Emerald Street

by Felicia Rogers

  The daytime soaps were starting to look pretty good.

  Carlos’ voice drifted along the hallway, and Jack perked up and pushed the button to lift the head of his bed. The orderly entered and brought someone with him. Jack didn’t see a press badge or any other markings announcing the visitor, and his apprehension escalated.

  The man held out his hand. “Hullo, I’m Rory Chance.”

  Jack shook his hand and marveled at the British accent.

  Carlos said, “This is the answer to our prayers, Mr. Williams. You let him help you.”

  Jack smiled and nodded. Leave it to Carlos to have a plan. The orderly smiled and patted Jack’s shoulder before leaving the two of them.

  Rory stood by the bed. “I understand your voice box was injured in a helicopter crash, and you can speak but not well or loud.”

  Jack nodded, thankful for the small favor that he didn’t have to explain his injury.

  “I also understand you lost a leg during the incident.”

  Jack nodded again and pointed toward the depressed sheet.

  “Mr. Williams—”

  “Jack,” he interrupted. The word hurt, and he fought the pinched look threatening to dwarf his face.

  “Jack,” said Rory with a smile. “I was asked to drop by today.”

  Jack cocked a brow.

  “A Mrs. Bryant made the request.”

  Jack cast his gaze downward. So even the old biddy on the special ward was against him. Didn’t anyone understand how hard he was trying to succeed?

  “I see. So you know why I’m here?”

  He reached for a dry erase board and wrote, Maybe.

  “I’m here because I was also wounded in war. Perhaps not as severely as you, but nevertheless, wounded. I—” Rory sighed and ran a hand over his head before taking a seat. “I rescued a fellow soldier, and my countrymen touted me as a hero.” Rory laughed harshly under his breath. “I didn’t accept any of it. Hero, pshaw. I was worthless without my leg.” He rubbed his hands together. “I went to South Africa to hide. While there, a wonderful blessing came to me. I met a woman…”

  Jack groaned.

  Rory laughed under his breath and held his hands up. “Yeah, what we won’t do for the love of a good woman, eh?”

  They stared into space, and Jack thought about a feminine voice he would like to match with a face. He imagined she looked like an angel, with light-blond hair, light brown eyes, and bronze skin. She would like—

  Rory interrupted his thoughts. “Anyway, Hannah helped me to realize I was worthy in God’s eyes and in hers. Now I run a support group for wounded soldiers, and I’ve come here to help you.”

  ****

  “Okay, Jack this is it. Just remember to concentrate.”

  The following day, Rory stood before him wearing shorts and displaying his own prosthetic leg.

  Men and women sat on various pieces of equipment and watched. Jack tuned out the noise and thought about a certain feminine voice. It reminded him of honey and silken sheets, of waves striking the beach at sunset, of dewdrops on fresh green leaves.

  “Whoo-hoo!” The room erupted in clapping.

  He opened his eyes and collapsed into Richard’s arms at the opposite end of the walking poles.

  Rory smiled. “That’s what I’m talking about, old chap.”

  Jack enjoyed the praise, but it wasn’t likely to last.

  The session over, Rory wheeled him back to his room. “That was amazing.”

  On and on the Brit described how Jack had crossed the bars. He listened and wrung his hands.

  Great. He’d done a good job. There was only one problem. He didn’t remember it.

  “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Jack made no effort to respond, and Rory continued, “Richard didn’t know what to think of your progress. He was beside himself. Bet he’s worried he can’t claim the credit since I arrived.”

  Jack fought his sadistic smile at the notion. Back in his room, an orderly assisted him into bed.

  “I need to return to my hotel for a bit. The wife is calling this afternoon, and I don’t want to miss it. But I’ll be back later.”

  Jack nodded and watched his new friend leave. Rory stopped and spoke to a nursing assistant as he left. The Brit was the friendliest person Jack had ever met.

  The nursing assistant continued into the room. He took Jack’s vitals and closed the curtain between the two beds.

  Jack’s new roommate snored softly. Carts clattered and rolled along the hallways, and television voices drifted in the background as Jack closed his eyes and attempted to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Sunlight struck Raylyn’s face. Mountain air wafted around her as she lifted her nose to the sky and breathed deeply.

  She cradled the coffee mug and drew it to her lips. The hot liquid coursed down her throat, and she grimaced at the searing heat.

  The cabin resided in a mountainous region, nestled amongst tall pines and ancient maple trees. Hidden from the road, it offered the perfect getaway.

  Squirrels scurried up thick tree trunks and jumped from one limb to the next. Birds soared overhead, seeking their nests. Deer loped from the bushes and stared at her before moving on.

  Nancy had insisted all she needed was a vacation. Raylyn had agreed on one condition. If the break wasn’t enough, then when she returned, Nancy would move her to a different ward. The head nurse had reluctantly agreed.

  Roland Fryes, a lifetime family friend of her parents, and affectionately labeled uncle, hadn’t lied when he’d said the place would bring her peace. She’d only been here one day, and she already felt better.

  She left the porch, entered the kitchen, and continued upstairs. Cleaned, she dressed in khaki pants and a bright yellow t-shirt. She searched her backpack, checking for the essentials: first-aid kit, energy bars, sports drink, emergency blanket, and matches.

  With her camera in hand, Raylyn locked the cabin door and struck out. A trail ran behind the house. According to Uncle Roland, after five miles of hiking, she should be at the prettiest waterfall a person could ever see.

  Dried grass crunched beneath her boots. Birds called to one another as they swooped past. Crickets chirped in the bushes alongside the trail. Leaves rustled in the wind, and Raylyn tried to calm her racing heart by imagining these creatures were her friends, and she wasn’t truly alone.

  The elevation increased, and Raylyn’s thighs burned. Cresting a hill, she stopped to catch her breath. With one leg perched on a dead log, she took a swig from a water bottle, before continuing.

  Three hours later, she stood before the waterfall. Crystal clear water cascaded over the rock and splashed with a thunderous roar into a pool. Beside the pool, a man and a woman lounged on a blanket. The man leaned on his elbow and smoothed a stray hair from the brow of his companion. Her face flushed, and she arched her back until their lips met. Raylyn looked away.

  Yup, peace was great, she thought sarcastically.

  ****

  Sunday rolled around, and Raylyn waited for Uncle Roland. Her small compact car was parked at his house in town. Without four-wheel drive, the cabin was unreachable.

  She drew out her cell phone. A circle with a line through it flashed on the screen. No service.

  She paced. Seven days completely alone was driving her mad. She’d walked the trails, she’d read, she’d lounged. Now she wanted noise. She missed the hospital sounds. She missed the interaction with hospital staff. She missed her apartment.

  Palming her chin, Raylyn sighed. The brief trip had been great, except one thing hadn’t changed — the dreams. Every night the same. The filled ward, the flashing words, and the patients coming for her.

  Her lids grew heavy. A horn honking drew her attention. A door slammed, and Uncle Roland appeared.

  “Hey, little lady. How was your week?”

  Raylyn jumped to her feet, grabbed her bag, and rushed to the idling truck.

  “That good, huh?”

&nb
sp; “It was relaxing.”

  “So good and so relaxing you were sitting on the porch with your bags packed and chopping at the bit to get on the road?” Heat rushed to her cheeks, and he added, “I guess I better lock up.”

  “I already did,” she admitted, her face burning hotter.

  He shook his head as he opened the passenger door.

  She placed her overnight bag in the floorboard and slid onto the vinyl bench seat.

  “Renee has been cooking all day. She’s been worried about your eating habits since you left the house.”

  “Sorry.” Raylyn pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The change in air temperature fogged her glasses, and she couldn’t see a thing.

  “Ain’t nothing to be sorry about. The old girl likes to fret over you.”

  Their only child by birth, Riley, had died in Afghanistan four years earlier, and Aunt Renee took every opportunity to mother.

  They pulled into the driveway, and Aunt Renee bounded outside, carrying a pie and a fork. “You two have to try this. Tell me if the crust don’t just melt in your mouth.”

  Raylyn opened her mouth and accepted the first bite. She grinned broadly, making the appropriate noises to express her appreciation. Civilization was great.

  ****

  Raylyn arrived at her apartment late. She slept a few hours before popping from bed and readying herself. The mirror reflected a woman who looked older than her twenty-five years. Her brown hair looked dull and her green eyes lifeless.

  She sighed and walked away from her reflection. She had called Nancy on the drive home and asked to be moved to another floor. The head nurse hadn’t been happy, but she had acquiesced.

  If the change in positions didn’t work, maybe it was time to move on. Raylyn had always wanted to live in the country. Maybe she could get a job in the small town clinic close to Uncle Roland and Aunt Renee. They wouldn’t mind if she stayed with them until she could acquire her own place. She was sure of it.

  On the drive to the hospital, she listened to her favorite Christian music station. Inside the hospital, she entered the elevator and pushed the fifth-floor button then quickly pressed the button for the sixth.

  Perhaps moving floors was going to take more getting used to than she’d thought. The bell dinged, and she quickly pressed the close-door button. She tapped her foot impatiently as the door jerked to a halt for the second time. The doors creaked apart. Laughter echoed along the hallway. Two guys raced past in wheelchairs. An older female nurse ran behind them yelling, “Stop!”

  “I got dibs on James.”

  “I’m voting for Delmar.”

  Bets ran the gamut along the hall, and Raylyn covered her mouth to hide her smile as she stared over her shoulder and approached the nurses’ station.

  Gerty held a phone to her ear. She looked up, smiled, and motioned Raylyn forward. Gertrude Garrett was fifty-five years old and known as one of the toughest nurses in the hospital.

  Gerty hung up the phone, clasped her hands together, and asked, “Morrison, what are you doing here?”

  Raylyn swallowed and dug out her transfer papers.

  Gerty studied the sheet, leaned back in her chair, and laughed in delight. “I can’t believe it. After all this time, I finally get you. Nancy said she’d never give you up, but now I’ve got you.” She clapped her hands. “We need to get you settled. I can’t have you changing your mind.”

  She led Raylyn to a cluttered desk. “Just pile these up in the corner, and I’ll go through them later. Today you can start with five rooms. Next week we’ll look into adding a few more.”

  Raylyn dropped her bag under the desk and fought her rising panic.

  Chapter Four

  Days passed, and Jack continued with therapy. Richard expected a display similar to the one when Rory had been present, but unfortunately the therapist was disappointed.

  Carlos helped Jack in bed and pulled the curtain. Shift change occurred, and the night nurse would soon be in to check on him and his roommate. There was little point in getting comfortable or trying to sleep.

  He clenched his hands and stared at the stars winking in the night sky. What was wrong with him? Even Carlos appeared upset with his therapy performance, avoiding Jack’s direct gaze.

  It was like taking two steps forward and three steps back. He just couldn’t do it again. Walking was too hard. Why did he even bother?

  The room door squeaked open, and light filtered through the thin separating curtain.

  “Mr. Hayes?”

  The sound of the familiar voice caused his heart to pound in his chest, and he pushed the up button on his bed.

  “Hello, sugar, how are you? Haven’t seen you around this way before.”

  “I’m new to the floor.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t mind me saying you’re as pretty as punch.” There was a pause, and his roommate, Rodney Hayes, added, “Ah, she blushes. I love it. Maybe when I get out of here, we can go out?”

  Rodney’s familiarity with the nurse made his blood run hot. He reached for the curtain, but it was too far away, and he only grazed the fabric with his fingertips.

  In a second attempt, he pushed a rolling tray. It struck his roommate’s bedframe, but the curtain muffled the impact, and it made a soft thud. He twisted his lips in anger.

  A muted chuckle reached him. “Now, Mr. Hayes…”

  “Call me Rod.”

  The female nurse cleared her throat. “Mr. Hayes, while I appreciate your kind words, I’m here to perform a job.”

  “Of course, you are, sugar. Don’t let me stop you.”

  Jack had to get her attention. He knew it was her. The voice was the same. If he closed his eyes, he could see the halo of blond hair.

  He ran his hand over his head. The cart hadn’t worked. What else could he do?

  Leaning as far as he dared, he reached for the curtain one last time. He bumped the rolling cart, and his empty food tray shifted closer to the edge. One last effort of strength, and he shoved the cart, causing the tray to clatter to the tile floor.

  Jack righted himself and came face-to-face with the object of a previous fantasy. He squinted. Something wasn’t right. Brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Dark framed glasses covered emerald green eyes. She wore scrubs depicting some cartoony character and stared at him with her mouth agape.

  He swallowed. She wasn’t anything like he’d pictured. Where were the brown eyes and blonde hair? The tanned complexion?

  Before he could brace himself, she charged forward and fell atop him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her face against his neck. He couldn’t move, and he didn’t know if he wanted to.

  “They said you’d gone. I thought they meant you’d died. I–I—” She stuttered out the last word, drew back, and quickly removed herself from his person.

  She stepped away and tugged on her shirttail. A red hue flushed her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  Rodney yelled, “What’s going on over there?”

  The nurse lifted her finger and placed it over his lips. She winked and disappeared to the other side.

  If he didn’t control his rapidly beating heart, the monitor was going to go off, and every doctor on the floor would rush in.

  Had he been mistaken? Was this nurse the one he’d dreamed about, fantasized about while he lay in a coma? He closed his eyes and listened to her voice. The smooth silky tone reached his ears, and he sighed with delight.

  “Mr. Hayes, I’m your afternoon nurse, Raylyn Morrison. The nursing assistant will continue to collect your vitals, but I will be in throughout the night giving your medications and checking on you. If you need anything while I’m gone, just push the button on your bedrail.”

  “Sure thing, sugar. Guess this means Miss Hotpants is off.”

  Raylyn said, “I can’t speak to that. I just know that for now this room is my responsibility.”

  She talked a few more minutes before returning to his side. She
just stood there.

  The heat of her stare left him feeling uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to speak, only to remember how much it hurt to do so.

  ****

  Raylyn barely held her tears at bay. Why had Shay allowed her to believe Jack had died? Admittedly she hadn’t given the nurse long to explain before she’d run out of the room, but still, couldn’t Shay have chased her down?

  Heat rushed to her cheeks as she remembered her initial reaction. Gerty would have her hide if she found out she’d literally fell on top of a patient. Never mind what Gerty thought, what did Jack think?

  She waited for him to speak, gnawing on her bottom lip when he didn’t readily answer. He pointed toward a stationary table, and she noted a dry erase board.

  “Do you want the board?”

  He nodded.

  Board and marker in hand, he started writing. A frown knit his brow. He wrote a few words then erased them, then started again.

  “I forgot about your voice box. Is it terribly painful to speak?”

  He nodded.

  “Have the doctors given you any hope of recovery?”

  He shrugged.

  Raylyn opened his chart and flipped through the pages.

  Laryngeal nerve damage, possible recovery without injections or surgery. Continue to watch progress and suggest vocal therapy.

  She almost sighed aloud, just knowing eventually she might hear him speak.

  He lifted the board, showing her a question mark.

  “It says there is a chance for improvement.”

  He released a breath.

  She sat on the edge of a plastic chair and stared at her clutched hands. She heard a noise. He was patting the side of the bed.