How dare he? I slammed my hands onto the drive bar of the portable and followed behind. Who does he think he is? I wished I could think faster on my feet. Not much damage was done by just suggesting he had sheep at home waiting for his loving attention. I would have done better, but, well, he was so distracting. Either way, I’d learned long ago never insult a military boy. Maybe that in itself was enough retaliation for getting in the way of my work.
Before I knew it, my turbulent thoughts had fueled me to my department.
I parked the overworked machine and plodded into the empty core.
Jim supervised the graveyard shift three nights a week and the day shift twice. Tonight was his designated poker night, hence the absentee man. He’d be back in the morning, but for now playing hooky had never sounded so good.
And then there was the other tech, Sara, on nights with me. She and I had been best friends until I dropped the ball. After Dean—well, I didn’t need the emotional ties. To anyone.
The core had a claustrophobic feel. No windows to see the stars, just the hole with a large neon-green exit sign. I took a deep breath in the solitude.
Adrenaline brought on by my near battle with the jerk started to drain away. I needed my lunch break. I needed food. Better yet, sleep seemed the only menu item really necessary.
I’d had enough ups and downs to last me ten lifetimes.
On the whiteboard beside the department phone I wrote: M. Lachlan Lunch.
I purposefully omitted the time and placed the marker in its tray before sneaking through the fluoroscopy room to the stairwell.
The cafeteria wouldn’t have hot food this time of night but I could at least count on a thick, meaty sandwich, maybe roast beef, and sea-salt-and-vinegar chips. Water. Lots of water.
My legs screamed as I tackled the stairs. They deserved a break, yet the pain comforted me, a feeling I’d delve into later.
The door banged shut behind me as I entered the well-lit common area. On the wall a box TV hung suspended in the corner, the muted weatherman pointing at clouds and sun the only movement among the empty tables. Closed hot-food counters led the way to the bright fridge displaying sandwiches, salads, desserts and condiments in plastic containers.
From where I stood, the beverages basked behind me and the chips hung out farther along down the wall. I wished I was at a hotel pondering room size and amenities for the night instead of turkey on wheat or pastrami on rye. No roast beef to be found. Figures.
Sighing, I closed my eyes, reached into the cooler and clasped the first item I touched. It was warm. My lids flew open and I dropped the hand I’d grabbed.
“Excuse me. I didn’t know you were going to finally choose one.” Him. A sarcastic, biting tone complemented the icy sting in his expression. Maybe I would never be free of him. Maybe I’d fallen into some vortex where the worst night would play over and over again.
Glaring, I reached in and grabbed a cold, saran-wrapped sandwich.
The jerk glanced at my hand and raised his brow. “Yeah, that would’ve been my first choice too.” All but rolling his eyes, he pulled one from the rack and turned away.
I looked at my lunch. Egg salad on white. Hell. The night belonged to hell. Rather than give him the satisfaction, I kept the squishy package, whisked a bottled water from its shelf, followed by chips.
He stood by the candy, staring at the small selection. I stormed past him to the register, coming to an anticlimactic stop at the head of the line. Ignoring any remnants of my wounded pride, I smiled at the elderly woman who shuffled from a hidden space behind yet another wall.
The enemy rustled around in the candy. I had to have iron filings in my skin drawn to his magnetism from the way my nerves tingled and sang when he stood behind me. There was no way I’d react otherwise. He stacked his items on the counter next to mine. I seethed, my traitorous body aware of his every move. Wouldn’t it be nice to throw something at him?
In agonizing slowness, the cashier punched buttons, muttered under her breath, squinted at the display and punched more buttons. Finally, after what seemed like three years, she looked at me. “Are you ready, Miss?”
Calling upon all the manners my mother had tried her best to raise me with, I sweetly replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
A suspicious snort covered quickly with a cough from behind me thinned the strength I used to keep my control.
My items triggered a beep each time she dragged them across the small scanner. She asked for my employee number or ID, the latter of which I passed to her. No way would I let the guy behind me get that kind of info.
She smiled and handed the tag back to me. In my haste, I grabbed the food and forgot napkins. The realization didn’t stop me as I sought the table farthest from where I left him.
I sat with my back to the room and instead faced the friendlier option of the beige wall. Distant beeping warned me he was almost finished. My fingers fumbled with the stubborn wrapper on my sandwich. A sign not to eat it? I dropped it on the table and stared at my late-night meal. Tears pricked behind my lids.
Silence resounded behind me. Confident I was finally alone, I cradled my head in my hands and gave in. I allowed the frustration, anger, exhaustion and dismay to weep out. They escaped silently, dripping onto my scrubs and the plastic top of the table.
The release, so unlike me to fall apart where anyone could see, relaxed some of the tension in my chest. I leaned against the back of my chair, my arms falling to rest beside me. My cheeks, swollen from the cry, reddened with heat as, for the second time in about ten minutes, one of the reasons for my emotional upheaval surprised me.
He stood next to me holding out a handful of napkins. I looked at the offering of white, like a flag, in his hand, and then at his face. Expressionless, he looked at me. Slowly, I accepted the napkins and watched him turn and walk from the cafeteria. I returned my attention to the table. The turkey sandwich he’d discreetly deposited stared at me, filled with reproach. I sighed, setting off a renewed bout of tears.
Chapter Three
After my break, I returned to the core to find a new stack of orders waiting for me. Oh, joy.
A dozen more in the ER and a callback for Mr. Stewart’s room. I stuffed the ER orders onto the portable machine before hunting for the radio with callback in hand.
I held down the talk button. “Sara, core, what’s your twenty and ETA?”
“Five minutes. In hall.”
I waited impatiently by the film printer until she bounced through the door, smiling. “What’s up, Mag?” Even after I had cooled things between us, Sara had continued acting like we were the best of friends. Her niceness only made me feel worse. Not bad enough I’d change, but worse.
“I have a ton of ER STATs. Would you mind doing this guy on two for me? I went by earlier and they didn’t want to wake him. I guess now he’s ready.” I waved Ryan’s slip in the air between us like a wand.
Without missing a beat, Sara removed the paper from my fingers, midswing, still smiling. “Sure thing. Let me know if you need help with anything else. It’s pretty quiet up here.”
And like that, the headache transferred from me to her.
True, I wouldn’t get the chance to clear the air with Ryan. To try, in some way, to apologize for the previous night’s meltdown in his room the night before. On the upside, though, the brooding man who guarded him wouldn’t have the opportunity to rub my cafeteria tears in my face. I pushed the twinge of disappointment stirring in the back of my stomach down past my kneecaps. None of that here.
The night began to look a little more promising.
After completing eight ER patients, I stopped in the bathroom I had visited before. A quick glance at my watch showed two hours until I’d have the pleasure of heading for home and a two-day weekend. I honestly had no idea what to do with the time. I needed sleep, but the nightmares would haunt me. Yet if I stayed awake, I would torture myself with memories of Dean from that night.
The four patients I had left
passed quickly. Two were simple chest X-rays, one had smashed their knee and the last one, an adorable little three-year-old boy, had fallen out of bed and came in with a bump on his head. After all my time in the medical field I knew the chance that a little boy fell out of bed and got a fractured skull, like the one he had, was highly unlikely.
I made notations on my films before sending them across the digital records system to the radiologist. Poor little man would probably be called in for an entire skeletal survey the next day to rule out child abuse. Shaking my head, I tried not to think about what a little boy at my house would get—suckers, trucks, lots of pizza and ice cream—anything he wanted, because I wanted him so bad.
The portable and I returned to the radiology core. I glanced at my watch. Forty-five minutes to go.
Knowing I was so close made it that much more difficult to stay awake. I ripped the stack of finished-patient sheets from the clip. My usual routine included paperwork at the end of my shift, maintaining a smooth pace throughout the night in case anything came up.
Climbing up onto a rolling chair in front of a computer, I yawned. Sara chuckled behind me.
Eyes burning, I peeked at her over my shoulder. “Couldn’t help it.” I grinned with residual gratitude from her saving me and my hostility dulled just a bit. I returned to my work and left it at that. However, Sara didn’t quite get the hint. She stood beside me, leaning against the counter.
“So, what’d you do when you were down there?” She bent her head and took a bite of a sandwich similar to the one I’d been craving a while ago.
“Down where?” Oh, frick…
“Yeah, wight—” she spoke around the large bite before she muscled it down, “—down where!” Her giggle cut into her words. “I may not have been there, but whatever you did to that man left a definite impression. Now, tell me what it was.” She snapped her fingers before pointing at me. “That’s why you sent me! Maggie, you better tell me. I’m dying to know.”
I pecked at a few keys on the board and tried to ignore her. She stood resolutely in her spot, not moving, not giving in to my cold war, eating that damned sandwich.
After reading the same notes for the fourth time, I spun on my chair toward her. “Okay, what did he say? He was a total jerk when I got there. He was just plain rude. Rude! I only wanted to get done with my rounds and he kept coming at me. What was I supposed to do?”
Slowly, she chewed the bite in her mouth, thinking. With less of a struggle, she swallowed. “I have no idea how he could have been rude when he was sleeping. What are you talking about?”
Suspicious, I grimaced. “What are you talking about?” Who else would be asking about me? Except Jerkoid.
“The patient. Ryan. He asked about you. Well, not by name, but he described you well—” she winked at me, “—and it was pretty complimentary too. I told him I was covering for you.”
What? “Ryan? What about the big guy? Was he complaining or something?” I was dealing with more than exhaustion—I just couldn’t place my finger on what it was.
“Complaining? No, Ryan had only nice things to say about you. Rather inquisitive, actually. Poor guy, nobody visits him but his brother—and apparently you.” She polished off the last bite of her sandwich while we sat in silence.
Why would Ryan ask about me? Where had the pain in the neck gone?
Sara wadded up the brown napkin and tossed it over my head into the trash. “Hey. There was another single guy and you didn’t warn me? The one I saw was hot, but come on, two? You could’ve said something. My hair looked like hell.” She playfully glared at me.
“Oh, well. I didn’t think of it like that.” Ryan was hot, huh? Didn’t notice. But the other one…
“Yeah, I bet.” Her friendliness turned to pity in front of me like a mask moved out of view.
I longed to shout that it wasn’t because of Dean that I didn’t think of him like that. Well, it was, but also that the big guy in the room took most of my attention. I had a hard time focusing on much besides our battle of wills, let alone the supine patient beeping in the corner. Leave it to Sara to turn such a situation into some kind of romance novel, just waiting to unfold.
Little did she know, things didn’t turn out happily ever after in real life. The Sara who’d teased me had been easier to tolerate than the return of the Pity Friend. That’s where I lost all interest, turning my back to her and focusing on my paperwork once again.
The door opened. Ah, saved by Jim’s arrival. He also made every social situation disappear. I loved it.
“Hello, ladies.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, Maggie. I need to talk to you when you get a chance.”
Double escape. “Sure. I’ve got a sec now.” Snap, my day was turning around.
I slid from the seat, abandoning the pitiful expressions playing across Sara’s face, and followed Jim into his office. He closed the door, motioning me to take a chair. For some reason, his gaze flitted around me or over me but never landed on me once he sat in the opposite seat.
“What’s up, Jim?” Too tired to fake patience, I dived right in.
He cleared his throat a second time, reminding me of my dad’s extremely annoying habit. I hoped Jim wasn’t forming it. Nothing’s worse than a habitual throat-clearer. “Well, Maggie. It was suggested by a few people that maybe you need to take a break.”
I stared at him, waiting for the next boot to kick me on the other side of the butt. Where had my “better day” gone?
“What I mean is, well, the powers-that-be think it would be…well, that is, they have advised me…” His scarlet face scrunched up like that of a person with severe constipation. Thought process seemed very difficult for men sometimes.
Avoiding more throat clearing, I jumped in. “Jim, what’s going on? Do you need something? I have the next two days off—”
“That’s just it, Mag. I don’t want to have you take a leave of absence, but my boss is suggesting it. And longer than two days. Apparently there have been more complaints than your record can hold right now.” Relief smoothed his expression.
More complaints. I had no escape. I didn’t want to take a break. I had no idea for how long, but I needed every moment of work I could soak up. Work kept the monsters at bay. Two days off I filled easily with tasks left undone throughout the week, chores that held my mind in limbo. But—“How long are we talking?”
“Maybe two weeks? A month? I can work on sooner, if you’d like, but the minimum is going to be two weeks.”
Holy crap. “Do I need the union rep?” Maybe she could get me back on my shift. Weeks of staring at the blank walls, trapped in memories…I’d go insane. What did he think I was going to do while I was off? Garden? Hardly.
“Now, let’s not get crazy.” Funny, that’s what I’m afraid of. He held his hands out, palms up. “I think you’ll be happy to know, it’s paid time off.” When I moved to interrupt, he rushed ahead. “This won’t be taken out of your accrued PTO. Consider it a free vacation, if you want.” He smiled, attempting to be reassuring but failing miserably.
“Huh. That’s weird.” My butt seemed to have glued itself to the chair.
“Well, now, that’s not all.” He tried smiling past my glare and continued with his infomercial parody. “They have a contingency to go along with your time off.” Damn luck wouldn’t leave me alone. “You’re going to be required to do something therapeutic. Hobby-ish, if you will. They want receipts.”
I guffawed. “Really? You want me to pick up a hobby? Like what, knitting?”
He didn’t deviate from the professional smile. “No, Mag. They wanted to send you to therapy, but I figured it would be better to give you some leeway. The hobby was my suggestion.” Jim picked up a stack of papers on his desk and tapped the edges on the surface to align them with each other. Setting them aside, he fixed me with a fatherly expression. “I know you’ve had a rough year or so of it. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t take a break and deal with the grief. Go through the appropr
iate processes associated with this kind of thing.”
This kind of thing? Yes, my husband committing suicide was a thing. Just a small thing to be dealt with. I’d had it. Another surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins, lifting the fatigue dragging against my bones. I jumped to my feet.
“Fine, I’ll take a leave of absence. With pay. I’ll call you for more details in two weeks.” I didn’t wait for his reply. His office reminded me of a broom closet and I dashed out the door before I said something I might come to regret later. Might.
The locker room waited for me. I shed the scrubs and tossed them in the laundry basket near the door. Changing removed some of the angst the blue cloth trapped me in. I wore my attitude like an accessory when I was here, never letting anyone see me anymore.
Dressed, I yanked my purse off the hook and clutched my work shoes. Knowing I had better apologize to Ryan before I got another mark on my sheet, I tortured my legs further by taking every other stair down to level two. No way was I going to pass the radiology department to get to the elevator after I’d just been kicked out.
Butterflies would have fluttered had there been a chance the brute would be there. But Sara said it was just Ryan. The brother must have gone home.
Knowing the whole ordeal could be explained away in a few minutes, I felt like whistling. I might be able to keep the breakdown to a bare minimum. My exhaustion had flown, if only for a moment.
The floor greeted me with a hushed dawn-is-here anticipation. Quiet humming from the machines mingled with the shuffling of the nurses’ shoes on the linoleum as they checked on their multiple patients. I walked as fast as I could by the empty nurses’ desk and into the vacant hall toward Ryan’s room.
Wanting to stay out of as many staff members’ views as I could—I had no idea who was complaining about me so much—I knocked and entered room C26U in the same fluid motion, turning to close the door behind me.
“Are you here to help with the bathing?” I froze.
Breathe Again Page 3