by Urban, Ami
And I’d just finished the first delicious piece when my sister wrapped her arms around my neck. At first, I thought she was trying to play that “Guess Who?” game, which I fucking hate. But then, she slipped away and seated herself opposite me at the table.
“Will you show us the hospital after breakfast, Raychel?” Lisa asked.
My sister beamed. “Of course! I didn’t tell them you were coming, but I’m sure they’ll be chomping at the bit to hire another doctor.”
Lisa nodded, then excused herself to clean the kid’s face. He’d gotten some kind of red jam all over it. Wasn’t sure if he’d gotten any in his mouth.
“He’s goin’ places,” I muttered.
“Okay, so, here’s the deal…” My sister tucked her hair behind one ear. Jesus. It was nine in the morning and she had a full face of makeup on and her hair blown out like a model. “Don’t get mad when you see this guy.”
I stopped chewing my second piece. “What?”
“Gregg got really pissy when they first met. He’s a huge flirt. And a pretty boy.”
“The surgeon? Are this guy and my wife going to be working together a lot, you think?” I swallowed.
With a sneer, she nodded. “Duh. He’s the best surgeon I’ve ever seen aside from Lisa. Seriously, I cut my arm last month, and you can’t even see the scar anymore.” She slid her arm across the table and lifted her sleeve. I looked up at her, puzzled.
“Oh, sorry. That’s the wrong arm.” She laughed. What a ditz. The other arm had a smooth, faded pink scar running from the middle-forearm to the crook in her elbow. It took me a moment to notice. She actually had to turn it, so the light caught it.
“Okay,” I said. “So, he’s good. I’m sure Lisa’s worked with plenty of amazing doctors and not fucked them.”
My sister twisted up her face. “Wow. Rude. Maybe she did and just never told you.” There was a smile twinkling behind her eyes. I opened my mouth to say something, but she turned serious. “That wasn’t the only thing I wanted to tell you.”
“What? You have proof she slept with another doctor?”
She shook her head. “No! You’re impossible. I’m talking about something else now!”
“Go ahead.”
She blinked at me while turning her head. When she did that, she reminded me of a Miss America winner. All that was missing was the fake cupped wave. “Okay, so they do these search party things where they make people go out and look for medical supplies, food and water, right?”
I nodded.
“Well…” She smiled sweetly, her hands spread in front of her. “I head up a small search party of newcomers. It’s super easy work. Like scavenger hunt easy. Plus, it’s a nice way of getting to know new people.”
I eyed her. “And?”
With a shrug of her shoulders, she said, “It’d be good for Lexi to meet kids her own age and learn to defend herself.”
“I see,” I said, nodding. “No.”
Her face twisted into a ball. She made a sound at the back of her throat. “But why?” She sounded like the start-up whine of a Cessna.
“Because it’s dangerous.”
“What…? You don’t think I’m capable of protecting her? It’s not like we go out looking for trouble. We don’t go far. It’s more of a party than a search.” She smiled at her joke.
“Oh, that makes me feel better.”
“Really? So, she can come?”
“Nope.”
My sister tossed her blonde head back and groaned out loud. “Come on, Jacky. Please?!” She pushed her hands together, lacing her fingers in a mock prayer. “You can come along!”
“Oh, a pity invitation?”
She looked me dead on, surprise behind her gaze. “Of course not! If it makes you feel better, you can tag along and keep an extra eye on her.”
“Yeah, but—”
Lisa plopped into her seat next to me with a cup of tea. Raychel immediately plastered on a smile.
“I heard ‘yeah!’ I’ll take it!”
I wanted to challenge her, but the look she gave me told me she’d wring my neck if I tried. Ugh. Why did she want to bond with Lexi so badly?
Lisa sipped her tea. “Shall we go to the hospital?”
From the desk of Dr. Lisa Reynolds – February 5
As soon as we entered the emergency department, a rich and vibrant singing voice hit us from inside. When the ER doors smashed open with a high note, I saw a new face first, then the bloody blue scrubs second.
When the man opened his dark eyes, they met our confused gazes. An easy smile spread across his face, showing a neat row of white teeth. I still didn’t understand what Raychel meant by him being “yummy,” but I held my tongue.
His dark eyebrows shot up in what I assumed was surprise. “Fresh meat!” He pushed back his surgeon’s cap to reveal a mop of well-styled black hair. Jack stood, wincing in pain. The Toradol was already wearing off.
There was a hint of hesitation before he reached out a hand. “I’m Dr. B. I’m the surgeon ‘round these parts.” Another smile lit his face up. “Hence the...” He swept an arm down his torso to indicate the gore on his scrubs.
I hopped up. Perhaps a bit too fast. “I’m Dr. Lisa Reynolds.”
The man took my hand, shaking it while narrowing his eyes at me. “Reynolds...”
“Yep. The Dr. Reynolds.” Raychel interrupted, beaming proudly.
“Holy shit! They talk about you all the time around here. You’re the one who saved Gregg’s life!” He bounced on his toes. “Oh, I can’t wait to work with you. Can you start now?”
After only a moment’s hesitation, I answered. “Of course, Dr… I’m sorry, I never caught your last name.”
Those dark eyes all but disappeared as he narrowed them. One corner of his mouth flipped upward in a sneer. “Oh… Everyone just calls me Dr. B, so you can start there.”
“No.”
There was a quick twitch in his demeanor before looking to Jack. I could see a slight twinkle in my husband’s eye. There must have been some sense of smugness swirling around inside his head. Why? I can only speculate.
“It’s not professional.”
My explanation brought about a somewhat relieved chuckle from our new friend. “Okay, okay. How about Dr. Danger?”
I hesitated for a split second. “Is that part of your given name?”
“Dr. Rutherford in professional situations, then. But I insist you call me Brendon normally.”
“Fair enough.” I had to admit – his energy was contagious. “How long have you been a surgeon?”
A giddy smile appeared on Brendon’s lips, then quickly faded away. There was a hint of something akin to a scoff or other such chortle.
“Did I make a joke?” I looked to Jack whose features held a minute amount of pain.
He shook his head. “Nah.” My husband eyed our new friend with quiet indignity. “Maybe Doctor B isn’t a real doctor.” There was a distinct lilt of malice in Jack’s voice I wasn’t used to. I’d never heard it before. During our pregnant pause, my husband’s and Brendon’s gazes were locked.
A cold tingle of an unfamiliar emotion pulsed through my veins. It wasn’t completely foreign, however. I’d felt it before. But when? The air was electric with a tension one could cut with a bone saw.
“A saw.”
The two men tore their gazes away from each other to look my way. My husband rose a quizzical brow while Brendon was the first to speak.
“I’d rather have dinner first,” he said, the full smile returning.
Jack’s hazel eyes rolled to the back of his head. But I’d forgotten the exchange because his knee was back at the front of my hippocampus.
“I apologize for creating a breach in conversation, but Jack is in dire need of help. He was shot in the knee a few years ago and—”
“I’m fine, Lisa.”
For some reason, I didn’t like the way he said my name. Frustration coated his words. My training was telling me he felt t
hreatened by our new companion. But why?
Jack was a protector by nature – whether that was fixing cars or saving the lives of everyone in the vicinity. Lexi and Rex adored him. They listened to everything he said without a second guess. But what truly drew me to him was his humor. Humor that was, in that moment, strangely absent.
Because of Brendon Rutherford? It made no sense to me. Not from a biological or aesthetic standpoint. Brendon was far shorter than Jack. The top of his dark mess of hair came to just about Jack’s eye-level. A high forehead accented a lower brow which cast dark shadows under his brown eyes. His nose was almost a perfect triangle and slightly too large, but his lips were on the fuller side, making the dusting of dark facial hair on his chin stand out. A pair of black, plastic-framed eyeglasses hung neatly folded in the collar of his blue scrubs.
Jack had nothing to worry about and yet every time he looked at Brendon, I could sense some negative emotion bubbling into him.
“Can we get him a room, an IV and an MRI?” I asked.
Brendon nodded. “Probably a good idea.” Another full smile appeared below twinkling eyes. “But I’ll have to move one of our psychoceramics to a shared room.”
My brain shut down. “I’m sorry, what?”
The amusement in his face faltered as his eyes widened. “Sorry. We have an ongoing joke around here.” He stuffed his clipboard under his arm then used the first two fingers on each hand to make a pound sign. “Hashtag Ghetto Medicine!” he sang out loud.
I paused. How amusing. “I see. AQR.”
For a moment, we were quiet. But then Brendon’s eyes lit up with humor. “Yes! My go-to is Amyoyo Syndrome.” He laughed a hearty laugh, followed by extending his hand for a high-five. I reciprocated.
“I’m lost.” Jack exchanged glances between us.
“Ghetto medicine is just doctor’s slang,” Brendon said.
“AQR means ‘ain’t quite right’ and Amyoyo Syndrome is—”
“Aight motherfucker, you’re on your own.” He finished it for me before the two of us chuckled. Jack, however, wasn’t laughing.
“Such a shame pain takes all the fun out of your day,” he mumbled, sitting on a nearby gurney. The aluminum grunted under his weight. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. I felt his body un-tense under my touch. He reached up to quickly acknowledge me with a light stroke.
“Let’s get you a room.”
February 5 – Jack Reynolds
Man, to hell with hospital beds. And IV’s. I mean, I’d never had a deathly fear of needles or anything, but nobody likes getting one in the back of the hand. That shit stings. At least when Lisa did it she was gentle. Whoever the nurse was that did mine was the sloppiest shit I’d ever seen. I almost stopped her to do it myself. In the end, I gave up. The pain in my knee was far worse than her rooting around inside my hand for the vein.
I took a moment to relax against the stupidly firm hospital mattress. Thoughts raced like hormones through my brain. Why was Raychel so interested in if Lexi had friends or not? Should I really have been worried about this new surgeon and my wife? And who were the guys chasing us out of Braycart?
I tried to lace my fingers together, but the IV was tangled in them. With a roll of my eyes, I flicked my wrist to straighten the tube, then went back to my blissful thoughts. But I didn’t have much more time to dwell on them.
“What?” I snapped my attention to the door where a young woman in red scrubs stood watching me.
“I said, ‘I loved Deadpool.’” A smile lit up her freckled face.
I shook my head. “That’s good.” Waggling my index finger in her direction, I continued. “That’s one I haven’t heard yet. And I loved Deadpool, too, so I ain’t even mad.”
“So, are you as funny as he is, or should I just walk away right now?”
“Depends,” I said.
“On?”
“On whether or not you’re an important character. Can’t be wasting my jokes on the extras.”
She laughed a genuine laugh, causing a smile to tug at my mouth. “Well, I obviously have lines. So, I must be a major character.”
“That also depends.” I pointed at the ceiling for no particular reason. “You’ve got to prove yourself in order to make it into the story in the first place. There’s a chance you could end up on the cutting room floor if you don’t entertain me enough.”
The nurse stepped into the room, dropping her clipboard to her side. A smile still played on her lips. She reminded me of my blond sister. We’d likely have a solid back and forth.
“So, this is your story? Why not mine? Why not the guy who came in here earlier with a sucking chest wound? Kinda selfish, don’t you think?”
“It can’t be selfish if it’s my journal.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Oh, so you’re one of those old guys who writes his feelings in a diary? I should definitely leave.”
I pushed my lips together in an exaggerated O. “Ouch. Apply cold water to that burn.”
“I’ll add that to your list of symptoms.” She brought the clipboard up to her eye level, still smiling behind it. After a short pause in which I assumed she was reading my chart, she said, “So, Jack No-Last-Name, you’ve got some pain, huh?”
“I do, Nurse Obvious.”
“Well…” She placed the clipboard on the countertop. “Only my parents call me Obvious. Everyone else calls me Mina. Or Nurse Harper.”
I was silent for a moment, just waiting for her to give me another made up name. But I slowly realized she wasn’t kidding the second time.
“Yeah, my parents liked horror movies.” She shrugged. “Probably what got me through this movie.”
I cleared my throat. She turned to look at me. “Book.”
“What?”
“Horror book. Not movie. Journal, remember?” I corrected her with another wiggle of my index finger, the IV tube bouncing around my wrist.
“Right. Horror book.” A strand of her dirty blond hair fell free of the bun to brush against her shoulder. “Anyway, I was instructed to give you a dose of Toradol.”
For some reason, my heart felt like it fell into my gut. “The Good Doctor Reynolds too busy to see me herself?”
Mina rummaged through some drawers in the small room. When she turned back to me, she had a syringe in one hand. A quick smirk appeared on her face.
“That new lady? She must not have liked Deadpool.” She placed the business end of the syringe into my IV. “I wouldn’t be surprised. I don’t think she likes anything.”
I chuckled. “She seemed to like me plenty when I married her.”
Mina’s eyes went wide. I could see a bit of yellow in the otherwise blue irises. “Oh, my God, I am so sorry.”
A full-on belly laugh overtook me. “Don’t sweat it. She’s an enigma to most. I know her inner secrets. Her rockin’ body helps a bit, too.”
Mina’s nose wrinkled again. “TMI.”
“You’re a nurse.”
“Doesn’t mean I like hearing about it.”
Just after she finished speaking, I realized the pain had vanished. And I wasn’t feeling the least bit stoned. Huh. Wondered if that was the same stuff Lisa had given me. I leaned back against my pillow as footsteps echoed in the hallway. Mina poked her head around the jamb.
“Speak of the devil.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder.
From the desk of Dr. Lisa Reynolds – February 5
I rounded the corner with Brendon, deep in conversation about the patient we’d just seen. It was the most fascinating case of Pica I’d ever witnessed. Typically, an individual stricken with Pica will eat non-food items such as hair or dirt. This woman, however, ingested massive amounts of dish soap to the point she’d constantly vomit bubbles. Brendon had said something to the effect of her room being the site of a rave.
Jack said something, tearing our attention from each other. “Sorry?”
“Patient’s had 20mg of Toradol, Dr. Reynolds.” Harper handed my husband’s chart to me wh
ile giving him an amused side glance.
“Thank you, Nurse Harper.”
“A joy as always,” Brendon said, smiling.
A blush creeped into Harper’s freckled cheeks. “You say that to everyone, Dr. B.”
He tossed her a wink. “That’s because nurses are great. She’s got everything I need!”
Harper rolled her eyes to the back of her head. “All you do is sing! Can’t you do anything else?”
Brendon’s smile widened. “She acts just like a nurse!” He twirled in a circle while Harper giggled.
“With all the other guys!” She traded a side-hug with him as she left the small room. Then, we both turned back to Jack.
“Has the pain dissipated?” I asked, watching him with a patient gaze.
“As nonexistent as God Himself,” he replied with a grin.
Funny. I gave a nod of approval. Then, I looked back at his tests. “So, Jack, we went over the results of your MRI and we have good and bad news.” I looked up from the clipboard. “Which do you want to hear first?”
“Sophie’s Choice,” he muttered. “Just hit me with it.”
“Well, there’s no damage to your ligaments, which is good. You shouldn’t require physical therapy at any point. Your patella and the surrounding bones weren’t harmed, which is excellent news.” I glanced at the top of his chart and squinted my eyes. “Why doesn’t this have his last name on it?”
Brendon looked down his nose at the clipboard when it was thrust into his face. “I dunno.” He shrugged. “I just cut.” The first two fingers of his right hand snapped open and closed in a scissor motion.
I sighed. We’d have to fix that. “The only damage we found was to the cartilage between your joint.” I shoved the board under one arm, then brought up both hands, placing one fist on top of the other. “A normal knee joint has a cushion of cartilage that supports the weight from your upper body. If the cartilage degenerates due to, say, a bullet to the knee, then your joint is rubbing against bone.” I squished my fists together, causing Jack to cringe. “This is where the pain is coming from.”