Man Handler

by Shari J. Ryan

  I head into triage while whistling to my own tune when I’m interrupted by a couple fighting in the bay I'm supposed to be tending to. “What’s going on in here with y’all?” I ask, interrupting their argument.

  The guy takes a seat in the corner and fidgets around nervously as if he can’t sit still. Then there’s the girl. She’s not nervous or fidgety. She’s fiery mad about something, most likely the wrist she’s cradling.

  “What’s your name, darlin’?”

  She tosses me a gaze full of fury, and I’m wondering what the hell I said wrong. “Darling?” she questions.

  Okay, she’s definitely in a mood. “Uh, buttercup?” I press my luck.

  “Scarlett. My name is Scarlett, not ‘darlin’ or ‘buttercup’. Actually, I’d be willing to go out on a limb and say it’s probably written on the folder you’re holding in your hand. I don’t recall registering at the front desk with the name Darling or Buttercup.”

  “Noted,” I tell her. “Mind if I asked what happened? Horseback riding, fence jumping, or just a silly ole’ flyin’ pig?”

  She groans and throws her head back into the pillow. “My God, I’ve literally been in this godforsaken state for less than five hours, and I’m already about to lose my fucking mind.” She covers her face and takes a deep breath before composing her anger. “We were trying to find some kind of civilization, but this bonehead behind me found a wicked stellar shortcut that was disguised as a fake path because what looked like pretty green grass was just a big gaping hole. Down I went, and here I am. Fun, right?”

  “Ah, you fell for the ole’ fake grass trick, huh?” I joke with her, hoping to cool her anger down a bit. “It’s actually a way some farmers keep coyotes away from their land.” I’m totally screwing with her, but with her biting attitude, I think she needs to take back what she’s giving out.

  “Aww, you’re just so funny, aren’t ya?”

  I clear my throat, trying my best not to smirk at this uptight princess who is not from down south, and it’s not just her accent that gives it away. I slip on a pair of gloves, then move to her side and slide my hand carefully under her wrist to check for swelling. I find her palm swollen at first touch, so I look up at her face to gauge her pain level.

  Her eyes are wide, and under the fluorescent lighting, they’re a very vibrant hue of brown mixed with different shades of green. I try not to pay attention to the beautiful contradiction the colors hold against her messy auburn hair that’s up in a high ponytail with strands of loose curls spilling out onto her shoulders. I’ll also try not to notice this is a smoking hot chick under my care, but then again, I’d have to be blind for her looks not to catch my attention. Scarlett’s forehead scrunches as I press into her palm, and she grits her teeth. “Does that hurt?”

  “Yeah,” she says breathlessly. “It’s swollen, and it doesn’t feel good.” She rolls her eyes. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.” That last part is muttered under her breath, but it’s awfully forward of her to say something like that without knowing me at all.

  “It might just be a sprain, but I’ll have a doc come in and check you out to determine whether you need X-rays or not. I’m guessing you will. I’ll be right back.”

  I flag down Dr. Brown and grab a bag of ice from the freezer. “Possible broken radius.”

  “I’ll be there in just a minute,” Dr. Brown says as he whips open the curtain of the bay across the triage area.

  “Alrighty Scarlett, I have some ice here to help with the swelling.”

  “What’s your name?” the “bonehead” guy asks.

  “Austin Trace. I’m an RN here.” The guy continues to fidget around, and I can’t figure out what his deal is. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah,” he says, his voice tempering into a high-pitched squeal. “I just don’t do well in hospitals. Blood does me in, so thankfully we’re only dealing with a sprain or a broken bone.” He laughs nervously and drops his head between his shoulders to take in some deep breaths. Oh boy.

  “Thankfully?” Scarlett snaps at him. “Why are you even here if this is bothering you so much?”

  “That’s just the pain talking, boo-boo,” the guy says. Then, lifting his head back up, he faces me. “I’m Brendan, by the way,” he says, holding his hand out for me to shake. “Scarlett just gets a little moody when things don’t go right, or if she’s hungry, or in pain—”

  “Brenny, shut it,” Scarlett snaps. “Well, he doesn’t know when to stop talking.” Scarlett looks over at her friend/boyfriend/husband—whatever he is—and nods her head.

  “Where y’all from?” I ask.

  “Boston,” Brendan answers. “We moved down here for Scarlett’s job transfer.” Whatever type of relationship these two are in, they don’t seem like the best fit in the world, but to each their own, I guess.

  “Ah, where you workin’ at?” I continue. It’s best to keep patients calm with life questions they’re comfortable talking about, and this should be a safe question that I assume she won’t mind answering.

  “Bayview Plantation B&B.”

  I snicker, but not purposely, and not at her. “Don’t tell me you’re working for Ellis Freedman?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Why?” She swivels her body around to get more comfortable, making the pain in her arm more evident as the color in her cheeks disappears.

  “You okay?” I ask her.

  “Can I have some Advil or something?” She’s taken her attitude down a notch, probably knowing it’s better to be nice when you need help from someone. At least she’s smart enough to know that down here.

  “I have to wait for the doc to check you out first, and then, depending on what he wants to do next, we’ll talk about getting you something to relieve the pain.”

  She closes her eyes and swallows hard. I don’t know why it took me so long to notice the potential reason for her fall, but I’m now just noticing the shoes she’s wearing. They’ve got to be at least four-inch heels. No wonder she fell. I debate about asking her what she was thinking, but it’s probably best not to keep poking at her right now.

  As Dr. Brown enters the bay, I tend to her file and jot down the initial information I’ve obtained. Scarlett doesn’t say a whole lot to Dr. Brown, but I hear her whimper a couple of times as he’s pressing on different locations. “Yeah, can you put in an order in for a full set of X-rays on her forearm.”

  “Sure thing,” I tell him.

  “Do you think it’s broken?” Scarlett asks.

  “It’s hard to say without seeing X-rays, but I do think something is damaged in there. Once we receive the X-rays back, Austin will get you something for the pain and swelling.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Brendan says.

  “This week could not get any worse,” Scarlett says. “I already want to go home, and I haven’t even been here a full day.”

  “Want me to call your parents?” Brendan asks her.

  “God, no. Are you insane?” she responds.

  “Evidently,” he mutters.

  “What kind of work do you do at the hotel?” I ask Scarlett, still trying to distract her from the pain.

  She scoots around again, trying to keep upright on the bed, so I hit the switch to lower the back of the bed a few inches to keep her from having to struggle.

  “I ran the front desk at a chain hotel in Boston, and they transferred me down here to do the same at Bayview.”

  “Hmm,” I say.

  “What?” she snaps. “What do you mean by that?”

  “What?” I reply.

  “Why did you say, ‘Hmm’?”

  “You don’t strike me as the type to want to deal with needy people all day.” That might have been a little much, but she should know an attitude like that won’t get her anywhere around here, and I don’t think she’s putting on a show just for me. Maybe it’s from the pain, but I get the sense this is who she is. I have heard rumors about Boston girls and their spicy ways, and after meeting this one, I think
it’s safe to assume there’s some truth to the rumors.

  “As a matter of fact, I am a lovely person. People like me, so your accusation couldn’t be farther from fact.”

  Brendan snorts from behind her and quickly covers his mouth with the back of his hand. Scarlett turns to face him quicker than she should have because she squeals in pain, grabbing her wrist with her other hand. “Let’s just relax, okay?” I say gently as I reposition the ice on her wrist, and she glances up at me, an unsettled look swimming through her eyes.

  “I’ve never broken a bone, had stitches, or surgery. The second I get here, I land in the hospital. This place is just bad luck,” she says.

  “I guess so,” I agree. It most certainly hasn’t ever brought me any luck, so maybe she’s onto something.

  A notification pops up on my pager, letting me know the X-ray tech is ready for her. “All right, I’m going to take you down to Radiology. Let me just grab a wheelchair real quick. Oh, and Brendan, why don’t you go have a seat out in the waiting area, and I’ll come get you when she’s through.”

  “A wheelchair?” Brendan asks with panic.

  “Hospital rules,” Austin says. “We don’t want her tripping in those heels on the way to radiology.”

  Brendan stands up, looking a little wobbly. He leans over and gives Scarlett a kiss on the cheek. “I told you,” he says. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’ll be okay, babe.” I step out of the curtained area and grab the chair, listening for Scarlett’s response to her friend, but there’s nothing but silence. They’re an odd couple, I guess.

  Once he’s out of triage, I help Scarlett up and into the chair and wheel her toward Radiology. “You’ve got a good guy there, ya know. He clearly cares about you,” I tell her. I should probably keep my thoughts to myself with this one.

  “He’s not my guy,” she says. “He’s my friend.”

  “Well, it may not be any of my business, but it sure seems like he cares about you as more than just a friend.”

  Scarlett laughs but winces at the same time. “No, he’s not into women.”

  “Ah, gotcha.” Foot in mouth. I’m so damn good at that. It’s one of my most remarkable qualities, as a matter of fact.

  “Men can’t seem to put up with me for whatever reason, so it just happens to work out for Brendan and me.”

  I can venture a guess that the “reason” might have something to do with her attitude, but I won’t judge while she’s in pain. “I can’t say my luck has been any different with women, so I hear ya.”

  She glances over at me and gives me a once over. “Right, I’m sure.” She’s a snippy one all right.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Scarlett

  How is this my life right now? Maybe I’ll wake up and it will be last Thursday, and I’ll just make sure I’m on time to work. However, if that were the case, I wouldn’t have met this hottie nurse man, so that would be a downside. I’m not sure a hot guy is worth all this crap, though. I’d still rather wake up in my bed back in Boston.

  I see the sign for Radiology at the end of the hall. I’m not sure how I’ve managed to make it twenty-nine years without having an X-ray, but I’m not a bit into activities that might end with stitches or a broken bone so that probably explains it.

  “It’s just over here. The technician will take care of the X-rays, and I’ll be back afterward to take you back to triage. Sound good?”

  “Okay,” I tell him. In a strange way, I kind of wish he’d stay, but I guess that’s not allowed. Something is definitely broken in my wrist. It’s not a sprain. I feel it. I just hope it’s not too bad. I still have to start work in two days somehow.

  “Everything will be okay,” Austin says, placing his hand on my shoulder.

  I look up at him—his stupid, pretty blue eyes, and his mess of sandy brown hair. So far, all I’ve seen are bronzed people down here. Must be nice to have a sweet tan in April since I’m still paler than an unripened strawberry. “I seriously doubt that. Do you tell your dying patients that too?”

  He looks taken aback by my crass comment. “Not usually,” he says with a raised brow, “but don’t worry. I don’t think your wrist is terminal.”

  “I guess that’s good to know,” I tell him.

  “Look, let me just give you a piece of advice, okay?”

  “I don’t need advice,” I tell him.

  “Well, I’m going to give it to you anyway. People down here away from Boston are typically friendly, with a little less attitude compared to what y’all northern folk must be used to. You might want to take it down a notch.”

  “Are you fuckin’ kidding? I’m in pain. I’m pissed off, and I don’t want to be here. On top of all that, I’m probably going to end up with a cast on my arm for the next six weeks while trying to start a new job, so you’ll have to excuse me for having an attitude.” I’d like to tell him to stop being so damn chipper like the rest of the people down here, but that’ll probably have just as much effect on him as his words have on me.

  “Just givin’ you a word of advice—take it how you want.”

  “Well, thanks. I’ll keep it in my back pocket in case I need it.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, bruiser.”

  I pull in a deep breath, wanting to push this guy out of my way, but I hold the air inside my lungs as he spins me into the Radiology department.

  * * *

  That was a super fun thirty minutes of life, I think to myself as a nurse from Radiology pushes this stupid chair I’m forced to sit in, down to the waiting area where I find Austin waiting.

  “Do you spend a lot of your day waiting on people?” I ask him.

  “Actually, I spend my day taking care of people, but whatever you’d like to think of it as is fine by me.”

  “You’re like a man handler of sorts,” I tell him. I might be trying to get under his skin, seeing as he was trying to get under mine earlier, but I don’t think it’s working much.

  “Sure, I’m a man handler. Is that better?” he gives in. “Why don’t we get you back to triage now.”

  “Do you have any other patients, or am I just getting special treatment?” I realize I’ve never had to spend time in a hospital before, but I wouldn’t think I’d have my very own nurse carting me to and from where I have to go.

  “The ER is quiet today,” he says.

  “So, I’m your entertainment?”

  “You are pretty entertaining,” he quips.

  “Pain entertains you?” I reply. The conversation ends abruptly, which I would normally call a win, but I might have taken one step too far this time, and I don’t feel like I won. “I’m kidding.”

  Austin stops and steps in front of the wheelchair. “Oh,” he says, placing his hand on his chest, “I’m sorry, were you just trying to be funny? I must have missed the punchline.”

  I narrow my eyes at him and return to the back of my chair, continuing this trek back to triage. How is it a man like him keeps his job, but I’m a few minutes late here and there, and I’m shipped halfway across the country? This must be why Dick thought I’d do well down here. They have the patience for late arrivals and rude nurses.

  I settle back into the triage bed, and I notice Austin watching my every move. Obviously, I’m watching his too since I’m aware that he’s studying me. I should be paying more attention to what I’m doing, though, since I accidentally move my wrist the wrong way and let out a yelp. “Do you want the ice back?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I tell him.

  He leaves the curtain-walled exam area I’m sitting in and returns with a cloth bag of ice. He’s gentle while placing it down on my wrist, which hurts more now after getting the X-rays taken. They turned my arm every which way to get pictures of all angles of my wrist, and it’s really throbbing right now. “How’s that?”

  “Cold,” I tell him.

  “Good,” he says. “We should have your results soon, so just hang tight for a few more minutes.”

  Austin leave
s and I hear him tending to another patient nearby. He’s sweet as pie to that person, who sounds like a middle-aged female, but she is also being the same to him. I know I’m pissy, but who wouldn’t be right now?

  This sucks. Brendan is freaking out over my wrist and the fact that we’re living in a studio apartment made of cement walls. I feel like I’m in a completely different world here. They don’t even have a grocery store in this town. They have a butcher shop, a garden market, a bakery, and a store that sells all the other little shit. That’s what the brochure described, anyway. I grabbed it on the way out of the hotel and was reading about the uniqueness and history of Blytheville, as well as the reason why they try to keep the old-time southern charm here. Apparently, they’re all about supporting local small businesses and community growth. At least the hospital is somewhat modernized.

  A new doctor pulls the curtain open and walks in with an iPad-looking device that has an x-ray image taking up the entire screen. “Miss Scarlett, hello, I’m Dr. Lane, the orthopedic surgeon on staff here. How are you doing?” he asks.

  “Crappy,” I tell him. “I’m in a lot of pain and nervous to hear what’s wrong.” I’ll take a guess that the news isn’t good, considering this doctor is a surgeon.

  “I can certainly understand why,” he says. He takes a seat on a rolling stool that was sitting beneath the computer monitor and pulls it up to the bed’s side. “It appears you have a type of fracture of your radius where the bone is just out of place enough that it can’t be fully corrected by just a cast. My suggested plan of action is going to be a surgical procedure. We need to realign the fractured bone and then place a metal pin or two so we can force it to heal properly.”

  I’m not sure I just heard every word this doctor said, but my head feels numb, I’m breaking out in a cold sweat, and I’m pretty sure my heart stopped beating about thirty seconds ago. This is a joke, right? “I—I need pins?”

  “I know this sounds scary, but it’s a very common occurrence, and the procedure is performed all the time.”