by Kim Karr
She threw her head back in laughter, and her brunette hair swung back and forth. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see your face when they do that.”
I eased back against the counter. Carly was, for the most part, cool about our past one-night stand. I think she just liked to press my buttons to see my uncomfortable reaction when she brought it up, more than anything else. We both knew it wasn’t the right thing to do since we worked together, but at the time, it didn’t seem to matter.
The hookup took place right after I’d learned my grandmother didn’t have long to live, and the gravity of that had sent me spiraling. She was the one constant in my life, and in my sister’s as well. Losing her was going to be devastating for us both. Carly was here that night my grandmother was brought in, and that morning when I learned the news. All I had wanted to do was forget, even if just for a little while. And she helped me do that.
The man with the bandaged hand rapped on the counter, and when his bag of ice clanked, I flicked my gaze his way. Who knew what he had done. Punched the wall? Slammed his hand in the car door? After the night I’d had, something that simple would be like a wet dream.
He had just finished up at reception and was walking toward the waiting room when Gladys handed Carly the chart and then turned to me. She was just about to update me on the specifics when I stopped her with my hands in the air. “No. No. No. No way.”
“But, Dr. Kissinger—”
I cut her off. “You’re going to have to call Dr. Hall. I’m sorry, but I’m out of here.”
Gladys was in her early sixties and had been working at this hospital for over thirty years. No matter who said they were in charge, we all knew she was the reason things ran smoothly.
So when that stare of hers narrowed on me, and she pursed her lips and raised her brow at the same time, I might have second thought my decision, for about a half a second. “You can’t intimidate me,” I smirked. “Don’t forget, I know what a kitten you really are, even when your claws are out.”
With a huff, she turned around and picked up the phone. Overhead, her voice bellowed. “Dr. Hall, you’re needed in the ER.”
“Not even a stat,” I muttered under my breath.
I knew she heard me by the shake of her shoulders, but she didn’t turn around. That was okay. I’d make it up to her by bringing her one of those milkshake-like drinks from Starbucks she liked so much on my next shift.
Carly was giggling under her breath, and I looked back over at her. “Don’t you dare let her hear you,” I mumbled.
She put a finger up to her lips. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
Good thing Gladys was busy with another patient.
“You know,” Carly said low, “why don’t you stick around? I’m off in thirty minutes. We could grab a coffee or something.”
Something.
I started to log into the computer. “Sorry, I can’t. I have to meet my sister for breakfast.”
So much for the whole she was fine with the way things were. Guess I had that wrong.
“Maybe next time,” she said breezily.
Not that this was the place, but I thought maybe I should just tell her there wasn’t going to be a next time. That it was best if we remained colleagues and keep it at that. I wasn’t really into her, or maybe I just wasn’t in the right headspace.
Learning the person I had relied on wasn’t going to be around much longer changed me, made me look at things differently, set me straight.
Gone were the nights of drinking and partying, and meaningless sex. They just weren’t as appealing as they once had been. I had very little time left with my grandmother, and I wanted to spend what there was wisely.
Just as I was about to open my mouth to let Carly down as tactfully as I could, someone frantically yelled, “Dr. Kissinger!”
I wielded around to find a very frazzled first-year resident shoving a chart in my face. “Dr. Kissinger, I need your help.”
“Where’s your attending?” I asked pointedly.
Her distress was more than evident. “I don’t know. I can’t find him, and I’m next up to take the lead.”
“First of all, you need to relax.”
She took a deep breath.
“Okay, that’s better. Now, what’s going on?” I asked, wanting so much to tell her to find someone else to seek advice from, but at the same time not being able to.
“There’s a knife wound victim on his way in. The paramedics will be here in less than two minutes, and I’m not sure where to start.”
A siren screamed in the distance. Hearing it, I took the chart from her and quickly looked it over.
Fifty-year-old male.
Multiple ER visits.
History of alcohol abuse.
The poster child for this ER.
I so had this.
Grady Memorial Hospital was the largest healthcare facility in the state of Georgia and also the fifth-largest public hospital in the United States. It was not only one of the busiest ERs in the southeast, but also one of the busiest Level I trauma centers in the country.
We saw just about everything, and nothing was a surprise.
Not even sixty seconds into my chart review, the doors flew open, and three paramedics came rushing through. As soon as they reached the holding room, they moved the bloody body from their transport table and onto the trauma gurney.
The paramedic gave a rundown of the patient’s current condition and the first-year nodded in acknowledgment. Well, that was a good sign that she wasn’t completely lost, but really, where was her attending?
Rushing over to the patient, I pulled out my stethoscope and immediately began to assess him. The moment I looked into his bloodshot eyes, he spasmed and jerked in agitation. The signs were pretty clear, and his history had already spelled it out. “He’s drunk. Very drunk,” I told the intern. “The first thing you need to do is sedate him with a milligram of diazepam to help calm him down.”
“Okay,” she responded, and for a moment I seriously thought she was going to write it down. Thank fuck she didn’t.
Not knowing if she’d taken the time to read the chart before handing it off to me, I went ahead and gave her the rundown of what I’d picked up in the few seconds I’d scanned it. “He’s an alcoholic, which means his blood is thin, and he won’t clot. Once you get back in the trauma unit, you need to run an Autoplex solution in his IV before you do any cutting or he might bleed out.”
When there was no response, I glanced over and caught her blank stare.
“Autoplex,” I repeated. “Got it?”
Still with the blank stare.
“It’s a plasma-based coagulant.”
“Yes, yes,” she said as if it finally clicked. “Where do I get that?”
“You’ll have to order it from the blood bank as soon as you cross through the doors.”
She nodded. “Okay, I got it.”
Assessing the wound site, I took her hands and showed her how to apply the right amount of pressure.
She knew what she was doing because she took over without me having to prompt her. It was clear, she was just nervous to be on her own.
I wasn’t judging.
All of us in here had gone through it.
Lucky for her, two more first-year residents came rushing through the trauma unit doors and got right to work.
“Thank you, Dr. Kissinger,” they all said in unison.
I nodded and watched as they tore through the set of doors, and I hoped in the future they all could respond a whole hell of a lot faster than they had.
When I turned around, I came face-to-face with the chief attending. I shook my head. “There you are.”
Dr. Peter Wright was standing behind me with his arms crossed and looking just as exhausted as I felt. “I thought this time she was going to get it on her own. I really did.”
“Yeah, well, she’s just started her first year,” I told him.
He sighed. “I know. I know. But potential without experi
ence seems to be the story of my life lately. You could change that, you know. Are you ready to come show them all how it’s done and join us in the trauma unit?”
Dr. Wright had moved from New York to Atlanta the same time I started working at this hospital. He said it was for the warmer weather and to begin the early stages of retirement, but as far as I could tell, he was far from retiring. He was, however, always looking to bring me under his wing.
This time when I took my stethoscope off, I swore I wasn’t putting it back on until Monday. “Not happening, Peter. You know that.”
As always, his face fell. There was this haunted undertone to almost every one of our conversations. I never understood why. “You sure you won’t change your mind?” He was almost pleading. “I have an open spot in the Trauma Unit, and it’s yours if you want it. You don’t have to wait to move to New York to do the job.”
I shook my head. These days New York seemed like a pipe dream instead of reality. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not changing my mind about New York. They’re holding my spot indefinitely.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “You know you would have made your father proud no matter where you worked. Even here, in Atlanta.”
“Peter!” I warned.
He held his hands up. “I’m done trying.”
I doubted that.
All through my residency, he had steered me away from New York Presbyterian. “Good,” I said, “because I’m finished talking about it, and besides, I’m out of here for the day.”
Clapping his hand on my shoulder, he said, “Have a good day, Jake.”
“You too, Peter.”
“Hey, Jake, how about dinner next Sunday?”
I made a face. “I don’t think so. Mimi isn’t doing well and I want to spend as much time with her as I can.”
He nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll be in touch to check on her when I get back from the City.”
“You headed back to New York again?”
“Yes, for a few days, but I’ll be back.”
“Can’t stay away,” I joked.
“No, son, I can’t.”
With that, I headed down the hall and pushed the elevator button. I had a stop to make before going to see my sister.
And unfortunately, that stop was in the ICU.
The hospital complex took up multiple city blocks. To say it was huge was an understatement of epic proportion. After walking down three corridors and across two walkways, I was finally in the Crawford Wing. Taking the elevator up to the fifth floor, I stood outside my grandmother’s room and stared at it through the glass for a few long moments.
Beatrice Beau Crawford Alexander might have once been America’s most revered media mogul, and the richest person in Atlanta, but to me, she has been and always would be Mimi.
At sixty-nine, she should have had a decent number of years left. But lying in that hospital bed looking so frail and small, she looked more like ninety, and I knew her time was running out.
Famously private and ironically media shy, she still remained on the board of directors of Crawford Enterprises, but her involvement over the last couple of years had been minimal at best.
Her hope was always to live long enough to pass the torch to my sister, and Rory wasn’t quite ready to assume her role in the company. Until she was, the company was being run by a half dozen suits who I hoped like fuck knew what they were doing.
Beatrice Beau Crawford was, by all accounts, a true southern belle, and the greatest lover of dogs I’d ever known.
Aside from successfully taking the helm of her father’s business when his brothers tried to take it from her, she was also a canine lover and an avid gardener. So much so, she was elected the Peachtree Garden Club president every year for ten years in a row.
Damn, why didn’t I think to bring her some of her beloved Cherokee Roses?
Cursing myself, I took a moment to peruse her chart. Her vitals hadn’t improved, and the newest tumors weren’t responding to this round of chemotherapy. By the looks of things inside, another remission was highly unlikely. I wasn’t an oncologist, but I didn’t need to be to know her condition was worsening, and quickly.
When I opened the door, the seal broke, and a little hiss of air was released. Inside, the medical equipment was doing its job—pumping and monitoring and keeping everyone informed of her current state.
God, she hated those machines, and I hated having to see her hooked up to them.
Her eyes were closed, but I knew she was awake when she reached to fix the scarf around her head before opening them.
Once regal and beautiful, my grandmother now looked so ill. Her eyes had sunk back into her skull, her once able body looked so frail, and her arms too thin.
“There you are,” she said with a mustered smile. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”
Grabbing a chair from the corner, I kissed her cheek before sitting down. “Like you’d ever let me do that?”
“Well, that’s true,” she said, and then tried to sit up. I wanted to help her, but I knew how much she hated that. However, when she couldn’t manage, she looked at me. Without a word, I assisted her.
Alarm bells went off in my head.
Once she was settled, I held her hand. It felt so cold, and I rubbed my thumb over the top of it to try to warm it. “How do you feel today?” I asked.
Reaching for the white Styrofoam cup on the bedside table, she took a sip from the straw before answering. “Not very well, I’m afraid. Sleeping around here is impossible. And that’s why I’ve been waiting for you to get here.”
I raised a brow.
“Don’t give me that look. There are some things I need to talk to you about.”
I took the cup from her and set it down. “Oh yeah, what are they?”
Her eyes became laser-sharp when she looked at me. “I’m stopping my treatments. They aren’t working, but they are making me very sick. I want to go home.”
Suddenly the beeps and bleeps and pumping sounds in the room seemed even louder. But somehow I managed to hold her stare. “Mimi, you can’t do that. You have to fight.”
“I’ve been fighting long enough, Jake. It’s time to stop.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She had the bluest eyes, and I swore there were times they looked like storm clouds. “Well, I do,” she said sharply. “And I want to die at home in a place that isn’t filled with strangers.”
Sadness thundered through my body. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good,” she said. “I was confident you would take care of it.”
I hadn’t said I would. I’d said I could try, but I wasn’t about to tell Mimi that. Besides, there was something in her voice that was more pleading than demanding, and it killed me not to be able to say yes right away.
“And there’s something else.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I whispered as I stared at her more than serious face.
She squeezed my hand. “I want to see your sister get married.”
The before I die, was left off, but it was more than implied. There was a lump the size of Georgia in my throat. What else could I say except, “I can make that happen.”
“Good,” she said again. “I’m glad that’s settled. Now, what about you?”
“What about me?”
She glared at me hard enough to burn a hole in my forehead. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I shook my head, nothing but blankness coming to mind.
She sighed. “You, Jake. Your own life. You need to start building one that doesn’t center around Rory and I. What about Bridget?”
“Bridget?” I rolled my eyes. Bridget and I had been a thing as residents in New York, but once our training was over, so were we. We both wanted different things. She wanted love and marriage. I didn’t. There was no room for compromise on either of our parts.
“Yes, Bridg
et. And don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“Sorry,” I said. “But we’ve been over for more than a year, and as far as I can tell, your mind is still as sharp as a tack, so you already know that.”
Mimi gave me a little shrug. “You could call her and see how she’s doing. Take that job in New York that is waiting for you and be closer to her. See what happens.”
“No, Mimi, I can’t.”
She frowned. “Why not? Was the sex not good?”
Both of my brows popped. “You know I am not going to discuss sex with you, and besides you know why.”
The white sheets seemed to swallow her up. “Jake, it’s time you stopped taking care of everyone around you and take care of yourself. If you want that job in New York, you should go now.”
I shook my head. “They are holding it for me. I’ll go when I’m ready.”
She shook hers. “Sometimes you can be so stubborn.”
“Wonder who I take after?”
She gave me a smile, it was faint and weak, but it was still a smile. “All I’m trying to tell you, Jake, is you can stop waiting around. Rory will be married soon, and you won’t have to take care of her anymore. And me, well—”
I cut her off. I couldn’t hear the words. “Mimi, you will still be the same hard-headed mule you’ve always been.”
Fighting a smile, she drew in a breath. “Go to New York, Jake. Live your life.”
“I am living my life.”
The look she tossed at me was doubtful. “You work and spend time with me. That isn’t living your life.”
“I think it is.”
She waved a hand “You’re a bad liar. You always have been. Go to New York. Look up Bridget. Maybe things will be different when you see her again. Perhaps the chemistry will pop the second time around.”
“Nothing will have changed. We want different things. That’s the end of our story.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she sighed. “I wish I could see you fall in love and get married.”
I gave her hand another squeeze. “Mimi, don’t ask me for something I can’t give you. You know I’m not looking for love.”
This time her sigh was resolute. “Someday, Jake, love will find you. And when it does, you won’t have a choice but to accept it.”