She put the last box in the car. Last box in, first box out: that was her motto. She would try to spend some time going through the faded box that held a lifetime of certificates, diplomas, and photographs that Bubba had carefully pasted in an album. She hoped the box might help to solve the mystery of why she couldn’t be in a lasting relationship.
Claire looked at the map with small red stars identifying her stops. These were friends she had met during her travels and adventures. She held onto these friendships as if they were precious jewels, but couldn’t hold onto boyfriends for more than a few months. She wondered why. Was it simply part of her personality, as Bubba believed? She suspected it was more than that and hoped that the time spent alone while driving would allow her to examine those places deep inside where the hollow place lived.
Nick was the latest in her quest for a long-term relationship. When Claire discovered that Nick was having an affair, she felt betrayed and lost control. At first, she spewed angry epithets. Then, she felt her face turn red and she did everything that defined a tantrum except to lie on the floor, kicking and screaming. She tried to justify her behavior. After all, he had crossed a line that could not be tolerated. Once she calmed down, she felt ashamed and had to admit that tantrums at her age might be part of the problem. She vowed to gain control of her lifelong habit.
Claire had spent a month on the road, stopping along the way to visit with old friends, and was surprised at how they had changed over the years. Martin and Nancy had camped with her in Ireland and were now settled in a home in the suburbs near Portland, Oregon. Nancy held her two-year-old twins, balancing one on each hip. She looked tired and Claire was disappointed that bedtime was no later than nine p.m. Martin had developed a paunch and complained about the confinement of his job. She felt depressed when she left. Was that all there was?
Claire was eager to finish the last leg of her trip. There was more traffic on the road than she expected, and she knew it would be dark before she got to Santa Barbara. She hated to break her promise, but thought it best to call Bubba before she stopped for the night. Claire was relieved when there was no answer; she could leave a chatty message about her day and report that she was fine.
Claire began to get drowsy and opened the windows to let the ocean air revive her. It was chilly and she zipped up Nick’s motorcycle jacket. She knew Nick would be pissed at her for taking his jacket, but it seemed to be a fitting act of revenge.
Claire’s cell phone rang.
“Hey, Claire.”
“Hey, Nick.” Her tone was frigid.
“I want my jacket.”
“It was a gift you didn’t deserve, and I took it back.”
“What the fuck are you going to do with it?”
“Well, it’s a bit chilly and I’m wearing it, but I might be passing it on to the first homeless person I see in Los Angeles, you prick!” It felt good to yell with the ocean breeze kissing her face.
“Jesus, stop having one of your goddamn tantrums. I said I was sorry, but you didn’t give me a chance to explain. What do you want from me? Do you want me to get killed on my bike? Come on, I really need that jacket.”
Claire’s voice softened and sounded like honey drizzled on a warm biscuit. “Do I want you to get killed? Of course not, Nick.” Her voice began to increase in volume and tempo, reaching a strident rage. “I want you to break every goddamn bone in your body. Shithead!” Claire stopped yelling and spoke in a calmer voice. “I’ll mail it back when I get to Los Angeles.”
Claire mumbled to herself, “That was a mature way to handle it! So much for tantrum control. I should take the jacket off and change the energy.”
Claire pulled onto the shoulder of the highway and stood by the side of the road. The fog, which only a short while ago had looked like wisps of smoke, began to thicken and move in with a vengeance. Taken back by the sudden change, Claire moved toward the protection of her car. She heard a loud reverberating sound before she was thrown over the side of the road, tumbling round and round, like stones in a rock tumbler.
CHAPTER 21
Kathleen returned to her office, trying to ignore the unopened boxes of books. The near empty bookcases had been freshly polished with linseed oil and buffed with soft cotton cloths until they shined.
She wandered over to the bookcases and held Alice in Wonderland in her hand. She opened the book and glanced at the well-worn, dog-eared pages and recalled the time when Alice went with her everywhere. Kathleen stroked the cover and whispered, “Thank you for being my friend.”
Kathleen’s cell phone brought her out of her reverie. It was Lincoln Hathaway, the local sheriff. During the remodeling of Canfield House, Kathleen and Robert became fast friends with Linc, whose passion was restoring houses and cars from bygone eras.
Linc’s home was a log cabin built in 1940, when Canfield first became a summer haven for vacationers. Surrounding his cabin, in neat order, were cars that Linc was in the middle of restoring. He drove a 1949 Ford convertible and had his clothes custom made in 1950s style: rockabilly threads reminiscent of Elvis in his heyday. He was an invaluable resource for contractors who specialized in restoring and remodeling Victorian homes.
“Look, Doc, with this old house you are going to need a truck,” he said to her one day. “I’m restoring this 1975 Dodge and it has your name on it.”
Linc was right, as he so often was, and Kathleen became the proud owner of a 1975 Dodge D100, complete with the original tan interior… a little tattered in spots … and a Chrysler slant 6 engine that kept it humming… once it started. When it didn’t start, which was fairly often, Linc was quick to do the repairs.
Kathleen answered her phone, “Hi, Linc.”
“Hi, Doc, got a few minutes?”
“For you, always.”
“We’ve got a major accident on the coast highway. A tanker and at least a dozen cars are piled up. The helicopters are grounded because of weather, and we’re having problems getting the injured out of here.”
“Do you want me to come down to help?”
“No, no. The EMTs are triaging and we’re getting the worst injuries to St. Mona’s. Other patients are being redirected to hospitals in the area. Part of the highway is blocked and the alternate routes have become our worst nightmare. I’ve got the county Emergency Medical Services Coordinator, Cheryl Troop, on the phone. Hold on.”
Kathleen heard static on the line followed by a clear, crisp voice. “Dr. Moore? Cheryl Troop. We’ve got quite a mess here. You know, no matter how well you plan, there’s always the unexpected. We’re still triaging, and we’ve got several life threatening injuries. Some victims are trapped in their cars, and we’re using our resources to get them out and over to St. Mona’s. We’ve also got frightened parents and kids with minor injuries. I understand that you’re in the process of equipping a trauma room. Do you have that in place?”
“Enough in place to help. How many patients and what kind of injuries are you talking about?”
“Up to twenty. The EMTs are telling me cuts and bruises. It’ll be mostly stitching, tetanus shots, and TLC.”
“I may be short on tetanus vaccine.”
“I’ll see what we can spare and get it to you ASAP.”
Kathleen knew that she and Sam could easily take care of the suturing and tetanus shots, and no one was as good as Helen in handing out Tender Loving Care.
Together, they could take care of anything.
Helen made coffee and hot chocolate and took homemade muffins out of the freezer. The patients arrived in small groups, some transported by the highway patrol and some by volunteers from Canfield. Helen asked the patients, who were only frightened and not injured, to help serve coffee and muffins. Helen knew that when people helped someone else, they helped themselves as well.
It was past midnight before the last patient left for the temporary shelter at Canfield Middle School. Kathleen, Sam and Helen sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee.
Sam said, “Reminds
you of old times, Doc?”
“It does when you call me Doc. It feels special to be a Doc again. I thought we’d have more of a problem with the kids, and now I’m not sure who was more frightened, the kids or their parents.”
Helen said, “I had to drag a couple of parents away from their kids. The kids were fine and the parents were causing major hysteria.”
Sam chuckled. “I saw the way you handled it during triage. It was perfect. You asked, ‘Who knows how to bake?’ Then you practically shoved them into the kitchen, showed them where the ingredients were, and got them making cookies. If you weren’t a married woman, I’d ask you to be my wife.” Sam leaned over and kissed her.
Kathleen’s phone rang. She looked at the number. “It’s Linc, now what?”
“Hi, Doc. I wanted to thank you for your help. The three of you are the toast of the town. Half the women have a crush on Sam, and the kids didn’t even mind the shots. They said you have a magic touch. Let Helen know her muffins got rave reviews. You didn’t have to feed everyone, as well as take care of them.”
“That was Helen’s doing. If someone walks in, they get fed.”
“Well, you gave the town some great publicity. Some reporters have been hanging around and want to interview you.”
Kathleen shuddered at the prospect and hoped it didn’t come true.
Linc didn’t pause or give her time for reflection. “Hey, Doc, we have a delicate situation here, and we have to ask you for another favor. When the tow trucks were moving cars, they found a car over the embankment.”
“Was anyone in the car?”
“No, but someone was found on the ground nearby. Hold on, Cheryl is sitting right here at the Command Post.”
Cheryl’s voice was as fresh and crisp as it had been earlier that evening. “Hi, Kathleen. Thanks for your help. You’re a godsend. We’ve got another situation. A woman was found at the bottom of the embankment. Apparently she’s been on the ground for several hours. The EMTs have her on a backboard with her C-spine immobilized. The patient is alert and oriented to time, place, and person.”
“Oriented times three,” Kathleen interjected, instinctively quoting the medical shorthand.
“Check. The EMTs told me she made quite a fuss when they cut off her motorcycle jacket and jeans. She’s in the Emergency Medical Services truck getting ready for transport. All her vitals are within normal range. The ER at St. Mona’s is still jammed and we’re concerned about transporting her through these clogged roads only to have her wait to be examined. The highway to Canfield is open and they can be at your office in about twenty minutes. Are you equipped to assess, and are you willing to accept this patient?”
“I have everything I need to assess. The EMTs can wait here until I’ve completed my examination.”
“Done. I can’t thank you enough. When this is all straightened out, I’d like to meet you and see how you’ve equipped your trauma room.”
“Sounds good. I’d like to put a face to the voice.”
Kathleen put the phone down and thought, after all, what’s one more patient?
The room that was once used to receive visitors to Canfield House now held medical monitors and equipment, including a hospital bed, crash cart, and a compact lab.
Sam and Kathleen laid out supplies and instruments, and Helen moved quickly to put blankets and towels in the warming cabinet.
They heard the vibrating sound of the EMS truck as it jostled to a halt on the pea gravel driveway. Kathleen saw a look of exhaustion on the EMTs’ faces and a glazed look in their eyes that spoke of the horrors from the night. She remembered that feeling from Iraq, when the thought of a night’s sleep became a vague memory and new memories were being formed that would steal any possibility of sleep away.
Kathleen looked briefly at their written report. “Okay, let’s get her off the gurney and onto the exam table. We’ll take it from here.”
Helen showed the EMTs to the kitchen. “I made roast beef sandwiches and fresh coffee, and there’s fresh fruit in the bowl on the sink. Better than the chips and Cokes dangling out of your pockets. Relax if you can. I’ll come get you if you’re needed.”
Kathleen leaned over the exam table. “Hi, Claire, I’m Dr. Moore. Can you open your eyes for me?” Kathleen saw Claire struggling to open her eyes. Kathleen used a silver and black otoscope and shined its finely focused ring of light into Claire’s eyes. “Keep your head still and follow the light with your eyes… Excellent.”
Kathleen put her hands in Claire’s. “Can you squeeze my hands?” She felt Claire squeeze as if holding onto a lifeline. “That was a really strong squeeze! Now I want you to push your feet down like you’re stepping on a gas pedal. Good. Now lift your toes up toward your head.” Claire was following directions and was able to move her hands and feet: two good signs.
“Can you tell me where you hurt?”
Claire groaned, “All over. My back.”
“Okay. We’re going to take some x-rays, and make sure nothing is broken. It’ll just take a few minutes and if they look okay, we’ll get you off the backboard. I’ll let you know what we’re doing every step of the way.”
Kathleen reviewed the digital x-rays and stood by Claire’s side. “You’re a lucky woman—no broken bones. Claire, can you look at me, because this is really important. We have to roll you on your side so we can remove the backboard. When we start to roll you, I want you to lie still and let us do the work. Don’t try to help.”
When they log-rolled Claire and she was on her side, Sam removed the backboard and Kathleen examined her back. Claire cried out. “I’m sorry, I know that hurt. I’m only seeing soft tissue injury. Sam, I want an ultrasound of her belly. Follow with a Foley and draw me some blood.”
“CBC and chemistries?” Sam asked.
“No, draw a rainbow; we don’t want to stick her a second time if we need to run additional tests.”
Claire was mumbling and Kathleen leaned over to hear her. She smiled briefly and said to Helen, “She wants to know where the EMTs put her jeans. They’re original 501 Levi’s.”
Helen bent over and whispered, “Don’t worry, honey. They’re safe with me.”
Kathleen watched Sam as he operated the ultrasound. Sam and Kathleen looked at each other and nodded—their tacit shorthand for pronouncing the test normal.
Claire groaned and her eyelids fluttered open.
Kathleen stood over her so that their eyes met. “I know you’re in pain, but I need you to tell me where it hurts when I touch you. Do you think you can help me?”
Claire managed a weak “yes.”
Kathleen started at the top of Claire’s head. At first she looked at her scalp, trying to see if there were any cuts or abrasions. She examined her scalp again, but this time she closed her eyes and allowed her fingers to see for her. She did this with every part of Claire’s body, looking, examining, as if she had never seen that part of a body before, closing her eyes and examining again. Claire cried out when Kathleen probed her left thigh.
Kathleen checked the information on the paramedics’ report. “Are you allergic to anything?”
Claire shook her head.
Kathleen patted her arm. “Good. I’m going to give you an injection for the pain. You did really well and when you wake up, one of us will be here with you. This will sting for just a second, then you’ll have a nice sleep.” Kathleen watched as Claire closed her eyes and drifted off.
Kathleen said, “She’s a lucky woman. That motorcycle jacket did its job. Abrasions on face and hands. Muscle strains to shoulders, back, and left thigh. Multiple contusions on her back. No breaks. Let’s run a CBC and test her urine for blood.”
While Sam and Helen treated Claire’s abrasions and contusions, Kathleen went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and release the EMTs. She would stay in the trauma room until Sam relieved her in the morning. Kathleen looked out the kitchen window. The fog was lifting and she could see a glimmer of light in the valley below.
Kathleen brushed the tears from her eyes as she remembered that day at Walter Reed, when Mrs. Roth appeared to her. She moved her right hand and felt the sensations in her fingertips. She hoped that Mrs. Roth could hear her: “Thank you, Mrs. Roth, for staying in my life.”
CHAPTER 22
Kathleen was awakened by Claire’s groans. She could feel the stiffness in her body as she stood to move closer to the bed. “Hi, Claire.”
“Is this a hospital?”
“No. I’m Dr. Moore and you were brought to my office after the accident.”
“I really hurt.”
Kathleen saw tears making their way down Claire’s cheeks. “You took a bad fall and you’ve got bruises and abrasions over most of your body. I’m going to make you more comfortable. I need you to turn a little bit on your side so I can change the cold packs. Then I’ll give you something for the pain.”
“Is Oscar okay?”
“Oscar?”
“He was in the car with me.”
“There was no one in your car.”
Claire became agitated. “No, Oscar was in the front seat. I left him there when I stepped outside. Please, you have to find Oscar.”
“Just hang in there for a minute. I’m going to call over to the sheriff’s office and we’ll get this straightened out.”
Kathleen called from the kitchen. “Linc, it’s Kathleen.”
“Hi, Doc. Busy night, eh? How’s that patient doing?”
Flowers from Iraq (The Storyteller and the Healer Book 1) Page 14