Second Opinion

by Alexander, Hannah

  “You won’t.” Lauren hesitated. She felt betrayed, deeply hurt, but it helped to think about someone besides herself. “How are things going with Natalie? Or should I ask?”

  Gina paused, thoughtful. “She’s checking into Aunt Bridget’s hospital records for me.”

  “You told her?” This was good news.

  “I took your advice. I just hope you know what you’re talking about. She said if I have any more problems she’s going to start spending the nights with me. Just what I need, a constant slumber party.”

  The words were said with a grumble but Lauren thought she picked up on a touch of warmth.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Gina asked.

  “I’ll be fine. You?”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  Something gave Lauren the feeling that they were both bluffing.

  Chapter 25

  The tech salesman spent an hour and seventeen minutes showing Archer computer systems in various price ranges with varying gigabytes of RAM and processing systems. By the time the guy left, Archer was seeing the malignant negative of backlit screens on his lids when he closed his eyes. He realized he knew as much about computers as a Missouri mule knew about sermon notes; the present church system started looking much more attractive.

  The next church member who complained about the appearance of the bulletin would find himself—or herself—the first appointed chairman of the computer search committee of Dogwood Springs Baptist Church. Archer would not feel the least bit guilty about it.

  As the man carried his laptop out he left the door partially open. Through that opening, Archer saw John Netz sitting at quiet attention across from Mrs. Boucher’s desk. Beside him sat Dwight Hahnfeld and next to him Gene Thomas. Computers suddenly became the least of Archer’s concerns.

  Why was he constantly agreeing to come to the church on his day off?

  Mrs. Boucher said the dreaded words, “You can go in now,” and they stood in unison as if connected by manacles. Mr. Netz led the way to Archer’s open door and paused at the threshold. The other two men nearly stumbled into him from behind.

  In spite of giving in to sudden heart palpitations, Archer had to smile. Sometimes he had an ornery sense of humor. Here were three bumbling Christians taking their positions in the church very seriously, wanting to do the right thing. The problem was they sometimes tended to rely on their own judgment instead of taking their questions to God.

  But at least they held positions of service. So few people were willing to do that these days. Some who did were power hungry but most were sincerely trying to serve God and their church.

  Maybe they knew something about computers.

  “Pastor, do you mind if we talk to you for a minute?” John Netz asked.

  Archer pushed back from his desk and stood, then gestured toward the chairs they had occupied the last time they visited. “Come in and have a seat.” He joined them, determined not to take an adversarial position behind his big desk no matter what they might have in mind for this visit.

  In tense silence punctuated by muffled footsteps and creaking knees, the men settled themselves. The youngest member, Gene, as usual, perched so close to the edge of his chair that Archer feared he would slide out of it. Dwight crossed his legs and cupped his hands around his knee, studying his knuckles. John cleared his throat. He was obviously the designated spokesman for this visit.

  “Pastor, we—”

  “John, have you forgotten my first name?” Archer asked gently.

  The grooves deepened in Mr. Netz’s wrinkled face and his gaze filled with uncharacteristic amusement for a few seconds. “Archer, we’re here to apologize.”

  Archer waited, allowing those precious words to flow over him while he struggled not to allow his emotions to get messy.

  “You were right the other day,” Gene Thomas said. His youthful face, lacking the lines traced by experience and hard years of service, looked eager. “We shouldn’t have listened to the gossip about you and it’s my fault. I kept hearing things at work, and some of the people at church were… you know… grumbling about having a single pastor and I got worried that… anyway, I shouldn’t have said anything about you.”

  Archer swallowed. “Thank you.” This was the way it should be—imperfect Christians confessing their sins and struggles to one another. “I have to admit I was hurt and I couldn’t help wondering how many others felt the same way you did.”

  “I’ve talked to some of them,” John said. “Most people see reason when you hit them in the head with it enough times. What counts is that they realize they’re wrong.”

  “At least about you,” Dwight Hahnfeld said quietly.

  The other two men looked at him then at the floor. It was the first time he’d spoken since they had arrived and the implication of his words didn’t sink in for a moment.

  John and Gene remained silent.

  Archer’s relief seeped away. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m sorry, Pastor,” Dwight said. “I know how much you like the girl but there’s—”

  “Lauren McCaffrey isn’t a girl, she’s a grown woman of thirty-five, an RN who works in the emergency department at our hospital saving lives. Lauren doesn’t have time to spread rumors and as far as I know she hasn’t heard this one. I would like to see it stay that way.”

  John Netz and Gene Thomas looked abashed. Dwight’s jaw muscles worked overtime as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

  Archer continued. “Anyone in this church who has taken the trouble to get acquainted with Lauren will realize without any doubt that she is a dedicated Christian above reproach.”

  Dwight waved that information away like a pesky gnat. “A source at the hospital overheard her admit she’s having a child—”

  “Which source is that?” Archer kept his voice as calm as humanly possible when seeing an innocent human being get slammed by a vicious tongue. He looked at Gene. “You work there.”

  “It wasn’t me, Archer. I didn’t hear her say it but some of the techs were talking about it a couple of weeks ago. One of them heard her.”

  “Do you remember a name?”

  “I don’t know all the hospital workers yet but I know Lauren has been sick lately. She’s missed work—”

  “Half the people in our church have been sick.”

  “Pastor, we need you to see reason about this,” Dwight said.

  “I don’t believe you’re the one seeing reason,” Archer snapped.

  “Look at it from my viewpoint,” Dwight said more loudly. “I have grandchildren in this church and Lauren McCaffrey is popular with all the kids. If you had children wouldn’t you want to make sure their role models were above reproach?”

  “We received a letter of recommendation from her church in Knolls when she joined us this year.” Archer was suddenly overwhelmed with frustration and sadness. What did they want Lauren to do, submit to a pregnancy test? This was unconscionable.

  “You know they never reveal anything bad in those letters,” Dwight said.

  “Really? If that’s the case why do we even bother? You accepted her as a member. You can’t go around dismissing her from her volunteer positions over a rumor any more than you can fire a pastor over that same rumor. It’s a double standard.”

  Archer received no reply. He stood up, feeling as if he’d preached a long sermon to an empty auditorium. “I want you to pray about this overnight. We can meet back here Monday morning.” He wasn’t about to give up his Saturday for them. “Not a word about this to Lauren. Do you understand me?”

  The three stooges murmured apologies and awkwardly left the office. No one thought to have prayer.

  ***

  Grant swept past the ER central desk and placed a chart in the discharge slot, taking mental note of three more slots that had been filled since his last pass through. One down and sixteen to go if he counted the patients in the waiting room still seeking attention. They definitely had an epidemic.

  He had paused to st
udy the new charts when the bell rang for the triage nurse to report to her exam room. Make that seventeen.

  A glance into the waiting room showed every chair filled with patients and their families and friends. Three children who looked to be under the age of five raced across the floor in a game of tag, stumbling into legs, stomping toes, creating chaos. A young woman pressed her fingers against her forehead and moaned, and a boy who looked like he was about thirteen held an emesis basin beneath his chin.

  “What is this, a preschool?” an older man complained loudly to his friend. “Can’t these people find baby-sitters? What’s taking them so long back there?”

  “Probably taking their coffee break,” the friend said.

  Grant shook his head and stepped away, hoping the rest of the staff didn’t hear the complaints. They didn’t deserve it. The triage nurse was getting things done. The secretary and tech were two of the most efficient workers in the hospital. The other two nurses on duty were new and inexperienced and were nearly tripping over each other in their nervous awkwardness. They had forgotten orders three times in the past hour. That slowed everything down but they were trying.

  Grant stifled his frustration. Two new nurses should never be scheduled to work together but too many staff members were sick.

  An angry shout echoed from across the hall. Grant stepped into Trauma One.

  According to the report, the patient on the bed strapped to a backboard was a twenty-two-year-old male—the victim of a hit-and-run accident at the edge of town. Tina, one of the new nurses, was struggling to get his vitals as he growled curses and threats at her. Witnesses on the scene had called the ambulance immediately and prevented the victim from moving until the attendants immobilized him. A sprinkling of glass from the impact remained in his hair and his road-stained T-shirt held smudges of bloodstain. He jerked at the straps that restrained him and cursed at Tina again.

  “That will be enough, Tina,” Grant said softly.

  When she turned there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry Dr. Sheldon, I couldn’t get—”

  He reached for her chart. “I’ll take care of it.” He ignored the blast of renewed swearing that redirected its focus on him as he checked for tenderness in the man’s neck. The man’s appearance was all too familiar. His stringy hair obviously hadn’t been washed in days. His eyes darted from Grant to the nurse to the ceiling. The knuckles of his right hand were abraded and blood encrusted.

  An informed guess might convince Grant this guy had probably punched something in a fit of fury—perhaps even the car that hit him. That same informed guess said the young man was tweaking—coming down from a high of several days, maybe even weeks. Methamphetamine? Images of St. Louis flashed through Grant’s mind.

  “Mr. Smith, are you experiencing pain in a particular spot?” he asked as he palpated the man’s pelvis and then slipped his hands along the backboard to palpate his back.

  The patient glared at Grant and his whole body seemed to radiate with pent-up fury. “Everywhere!” he growled. “Get these straps off me!” He spat another string of abusive swear words.

  Grant turned to the nurse who hovered near the doorway. He ordered a CBC and appropriate x-rays then stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. “Are the police on their way?”

  “Police!” shouted Smith. “What’re you people up to?”

  “They should be here any minute,” Tina said.

  “Thank you. Let’s give him twenty-five of Demerol, slow IV push.”

  She nodded and turned to leave. He followed her out and caught her in the hallway. “Order a urine drug screen,” he said quietly. “That can be done after he returns from Radiology.”

  “Yes, Dr. Sheldon.”

  Grant took the time to glance at his watch on his way to the next room with the sick child and discovered, to his surprise, that his shift ended in thirty minutes. At the rate patients were coming in—and at the rate charts were stacking up at his desk—he wouldn’t be out of here for another two hours.

  He checked the child and decided on a blood test. Now he had to find a nurse.

  The good news was that since it was already six-thirty, fresh nurses must have arrived thirty minutes ago. Although Lauren wasn’t scheduled to work tonight he could always hope. An experienced emergency room nurse was always worth double her pay.

  “Dr. Sheldon.” The secretary turned and waved at him before he could enter the second trauma room. “There’s an ambulance on its way here with a patient in full cardiac arrest.”

  “What’s the ETA?”

  “They’re about five minutes out.”

  “Is Lauren here?”

  “No. Muriel and Eugene are. Betsy and Tina are staying over to help out for a while.”

  “Call another nurse down from the floor and send Tina home. Assign Eugene to the Bob Smith case in Trauma One and send the police there as soon as they arrive.” If they had any trouble with Mr. Smith, Eugene could handle it. Tina had looked like she’d had enough for the day.

  ***

  Lauren drove along the potholed road a little faster than usual. She swerved and missed most of the deepest ruts but right now she didn’t care if she fell into one of those holes and never found her way out.

  “Why, God?” She swerved around a ridge of rock that jutted at least a foot above the road. “I don’t understand. All these years I’ve remained pure and now I’ve been humiliated not only in my church but also at work. Why is this happening?”

  Besides all that, she was homesick. “Am I doomed to be alone the rest of my life? Will I never have a marriage, a family?” She knew she was working herself into a raging pity party but she went with the mood.

  When she had first told her parents that she was moving to Dogwood Springs they’d used every argument in the “Parent’s Manual of Guilt Trips” to convince her to stay in Knolls. They’d enlisted the rest of the family for help—not just brothers and sisters but nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, cousins.

  During one moment of weakness, she had actually told Mom she would stay in Knolls with the condition that the whole family would stop trying so hard to marry her off to every man between the ages of twenty-six and sixty who walked into the church without a wedding ring on his finger. Within twenty-four hours of the time Lauren made her offer, Aunt Gertrude had actually set her up on a blind date with the son of one of the new farmers who had moved into their neck of the woods. Without even asking her. Lauren’s humiliation had been complete.

  Since her childhood her parents and grandparents had taught her that she shouldn’t waste her time asking God the whys and hows of life. Those problems were best left for Him to figure out. She was supposed to ask the “what” question. As in, “What do you want me to do for you, Lord?” And the “where” question, as in, “Where do you want me to serve?”

  All this time she’d believed she was doing the right thing. She served Him through the church and she served Him at work when she ministered to the ill and prayed with them. When it came to matters of the heart, Lauren knew she’d tended to be a little too eager lately. There had been an embarrassing number of times that she’d wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  If she was one of those people meant to remain separate and single then why did she have this strong longing for a husband and children? Did people in her church and place of work see her as a woman of loose moral character? If not, why would such a rumor spread so quickly?

  She turned onto the grassy trail where tires had worn dirt tracks deep into the ground. Oak, hickory, and hedge trees loomed over those tracks to form a deep green tunnel. She parked in the shade of those trees, surprised that she didn’t see the ancient brown pickup Mr. Rosewitz and Mr. Mourglia drove out here every Friday afternoon to catch their limit. They should be here any time.

  Lauren leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. The loneliness that had occasionally attacked her since moving from Knolls seemed to bite more deeply today and she lacked the strength to tackle it the
way she usually did. She felt overwhelmed.

  Was this move to Dogwood Springs the wrong thing to do? Should she go back to Knolls where she had so many friends and so much family she could scarcely take a breath?

  But even if she did move back there she’d still feel this particular loneliness.

  She got out of the truck at last and ducked beneath the heavy overhang of branches, particularly avoiding the thorns of the hedge trees. As she stepped through the gloom of shade and listened to the rush of the waters ahead, she sought the familiar peace she always found when she was alone in the wilderness like this. Today that peace eluded her.

  Above the chatter of the racing creek she caught the rumble of another sound and automatically glanced over her shoulder toward the parking area. No one was there. The sound was almost a growl—low and guttural.

  When she stopped to listen the growling stopped. She peered through the trees, past shadows and rotting tree trunks and piles of last year’s leaves. Nothing moved.

  After a final study of the woods she gave a shrug and ducked beneath another low-hanging limb to follow the brushy path toward the creek. She was stepping from the trees into a clearing when the growl reached her again, as if a stalker watched from some hidden spot above her. A pinprick of tension wormed its way across her shoulders and down her spine.

  The growl roughened, stopped, deepened then roared. Lauren’s stomach tightened into a knot of nausea. She gasped and turned back toward the truck but the sound registered at last. The mechanical grunt and cough metamorphosed in Lauren’s mind from a furry flesh-eating creature of the forest to a gas-eating monster of steel. Of course. That company was still excavating the site above Honey Spring.

  Somehow it didn’t give her any comfort to realize that a monster was not stalking her. It was stalking the future of Honey Creek and the hundreds of people who depended on its source for water, for recreation, even for an occasional fish dinner.

  The vague unease in her stomach increased. “Oh no. Not now.” She was getting sick again. The force of the nausea hit more swiftly and violently than ever before and the future of Honey Creek fled from her thoughts. As she lost the contents of her stomach, the edges of her vision grew black. Lauren sank to her knees unable to stand and her prayers now deepened into silent desperation.