Tanner.”

  She accepted his handshake, telling herself a small rush of dizziness had more to do with the impact of a Ford dually than a denim cowboy. “I’m—”

  “You’re Kate Callison. Director of the emergency department,” Wes finished the introduction for her. “Cynthia McConnell told me.”

  Kate grimaced. “The social worker interviewed you? Did she make you go through one of those awful debriefing sessions?”

  Wes hesitated as if choosing his words. “That would be called a defusing, which is done the same day as the event. To assure a person that feelings of stress are normal. The social worker told me your name because I’m helping with the CISM review at your staff meeting this week.”

  “I see.” Kate’s lips tensed. “I expect Cynthia also told you that I’m not exactly excited about the idea.”

  “No. She only said that there have been some problems, and now might be a good time to touch base—remind your team of some coping skills. Today, with the baby, couldn’t have helped the situation.”

  “Look . . . it’s been a horrible day. In a miserable couple of weeks . . . that really started months ago. Before I was even hired. But I’m doing everything I can to pull this department together, to keep staff working, patients safe and cared for. And to keep bad PR at bay. I’m going to continue doing that.” Kate crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “I told our CNO that I’d go along with Cynthia’s plan. But in my experience, dwelling on tragedy—overanalyzing these things—doesn’t help anything. I appreciate your help today, Mr. Tanner. And I think it’s great that you found that woman in the woods . . .”

  “But?”

  “I should make this clear: no one here needs to be rescued.”

  Kate aimed her key-chain remote at her car, and when the horn sounded an answering beep, she gave Wes a curt nod and left.

  - + -

  Wes watched her walk toward the ER door, her stride surprisingly long for her height. Eager to get away.

  Not any more eager than he was.

  He glanced at her clown-size car. A hybrid, of course—probably ran on recycled alfalfa sprouts. Then he thought of what the social worker had said earlier. That the Austin Grace emergency department had problems that had shaken their sense of teamwork.

  It was obvious now that the problem was Kate Callison. The small nurse with sad eyes. And a giant chip on her shoulder.

  AVA SMITH. Reason for visit: Food poisoning.

  “You think she could be the one?” Kate shifted her gaze from the computer screen to the nurse sitting on the other side of her desk. “Baby Doe’s mother?”

  “I guess it’s possible.” The night shift triage nurse, Dana Connor, pressed a hand to her midsection as if she had a sudden case of salmonella herself. “I told the police . . .” Her eyes, shadowed with obvious fatigue, focused somewhere beyond Kate. “I went over this with two detectives and then I had to talk with that nurse the social worker sent. Do we have to do this right now? My husband’s caregiver won’t stay past—”

  “Yes,” Kate insisted, “we do.” She tapped her finger against the triage note on the screen in front of her. “This Ava Smith arrived shortly after 3 a.m.?”

  “If that’s what it says.”

  “It does,” Kate confirmed, wishing it didn’t. She was already dreading the media slant: “Mother of dead baby waited hours in hospital emergency department.”

  “She didn’t answer when they tried to room her for an exam,” Dana explained.

  “After nearly three hours. The ER staff called her at 5:47.” Kate couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. She’d had to wait in line to interview this nurse, and getting her cooperation now felt like pulling teeth. “What this doesn’t say is what happened with this young woman after you triaged her. Hospital policy requires follow-up notes on patients having extended waits. There are none here.”

  Dana’s teeth scraped across her lower lip. “I remember looking for her a couple of times. I thought she was probably in the bathroom. She said she had cramps. From diarrhea, I figured.”

  “You didn’t ask the date of her last menstrual period?”

  “I’m sure I did, but . . .”

  “If it’s not documented, it didn’t happen, Dana.”

  The nurse changed position in her chair. “It was a busy shift. The staff in the back was dealing with a ruptured aneurysm; then that COPD patient deteriorated and had to be tubed. Plus there were still those patients from the p.m. shift waiting for beds in the ICU.” Her teeth tortured her lip again. “The waiting room was packed but people kept coming in. I tried hard to keep up, get them to beds in the ER. The staff couldn’t take them; the patients were complaining—it’s like being caught in gunfire.” Her ey
es shone with sudden tears. “I didn’t get a chance to sleep before my shift. My husband needs round-the-clock care since his motorcycle accident last year. We have a little boy. I need to work if we’re going to keep the house.” She reached for the Kleenex box Kate nudged forward. “Do the police think Ava Smith is the mother of that baby?”

  “I believe they’re pursuing that possibility.” Kate hated this conversation and her role in it. She’d been under the gun in triage countless times in her career and knew it could be incredibly rugged. And thankless. Still . . . “Apparently the information she gave during registration was false. The detectives are looking at the security tapes. Were you able to give them a physical description?”

  Dana twisted the tissue. “Young. Nineteen, she said, but she seemed younger. Dark hair. Straight and not very clean, about shoulder length. Thin. Wearing a long sweater that looked two sizes too big on her—dark colored, maybe navy blue.”

  Black nail polish, a silver ring. Pale and perspiring, eyes filled with fear. The realization hit Kate in a dizzying wave. The girl in the shadows. She’d talked with her.

  Stunned, Kate tried to focus on what the triage nurse was saying. Her tears had welled again.

  “I mean,” Dana continued, voice dropping to a ragged whisper, “do you think if I’d done things better, the baby would be alive?”

  - + -

  “No thanks.” Wes smiled at the emergency department volunteer holding a small stack of magazines. “I appreciate the offer, though . . . Judith,” he added, noting the name tag on her pink smock. “I won’t be here much longer. I’m waiting to drive someone home.”

  “The sister-in-law of an elderly patient who came in by ambulance. You’re part of the search-and-rescue team.” The woman nodded and her earrings, embossed silver angels, swayed as if taking flight. Her smile brought tiny lines to the outer corners of her smoky-blue eyes, the only clue that indicated her age. Midfifties, Wes guessed—close to his stepmother’s age. Well-cut blonde hair, tasteful makeup, manicured nails, and a kind expression. A star in the crown of the Austin Grace Hospital Ladies Auxiliary, he’d be willing to bet.

  “Your friend should be out any moment,” the woman said. “The patient’s being admitted upstairs.”

  “You’re certainly on top of things.”

  Judith smiled, sliding a small spiral notebook from her pocket. “My cheat sheet. No names, of course, to respect privacy. But I make notes.” Her discerning gaze took in the dozen or so people seated in the chairs, from the man in a wheelchair to twin girls—one with a gauze square taped to her chin—to the elderly couple signing in at the registration window.

  Wes imagined Judith with a rescue pack and a GPS. She was sharp.

  She turned back to Wes. “Waiting isn’t an easy thing when you’re sick, hurting, or worried. And the staff has their hands full. I try to help where I can. Run some interference for the patients, be a bit of an advocate.” Judith chuckled. “Without appearing to be too pushy, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Wes acknowledged, the image of Kate Callison rising without warning. No doubt she thought his advocacy for her staff was pushy. Not that Kate wasn’t completely capable of pushing back. Or even arm wrestling. He’d seen the determined look on her face in the parking lot. And again a few minutes ago when she’d walked by with the triage nurse in tow. Wes didn’t envy that obviously exhausted woman. He made a mental note to thank Gabe and Jenna again; mutual respect was strong glue when teamwork mattered. He didn’t take their dedication for granted.

  “I should go check on that young lady.” Judith glanced toward the far side of the waiting room, where an African American woman sat with a toddler on her lap. “Her husband’s deployed, so she’s handling things alone. She’s worried about her son, and they’ve been waiting awhile.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates your help, Judith. The hospital’s lucky to have you—especially today.” Wes shook his head. “Their morning got off to a rough start.”

  She leaned in, lowered her voice. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re the man who rushed to help with the newborn.”

  “I only did what little I could, ma’am. Right place at a tough moment.”

  “Well, thank you,” she said, extending her hand. “If more folks took the responsibility to help where they could, this would be a healthier community—and a kinder world.”

  “Amen,” Wes agreed, taking her hand.

  - + -

  “Did the police talk with you yet?” Lauren sank into the desk chair across from Kate.

  “No.” Kate minimized the computer program. But I am going to tell them I saw that girl. Aren’t I? “So far they’ve only asked me to point them in the direction of the night staff. You?”

  “They wanted to know what I saw in the waiting room. Which, beyond the horror on Albert’s face, wasn’t much. Except the backside of your hustling scrubs and that blur when Wes Tanner sprinted by.”

  “You know him?”

  “Wes helped teach my CISM classes. And he was here after Sunni went missing—for the staff debriefing.” Lauren caught Kate’s frown. “What?”

  “I got an earful in the parking lot,” she explained, resisting the urge to once again check the back of her head for a lump. “He’s teaming with social services to give that refresher at our staff meeting.”

  “Um . . . things have changed some. Cynthia said she called you.”

  “I haven’t listened to my messages. What’s going on?”

  Lauren spread her hands on the desk. “Friday’s going to be a debriefing instead. Small, voluntary of course. For those directly involved in the Baby Doe incident. It will be offered to the clerks, the janitor, and the nursing staff. Anyone who feels affected by this tragedy.”

  “Why the change?” Kate asked, certain Wes Tanner was responsible.

  “Because your team’s feeling more than a little shell-shocked, Kate. They need to know they have our support.” Concern flickered across Lauren’s face. “Albert is sure that if he hadn’t changed his routine—if he’d cleaned the bathroom an hour earlier—the baby would still be alive.”

  “I heard the doctor say there’s a chance the baby never took a breath,” Kate said solemnly. “He was so premature. But we won’t know the official cause of death until the medical examiner’s finished.”

  “Meanwhile, Albert’s blaming himself. And the clerk who opened the door when you and Wes were rushing the baby to the code room has a daughter with a high-risk pregnancy. She cried when she told me about it. Everyone’s been affected in some way.”

  Kate thought of Dana’s whispered question. “If I’d done things better . . . ?”

  “Because Wes was directly involved in the incident,” Lauren continued, “he’ll take part the same as the others. Like you and—”

  “Wait.” Kate held up her hand. “You said voluntary. I agreed to the dispensing of stress information at a staff meeting. I never said I’d volunteer for a debriefing. Besides,” she added, determined to make Lauren understand, “I don’t think the staff would be comfortable talking about their personal situations and feelings in front of their department director.”

  “Rank is set aside at a debriefing. It’s not a fact-finding mission or a critique of an event,” Lauren explained. “It’s human beings coming together to get through a tough situation. Cynthia and the chaplain will facilitate. Wes and I will offer what we can in a supporting role. And I think,” she added gently, “taking part could go a long way toward getting your team behind you. It could show them that you care.” She smiled. “Even more than making cupcakes.”

  Kate squeezed her eyes shut. “Please swear to me you’re not going to follow that jab by saying, ‘Now is the time to ask yourself: What would Sunni do?’”

  “I guess I don’t have to. But really, I mean this: I’m on your side, Kate. And I’ll admit a huge part of that is selfish. Because I like you and I want you to stay.”

  Stay . . .

  Lauren stood. �
��And now I get to spend my evening doing another assignment for our CNO. Someone needs to take the ‘Let’s get Lauren to do it’ sign off my back.”

  Kate smiled weakly, realizing she was tired. Bone-level exhausted. Half an hour and she was out of here, regardless. “And what’s that assignment?”

  “She wants me to pull together some information on the Baby Moses law.”

  “Sounds suspiciously religious.”

  “That’s the original Texas name,” Lauren told her. “We were the first state to adopt the law. You probably know it as Safe Haven.”

  Kate’s stomach lurched.

  “The legislation that allows a mother to surrender her newborn baby without legal penalty—at designated facilities like hospitals and fire departments,” Lauren clarified.

  Oh, please, no. Why was this following Kate? How far away was far enough?

  Lauren continued, “Austin Grace is on that list. Though we haven’t had an infant surrender in years. What happened with Baby Doe brings up some serious questions.” She turned as a man in uniform arrived at the office door.

  “Kate Callison?”

  “That’s me,” Kate managed despite the fact that her heartbeat was pummeling her ears.

  “Police department, ma’am. We need to ask you some questions.”

  It was dusk when Kate finally unlocked her car, no longer wedged between two massive trucks. She wondered for a moment how Wes Tanner’s elderly passenger had managed to climb into the cloud-scraping seat of the Got Water?–mobile. Maybe he had a red cape stowed with his search-and-rescue gear and had scooped her up like Superman. The man apparently did everything well—a masculine counterpart to Sunni Sprague.

  Guilt jabbed at the unkind thought. There was no excuse to be that way except that today had been awful. Finding temporary respite was the only thing on Kate’s mind. Especially since administration and her only friend planned to steamroll her with a touchy-feely debriefing session. It was the last thing in the world she wanted. No, the last thing Kate wanted would be—