Beyond the Breakwater

by Radclyffe

Tory glanced at the clock on the opposite side of the brightly lit emergency room. She couldn’t believe it was only ten o’clock in the morning. It felt as if the day had been endless. She jumped, startled by the voice beside her.

  “Tory, I need someone to sign an operative consent.” K.T.’s voice was calm and gentle. “I don’t think she’s competent. Do you know how we can reach her next of kin?”

  “I have medical power of attorney.” Tory leaned against the aluminum guardrail that stood between her and Reese like the bars of a jail cell, her left hand curled tightly over the top rung, her right softly stroking Reese’s forehead. She didn’t look at the surgeon standing next her.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. She’s my lover.”

  There was a moment’s silence, then K.T. said flatly, “Fine. I’ll get the papers.”

  “No. Not yet.” Tory turned and met K.T.’s eyes. “Her vital signs are stable. She just got the loading doses of chloramphenicol an hour ago. I want to wait until Jill has had a chance to look at the gram stain.”

  “Why?” the surgeon asked impatiently.

  “Because this might be a limited infection, and another dose of antibiotics might bring it under control without surgery.”

  “And if we wait, and it isn’t a mild form of the organism, she could lose her arm. She could die.”

  “K.T., she’s a sheriff and a lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps. She needs the use of that arm to be who she is.” A wave of agony passed through Tory. “I have to be sure.”

  “I’ll be as conservative with the resection as I can,” K.T. insisted.

  “Can you promise me that you won’t resect the extensor muscles in her forearm? Because if you do, she’ll never hold a gun again.”

  “You know I can’t promise that. It depends on what it looks like when I get in there.”

  “Yes, and you can’t always tell if the tissue is healthy or not just by looking at it. And surgical teaching says when in doubt, cut it out. I lived with you through your surgical residency, remember?”

  “God damn it, you’re letting your emotions affect your judgment.” K.T. took Tory’s elbow and moved her several feet away from Reese’s bedside. “You’re not thinking like a doctor. You shouldn’t be making this decision.”

  “I am a doctor,” Tory said sharply. “And I’m her lover. I’ll let you know after I’ve talked to Jill.”

  “Jesus,” K.T. cursed. “You’re just as stubborn as ever.”

  “And you’re—”

  “Tory!” Bri called as she hurried across the room. After her father had informed her that Reese was in the hospital, she’d pulled on her clothes and jumped on her motorcycle. It had taken her less than an hour to get to the hospital.

  Tory looked over at the handsome youth in leather motorcycle pants, black jacket, and white T-shirt. An inexplicable wave of relief washed through her. Maybe it was simply the fact that Bri had always reminded her of Reese in her single-mindedness and her uncommon sense of valor. She held out her hand, which Bri took. To her surprise, Bri leaned close and kissed her on the cheek. Oh, Bri. You’ve grown up, haven’t you?

  “Thanks for coming, Bri.”

  “I left as soon as my dad called me. He said he’d be here as soon as he stopped at your place to check on Jed.”

  “Great.” Tory’s tone was distracted as she indicated K.T. with a nod. “Bri, this is Dr. O’Bannon, one of Reese’s doctors.”

  Bri briefly shook K.T.’s hand but her gaze was on Reese. “How is she?”

  “In and out. She’s sleeping right now.” Tory squeezed Bri’s hand. “I called Jean and Kate, but they must be away because I only got their answering machine.”

  “I’ll call my dad again in a few minutes. He can probably track them down.” Bri couldn’t take her eyes from Reese. The sight of her in the hospital bed sent a jolt of terror straight through Bri’s chest. Carefully, she kept her expression blank. “Can I…is it okay if I…”

  “Go talk to her for a minute,” Tory said gently. “She might not answer, but she’ll hear your voice. I need to hunt down one of the other doctors.”

  Hearing the exhaustion in Tory’s voice, Bri studied her with concern. “Have you had anything to eat this morning?”

  “What?” Tory asked, momentarily confused.

  “You haven’t, have you?” Bri put her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and hunched her shoulders slightly. “Look, I’ll bring you something from the cafeteria. Toast or something. Is coffee okay?”

  The sight of Bri, so very much like Reese, searching desperately for a way to take care of her brought a sudden flood of tears to Tory’s eyes. With a shaking hand, she brushed away the few that escaped before she could contain them. She cleared her throat and smiled. “I guess I should skip the coffee. But some juice and toast would be great. Thanks, sweetie.”

  Bri blushed and ducked her head. “I’ll be right back.”

  K.T. watched Bri walk away. “She’s hot.”

  “She’s a child,” Tory said acerbically.

  “I don’t think so.” She gave Tory a speculative glance. “Still living in Provincetown?”

  “Yes. Bri’s father is the sheriff there and Reese’s boss.”

  “Why did the kid ask if coffee was okay? I remember it used to be an addiction with you. Is something wrong? Ulcers or something?”

  “No.” Tory hesitated. “I’m pregnant.”

  K.T.’s gasp of surprise was audible. “Jesus Christ, Tory. Stop fooling around, then. Let me operate and make sure your partner’s around to see the baby.”

  Tory’s face lost the last remnants of color, but she refused to give in to the sudden wave of dizziness. “You never could see the shades of gray, could you? I’m going to find Jill Baker and see what she thinks. I’ll give you my decision after that.”

  Then she walked to the bed, leaned over, kissed Reese on the lips, and strode away without looking back at the astonished surgeon.

  *

  Tory found Jill Baker in the pathology laboratory, bent over a microscope, a frown of intense concentration wrinkling her smooth forehead.

  “What have you found?”

  Without looking up, the infectious disease specialist answered, “It’s a gram negative, just like we expected. At least we know the antibiotics are correct.”

  “Is there any way to tell if it’s the virulent form or the self-limited variety?” Tory tried to keep her voice even and hoped that her rising panic wasn’t evident. As each second passed, and the clock ticked down on the chance of keeping Reese out of the operating room, her anxiety escalated.

  “No, I’m sorry. Not from this. We need to wait for the culture and sensitivity results to come back.” Jill’s eyes were sympathetic, but her tone held the matter-of-fact delivery of every physician who knew that nothing less than the truth would suffice.

  “How long before you know which it is?” Tory knew, but she hoped for a miracle.

  “Twelve hours at best, more likely twenty-four.” Jill shrugged. “Bacteria grow at their own pace.”

  “If it’s Vibrio vulnificus, she doesn’t have twelve hours, does she?” Tory put one hand on the counter, determined not to let anyone see her falter.

  “If that’s what it is, she doesn’t even have six.” Jill’s gaze slid from Tory’s tormented green eyes to the scrolled gold band encircling her left ring finger, the exact match to the one on the sheriff’s hand. “What would you say if you didn’t know anything about her except the medical facts?”

  Tory looked away and attempted the impossible task of putting Reese’s face from her mind. After a moment of calling upon every defense she’d ever learned as a doctor to gain some emotional distance, she was able to think objectively—assessing, categorizing, analyzing the timetable, reviewing the sequence of symptoms. She took a deep breath.

  “I’d say that everything points to the rapid onset of cellulitis, most probably the product of an ocean-borne pathogen. In all likelihood, there was syste
mic spread almost immediately, which accounts for her toxic presentation and associated gastrointestinal symptoms. I can precisely pinpoint the time of infection, and considering that it’s been almost twelve hours, the progression is not escalating particularly rapidly.”

  “Very good,” Baker said with a grin. “And your conclusion?”

  “It’s more likely to be the non-fulminant variety; otherwise, her condition should have deteriorated by now to the point of shock and multiorgan system failure.” Her voice shook as the magnitude of that truth pierced her precarious emotional shields. It took her a second before she could continue. “There’s no evidence of disseminated intravascular coagulation on her last blood panel, and there are no distant or satellite lesions.”

  “Want a job? We could use another ID attending around here.”

  “No thanks.” Tory gave a shaky laugh. “What if we wait on the surgery, and I’m wrong?”

  “Being cautious is the sign of a good physician. Second-guessing yourself, though, is dangerous.” Jill’s expression was solemn. “Let’s try a little old-fashioned medicine. Let’s go look at the wound again. If the cellulitis hasn’t progressed, and she still looks stable, I say we sit on it for another couple of hours.”

  “O’Bannon’s going to go crazy.”

  Jill lifted one elegant shoulder. “Let her. Her ego can handle it.”

  Tory took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  *

  K.T. was gone when Tory and Jill returned, having been called away by an emergency in the trauma unit. Bri was sitting by Reese’s bedside, perched on a tall stool, a tray bearing English muffins and cardboard cartons of juice balanced on her knee.

  “Look who’s here,” Bri said happily as Tory approached, inclining her head toward the bed.

  Tory leaned over the rail and gazed into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “Hello, sweetheart,” she murmured, her heart aching at the shadows of pain that lingered in Reese’s face.

  “Hi, love. Sorry, I keep…fading.” Reese turned her head slightly. “Bri says she has breakfast.”

  “Yes.” Tory brightened with a smile. “But not for you just yet. Are you hungry?”

  “Not really.” Reese grimaced. “I’m just happy not to be heaving. You go ahead and eat.”

  Tory petted Reese’s hair, stroked her face, unable to bear not touching her. “In a minute.” She glanced to the side as Jill joined her at the bedside. “Honey, this is Jill Baker. She’s an infectious disease specialist. She needs to look at your arm.”

  “Okay,” Reese said weakly. “Just looking, right, Doc?”

  “No sharp instruments, Sheriff.” Jill flashed a smile, lifting both hands to prove her point.

  Reese kept her eyes on Tory’s face as the other doctor unwrapped her arm. She knew she would be able to see the truth in her lover’s eyes. When Jill gently probed with a gloved hand, Reese winced and immediately, Tory’s eyes darkened. “I’m okay, Tor. It doesn’t hurt too much.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” Tory’s fingers trembled in Reese’s hair. “What do you think, Jill?”

  “It’s no worse.”

  Tory closed her eyes, nearly weak with relief. When she opened them, Reese’s questioning gaze was fixed on hers. “That’s good, honey.”

  “No surgery then?”

  “Maybe I should decide that,” K.T. announced dryly as she moved in next to Jill and reached for Reese’s arm. Her dark eyes were steady on Reese’s blue ones. “I’m Dr. O’Bannon. I’m a surgeon.”

  “Doctor,” Reese said with a hint of her old authority in her voice. “I hope I won’t need your services.”

  K.T. didn’t respond as she lifted and turned Reese’s arm, then probed upward toward her shoulder. “Hurt up here?”

  “No.”

  “Make a fist.”

  Reese tried, but couldn’t quite close her fingers.

  “That bother you anywhere?”

  “Just feels stiff.” Reese frowned. “Mostly I feel really beat. I can’t seem to stay awake.”

  “That’s the effect of the dehydration and the bacterial toxins.” K.T. never took her eyes from the wound. After a moment, she gently placed Reese’s arm back on the bed. Then she grasped the guardrail in both hands and leaned over slightly so that her face was all that Reese could see. “I don’t see very much change in the physical appearance of your arm in the last four hours. That may be a good thing, or it might not. The safest thing would be to take you to the operating room, remove the rest of the sutures, irrigate the wound, and excise any dead tissue.”

  “How would that affect the function of my arm?” Reese worked hard to concentrate and stay alert. The headache was slowly returning, and with it, an overwhelming urge to close her eyes.

  “Maybe not at all.”

  “Maybe?”

  The surgeon blew out a slightly exasperated breath. “I cannot tell you for sure until I see what the tissue looks like.”

  “Worst-case…scenario?”

  “Sensory loss, primarily in the upper aspect of your hand, weakness of wrist extension, decreased grip strength.”

  Reese’s eyes flicked to Tory. “Can we wait?”

  “Honey—”

  “Sheriff Conlon,” K.T. interrupted. “If we go now, we minimize the risk—”

  “K.T., let me talk to her alone for a minute.” Tory’s tone left no room for discussion.

  Reese jerked slightly and shifted her gaze back to the surgeon. The familiarity in Tory’s voice was too much to be coincidence. So you’re the idiot who let her go.

  “I have a patient to check on in the trauma unit,” K.T. said stiffly. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Reese, sweetheart,” Tory said softly, “I know how important it is for you to have the full use of your arm. But we can’t take any chances. I…I can’t risk losing you.”

  “I would never willingly do anything that might take me away from you.” Reese lifted her left hand, and when Tory grasped it, she entwined her fingers with her lover’s. “But if there’s a possibility that we can ride this out without the surgery, I want to try.”

  “Jill feels we can wait a couple more hours.” Tory knew that she was making perhaps the most important decision of her life. Searching her heart and mind, she settled herself. “I agree with her.”

  “Okay then. We wait.” Reese sighed and closed her eyes. “If you don’t mind…I think I’ll sleep for a bit.”

  Tory laid Reese’s hand down on the bed and brushed her fingers over Reese’s hair, then kissed her. “I’ll be right here, sweetheart. You just rest.”

  *

  Shortly, Reese was transferred from the emergency room upstairs to the intermediate intensive care unit for observation. The isolation room was equipped with the standard hospital bed, freestanding bedside table, and several chairs. In addition, a small sofa had been provided in the event that family members wanted to stay for extended periods of time. It was easier for visitors to remain in the patient’s room rather than the regular waiting room, thereby avoiding the cumbersome process of scrubbing and donning cover gowns every time they reentered the room.

  “You don’t have to stay, Bri.” Tory leaned her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes.

  “I want to wait.” Bri settled on the sofa next to her. “If that’s okay?”

  “Sure.”

  It was noon. Twelve hours since she had gotten the call from the EMTs about a multivehicular accident with victims trapped in the wreckage. It was a call like so many other late-night calls she had gotten in the seven years she’d been Provincetown’s year-round doctor. She and Reese had responded to innumerable calls for police and medical assistance over the time they’d been a couple, and they were used to working together. It had all seemed so routine the night before, but then that’s how many life-altering events began—as something so ordinary. And now, she was waiting while Reese’s future, and possibly her life, hung in the balance.

  “Just a few weeks ago, we found out ab
out the baby.” Tory’s voice broke on the words. “Now…”

  “Tory,” Bri whispered softly as she edged closer on the sofa, alarmed by the tears trickling from beneath Tory’s closed lids. Tentatively, she placed her hand on the weeping woman’s shoulder. “She’s going to be okay.”

  Tory struggled with the rush of emotions, but she was so tired and so terrified that before she could stop herself, she’d turned into the warm body next to hers. Bri’s arms came around her and Tory held on, pressing her face to the strong shoulder as she wrapped one arm around Bri’s waist. She felt a soft cheek against her hair and the whisper of breath against her ear as she let the tears come.

  “She’ll be fine,” Bri murmured and pulled her close.

  *

  When Nelson Parker arrived at the hospital and asked for the whereabouts of his deputy sheriff, he was directed to a room in the intermediate care unit on the second floor. The door was closed when he arrived, and looking up and down the hall, he saw no one around. Carefully, he pushed the door open and peeked in.

  The room was dim. At first, all he could make out was the single hospital bed in the center of the room holding a sheet-covered form. His gaze drifted to the small sofa tucked into one corner, and his eyes widened. His daughter sat with a woman cradled in her arms, her chin resting on the top of the tousled auburn hair. He and Bri stared at one another for an instant, and then he slowly closed the door.

  Nelson leaned with his back against the wall and replayed the image in his mind. He was reminded every few months how little he understood his daughter. Bri was his child; he remembered a million images of her growing up, the kind of snapshot moments he supposed most men had of their children. But he didn’t know who she had become. In fact, he didn’t have any point of reference to even imagine who she was. Victoria King was one of the strongest women he’d ever met, and his daughter was in there holding her, sheltering her, it looked like. He felt inexplicably proud.

  The door opened softly, and Bri stepped out. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi, Bri,” he said gruffly, his throat a little scratchy. “How’s Reese?”