After a few seconds, he backed out and closed the door silently. She sat up. What had just happened? Quickly she halted the absurd tangent her brain had taken off on. Tenderness in Fuller's eyes? Ridiculous.
She had to stop thinking about the orderly. It was not professional. He was not the man for her.
But something inside her didn't agree, and she was left to wonder why he'd looked at her like that.
* * *
Driving home, Mike could barely keep his eyes open. Not the safest thing to do when he was driving, but the extra money from those long double shifts allowed him to breathe more easily. For the first time since college, he had a small savings account. For the first time in weeks, he felt there might be better times ahead that didn't consist of constant work, that held the promise he might be a doctor someday.
Not that doctors had easy lives, but they had partners to trade off with, got paid a good bit more and didn't have to do the scut work.
"Orderly," he imagined himself saying in some far-off day when he was Michael Robert Fuller, M.D. "Transport this patient to X-ray, then check on the woman bleeding in Trauma 8. And while you're there— " He almost smiled. Life was getting better when he could see a little humor in the situation, when he felt there might be a future for him in medicine.
He turned onto his street in time to see Tim ride away in his friend's car. Where were they going? He didn't have a job yet. He'd ask Tim later where he'd gone, if he remembered, but he wasn't worried. This was too early in the day to get in trouble, even for Tim.
Pulling Francie's car into the drive, he got out and stretched. He waved down the street toward the neighborhood kids waiting for the school bus as he walked across the lawn and onto the porch. It was hot already, even though it was only late May. That was central Texas.
He unlocked the front door, shoved it open and took a step inside. Silence surrounded him, the usual situation with Tim gone except normally his mother was drinking coffee and reading the paper in the kitchen when he got home. Today the door of her bedroom was shut and a line of light glowed from beneath it. Was she sick?
He knocked and said, "Mom, are you okay?"
When she threw the door open, the dazzling light from her smile and several lamps made him blink.
"I'm magnificent, dear. Look at this." She swirled and gestured around her.
The blast of brilliance made him stand still for a moment. Then he took three steps inside and blinked in an effort to take the scene in.
On the wall to his left, his mother had painted a view of a meadow with two women walking through it. Vibrant green grass and a dazzling sky filled the entire area. On the wall in front of him, she'd begun to paint a pond with gauzy water lilies floating on its shimmering surface.
Wearing one of his shirts and old jeans smeared with paint, his mother stood in the middle of an amazing blaze of beauty.
"I see you're Claude Monet today," he said stunned by the joy in his mother's face and the glow of the painting on the walls. Mixed with all this was the realization this was a rental house for which he'd signed an agreement: all plans to paint had to be approved by the landlord. He didn't think the landlord would appreciate the swirling glory on the walls, but it was too late to worry now. He and Tim could paint over it before they moved out.
Walking to the center of the room, he allowed the paintings to fill him with joy. "When did you decide to do this?"
"After you left yesterday afternoon, I took a walk." While she talked, she picked up a paper towel and wiped the plate she'd used as a palette. "There's a wonderful art store only three block from here. Did you know that?" She glanced up at him with a smile, the kind he remembered from when he was a kid.
He dropped on the bed to listen.
"They had a bin of old paint really cheap, so I bought some and a few brushes, and, well, everything I needed. It cost almost nothing." She turned in a slow circle to study her creations. "Once I got started, I couldn't stop. I painted the rest of the day and all night, stopped to feed Tim dinner and breakfast then came back here." With a sigh, she put the plate down and sat next to him on the bed.
"I didn't know how much I missed it. The painting." Her eyes shone. "Not until I put the first stroke of color on the wall and inspiration flowed through me. It kept coming and coming, like it had been locked up inside me all these years."
"You painted for twenty hours?"
"Almost." She smiled. "It was wonderful. It was like coming home, coming home to you and Tim and my painting." She stood to twirl in the middle of the room.
Mike pulled himself off the bed. "I'm glad, Mom. It's great."
"Thank you, dear." She patted his cheek. "Now, let me get you some breakfast. We can eat together. Then I have to take a nap. Although," she said, "my brain is so filled with images, I don't know if I can sleep."
"Mom, it's beautiful. What's next? Another Monet? Degas's dancers? Seurat?"
"Never Seurat. I find painting all those little dots so tedious."
She was happy. He'd let her finish her bedroom, which wouldn't take long at the speed she was going. Then he'd help her find a job.
* * *
Almost a week later, his mom still hadn't found work although she'd made several calls and filled out lots of applications. On the other hand, a Degas dancer stretched her long right leg across one corner in the kitchen. In the hall, the start of his mother's interpretation of a Pisarro view of a street made Mike feel as if he were walking through Paris. The landlord might be able to use the house as a gallery or charge higher rent with all the art filling it.
"Fuller, there's a kid in the E.R. who needs you," Dr. Armstrong said, interrupting Mike's thoughts.
In the past few weeks, Mike had gotten a reputation for being good with kids. This was good because he liked children, but bad because he really hated to see a kid hurt.
After finding the child, comforting her and getting her prepped for surgery, he transported her to the OR and promised he'd be there when she got out of surgery.
A few hours later, Mike glanced at his watch. Almost 6:00 a.m. His mother would be picking him up after the shift change. She'd needed the car to go to the doctor yesterday afternoon, only a routine visit, she'd said. He hoped everything had gone well.
Because he'd expected her to arrive an hour later, seeing her in the E.R. hallway surprised him. Even more amazing, she supported a gray-haired man with one hand and tried to staunch the blood dripping from the towels wrapped around the man's arm with the other.
"Mom?"
"Hello, dear." She gave him a quick smile. "I met Mr. Ramírez in the parking lot and helped him in." She lowered the man into a chair. "He says his daughter works here. Do you know her?"
"Yeah." Mike pulled gloves from his pockets, slipping them on as he ran to the nurses' station. "Page Dr. Ramírez, please." Then he grabbed a couple of towels from a hall cabinet, dropped the blood-soaked towels from Mr. Ramírez's arm on the tile floor and wrapped the clean ones around it. Before he could do more, Dr. Ramírez rushed toward her father.
"Papi, what is it?" She kneeled in front of him and glanced at the already-bloody towels. "Fuller, get a wheelchair and take my father to— " she checked the whiteboard "— Trauma 2."
"I don't need a wheelchair." Mr. Ramírez pulled himself to his feet and took a step.
Dr. Ramírez didn't say a word, just gave her father the look that stopped orderlies in their tracks or had them leaping to do what she expected. He sat.
"Marvin," she said to the clerk, "check my father in and get housekeeping here stat to clean the area and get rid of the towels."
Mike pulled his gloves off and dropped them in a closed bin. "Mom, get some soap from Marv and wash your hands and arms and face really well. Scrub hard."
Then he helped Dr. Ramírez's father into the wheelchair and pushed him to the desk where the older man handed his insurance information to Marvin.
"Marv, I'll get you the rest of the info in a minute. I need to check on my
father." Dr. Ramírez grabbed the chair and wheeled it into the cubicle. "Fuller, transfer."
Once her father was lying on the examining table, Dr. Ramírez started to unwrap the arm. "How did you do this, Papi?"
"I was trimming the hedge— "
Mike took the wheelchair away as nurses and an intern and other personnel crowded into the trauma bay.
"Papi, you know you should leave those jobs for one of the boys to do," Mike heard her say as he left.
"I'm not a baby, Ana. I can do this."
"Papi," Dr. Ramírez said. "You always think you're so macho, invincible."
When Mike left the wheelchair in the corridor, he reminded himself to have housekeeping clean it well. He entered the waiting room, and his mother looked up at him.
"How is he? Will he be all right?"
"I don't know, but he has the best doctor in the place taking care of him. I'll check in with her later and let you know." He sat in the green plastic chair next to her and took a hand that was still a little damp. "Why are you here so early?"
"I was going to eat breakfast in the cafeteria and be here when you got off."
"Well, go ahead." He reached into a pocket for a bill. "Get some breakfast."
"No, no. I don't feel like it now. I'll wait here."
"Then tell me what happened. You found him in the parking lot?"
"Yes. Poor man, he drove himself here. I saw him getting out of the car. He almost fell and his face was white." She fanned out the skirt of her long, gauzy mauve dress before she stared at the dark smears on it. "I didn't realize I was getting bloody. What should I do?" She glanced up at Mike. "I should change clothes."
"I'm worried. I'm sure he's a nice man, but blood can carry infections like hepatitis, which would be dangerous for you."
"I know, Mike, but I couldn't leave the poor man to lie on the pavement."
Of course she couldn't, despite the risk. "I'll get you a set of scrubs."
She straightened. "Scrubs?" She bit the words off with obvious distaste.
"I know they aren't your usual style, but scrubs are all we have. They're better than what you're wearing."
She nodded. "All right. I'll try scrubs."
"You'll make them look good."
As he stood, Dr. Ramírez entered the waiting room. Approaching his mother, she reached out her hand. "I'm Dr. Ramírez. I can't thank you enough for helping my father."
"I'm Tessie Fuller, Mike's mother." She got up. "I was glad to help. I can't believe your father drove himself here."
"What can I say?" Dr. Ramírez shrugged. "He thinks he can do anything."
"How is he?" His mother grabbed Dr. Ramírez's arm as she spoke.
"Dr. Price, a surgeon, is stitching up the arm. That won't take long, but we're going to keep him overnight. He lost a lot of blood and would have lost more if you hadn't helped." She nodded at his mother and smiled. "We want to make sure everything is okay before we release him."
"Oh, my, yes. I understand."
"I'm glad to meet you. Thank you again." Then she dropped the smile and said. "Fuller, transfer."
Before he could follow Dr. Ramírez into the E.R., his mother pulled on his hand. "She's a pretty young woman and a doctor." She studied Mike's face. "Nice smile. And you work together."
"Yes, Mother." He knew what was coming and tried to pull away.
"She could be the right one."
"Mom, she's a doctor. I'm a med-school dropout which makes her the absolutely wrong one." He pried her hand off his arm and said, "I've got to go back to the E.R., but I'll get you the scrubs when I can."
A long shift change ended at seven-thirty. Wearily, Mike walked into the waiting room carrying a set of scrubs. His mother wasn't there.
Great.
He asked the clerk if she'd seen his mother but she'd just replaced Marv and didn't know her. Maybe Mom had decided to eat breakfast. He'd taken a step toward the hallway when Dr. Ramírez called him from the door to the E.R.
"Fuller."
He turned back.
"Guess who was visiting my father when I checked on him at seven?" She shook her head and smiled.
"My mother?" His stomach tightened. Please, no.
She nodded. "Yep. If you're looking for her, you might try there."
Great. He jogged down the hall, pushed the elevator call button impatiently until the door finally swished open and he got on. His mother collected strays. That was how Francie had come to live with them when her father went to prison, but this stray happened to be Dr. Ramírez's father. The complications of a friendship between them overwhelmed him.
He got off the elevator on the fifth floor and walked down the hall looking for the room number the clerk had given him. When he got there, the door was open. Inside, his mother buttered a piece of toast and held it out for Mr. Ramírez to take a bite. The patient had his arm wrapped and elevated. A monitor was attached while an IV dripped. He had some color back in his face and gazed at his mother with all the interest a man in pain could.
Well, well, well.
After watching for a minute, Mike entered the room. "Mom, do you want these scrubs?"
"Oh, yes, dear." She wiped her hand on a napkin and stood. "I'm sorry, Antonio, but I need to go change now and go home. I'll call to check on you tomorrow." She put a sheet of paper in her pocket. "I have your number."
"Thank you, Tessie." Mr. Ramírez smiled at her. "Thank you for helping me into the hospital and for feeding me breakfast. Please call."
"Of course, but you take a nap." She followed her son from the room.
"You fed him breakfast?" Mike smiled at her while they waited for the elevator.
"Poor man. He couldn't feed himself with only one arm, now could he? And the aides couldn't help him until much later. His food would have been cold." She put her hand on his arm and nodded, her dangling earrings bouncing with the movement of her head. "I believe it's so important to help others, don't you?"
Just terrific.
Chapter FiveWhen Ana walked into her father's kitchen the next day, Mrs. Fuller sat at the table with her dad. Ana paused for a minute and tried to think of any reason Mike's mother would be there.
In spite of what her family might say about her, Ana wasn't nosy. At least, not today. She'd dropped by to check on her father and start dinner, but he didn't look as if he needed her care. Which was fine, but she wondered what was going on. After all, the charming widow had spent time with her father while he was in the hospital. Now he'd been home for only a day and here she was again.
Her father held the business section of the newspaper— odd because recently he was only reading the sports page and doing the crossword puzzles. But when she saw the pen in Mrs. Fuller's hand and the pad of yellow paper in front of her, the reason for the rendezvous made sense.
With her nice, conservative black slacks, with a plain black cotton sweater, it was an outfit that looked like something Ana's mother might have worn with a pair of tiny gold earrings and the cross Papi had given her when they married. But Mrs. Fuller accessorized her outfit with a huge red scarf covered in gold swirls tossed around her shoulders. Her gold sandals with red bangles matched it. In greater contrast to Ana's mother, when Mrs. Fuller spoke she waved her hands and light flashed off the jewels of her many rings. The bangles on her wrists jangled and reflected the light coming in the window.
Flamboyant was the word that came to mind. Oh, Mrs. Fuller was lovely, full of energy but so very different from Mama. Sweet, loving, quiet Mama.
For a minute she watched them: Mrs. Fuller tapped her pen on the table, which caused her bracelets to clank together. Then she looked at Papi with a smile he returned. He said something to her, and Mrs. Fuller leaned toward him and laughed.
And so, in spite of the differences, Ana couldn't be unhappy. For the first time in over a year, her father was smiling. Mrs. Fuller seemed to pump him up, to delight him, to make him happy, all of which were good. He needed company during the few days Ana had made h
im stay home from the store. However, there was still the problem with Mrs. Fuller's criminal past, but this was hardly the place to discuss that.
"Hello, Mrs. Fuller. It's nice to see you again," Ana said.
Fuller's mother glanced up at her. "Hello, Doctor. Your father is helping me find a job." She scowled and tapped a pen in frustration. "I'm afraid I have no employable skills."
"Hello, Ana," Papi greeted her. "I was thinking when I go back to the store next week, Tessie could work for me and help with some of the little things. Answer the phone. Take messages."
"Oh, Antonio, really?" Mrs. Fuller's rings glittered when she clapped her hands. "At your store?"
"Sure, I can use the help for a while."
"I could be a gofer, too." Mrs. Fuller clapped, her bangles shimmering in the light from the window. Then she bit her lower lip. "But I don't want to take advantage of your good nature."
"It's a good idea." Ana slid past the table. "I don't want my father to overdo it."
"And it will give you some experience and a reference," Papi said.
"I don't have much experience," Mrs. Fuller said to Ana. "And no references." She sighed. "I've called fifteen places today, and they aren't interested. Even if I didn't have a record, they wouldn't be interested."
"We'll keep searching," Papi said.
"Oh, thank you, Antonio. I don't know what I'd do without your encouragement."
"Would you like to stay for dinner, Mrs. Fuller?" Ana opened the freezer to pull out a casserole. "We always have plenty of food."
"Please, call me Tessie." She glanced at the kitchen clock. "I didn't realize it was so late. I have to catch a bus and get home in time to fix dinner for the boys." She stood. "But thank you. Please ask me again."
"Has Tim found a job yet?" Papi asked.
"Yes, he's working at Burger Heaven a few blocks from where we live. He started last week." She picked up her tapestry purse and said, "Goodbye, Antonio. Goodbye, Doctor." With a swirl and to the jingling of her bangles, she dashed from the kitchen.
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