by Becky Wicks
‘We’ll need to check his neurological function every few hours, and we’ll arrange for an ambulance at Mount St John’s,’ he told her moments later, when he’d taken her aside. ‘The Medical Centre on Antigua is one of the best in the Caribbean—he chose a good time to come to us...if you know what I mean.’
Sara nodded, trying not to notice again how sexy he looked, trying not to recall the way her body had almost glued itself to him.
‘I’ll call St John’s,’ Fraser said, but as he went to the telephone he stumbled slightly.
‘Fraser? You OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
She frowned. It looked as if it was taking every ounce of his strength not to make a sound in front of their new patient, and she could see he was in a lot of pain. ‘Is it your leg?’
He straightened, held his hands up as if to stop her coming any closer. ‘It’s fine,’ he said.
She stepped towards him anyway. ‘Why are you still in pain?’
He lowered his voice. ‘I told you. I’m all right, Cohen, I’m handling this.’
His guarded tone took her aback. She glanced at Conor, but he had his eyes closed, oblivious, thankfully. ‘You did start the antibiotics, didn’t you?’ she asked. She’d held her tongue before, but this was something that could affect his work, and she couldn’t let that happen here.
Fraser busied himself getting Conor’s meds together. She could tell he was avoiding her. Come to think of it, he had been avoiding her ever since it had happened.
‘Fraser, you know as well as I do that that was a deep wound. Just because you didn’t get wiped out by that jet ski, you’re not invincible, you know. What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That’s not true. I know you, don’t forget.’
He stood in front of her, closer, blocking her from Conor’s eyes—not that the lad could hear from where he was. ‘The meds make me feel queasy,’ he explained. ‘I don’t need that on a ship that could be caught in another storm any second.’
She frowned, putting her hands on her hips, then quickly folded them when she realised she sounded and probably looked like his mother. This man was driving her crazy.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FRASER LOCKED HIMSELF into his cabin and sat at the laptop. He had to be quick. Sara was monitoring Conor, who was worrying both of them—not that they were telling the guy’s fiancée that.
Jude was such a sweet girl, with her wild red curls and freckled nose. They were very young to be getting married, he thought to himself, grimacing again with the pain he’d been trying and failing to hide all day. Then again, if you loved someone, why waste precious time? He’d wasted enough of that himself, living without Sara.
She could call their encounters ‘mistakes’ all she wanted, but he was damned if he was letting her go again at the end of this cruise without a fight.
The glare of the computer’s light filled the cabin. He found himself holding his breath as the emails downloaded, as slowly as ever. He hated hiding this from her, lying to her. He’d never been seasick, ever. He just had to wait a little bit longer.
Boyd had explained in a previous email how his intern had somehow misplaced his original urine test. Fraser had been too agitated to read or remember the finer details, but thankfully this email confirmed that he now had an appointment scheduled in Antigua for another one.
He let out a sigh of relief as he closed the email. ‘How can you lose a urine sample?’ he muttered to himself for the thousandth time. But he remained grateful that, wherever he was in the world, people could help him.
Another email drew his attention. This one too was from Boyd, fresh in his inbox.
Fraser, I wanted to send you a personal note about this.
I have a couple of things to attend to at the hospital in Antigua this week. I’d like to meet you there and talk to you about something else while you’re there. There have been some interesting results concerning your blood tests that I feel we should discuss before going any further.
No need to panic, but I think we need to sit down in person.
See you soon,
Boyd
Fraser read the email again, anxiety making him restless. What did he mean ‘interesting results’ concerning his blood test? Fraser had performed his own blood tests; he knew he was clean. Whether or not he’d be a match for Esme was a different story. What if this delayed things even more?
He tried not to feel disappointed. Of course these things took time—that much had been explained to him numerous times. He sat back on the couch, running his hands through his thick hair.
He wanted to tell Sara everything about his plan, right now, but if he did her mind would be elsewhere while she was working, and that wouldn’t be fair on her, or Conor, or on any of their other patients. He didn’t doubt her ability to focus in an emergency, of course—he’d seen that side of her countless times—but he didn’t want to rock the boat, so to speak.
What if he wasn’t eligible at all?
What if all this was for nothing?
It was all making him feel far more queasy than the ocean did.
‘Fraser, are you there? We need you back here, ASAP.’
Sara’s voice on the airwaves sounded worried. Standing up, and ignoring the shooting pain in his leg, he grabbed the radio.
‘Conor’s getting worse,’ she told him, the second he stepped back into the medical centre. ‘He kept saying it was the worst headache yet, then he described the sensation of having a flush of water over his head. Eyelids drooping. Double vision.’
Conor’s fiancée Jude stepped aside to let Fraser through. She was panicked to say the least. Her cheeks were as red as her head of flaming red curls. ‘What’s going on? Why is this happening?’
‘Wait outside, please,’ Fraser told her quickly, taking her elbow and ushering her to the door.
‘Please, let me stay,’ she begged. Her big green eyes were pooling with tears.
‘It’ll help us do our jobs better if you wait outside.’
‘We’ll let you know what’s happening when we have some news,’ Sara told her.
Jude left reluctantly. He could see her shadow outside as he went back in and picked up the phone.
He watched Sara work as he started to co-ordinate with the Coast Guard’s flight surgeon. If Conor had experienced any bleeding into the space between his brain and surrounding tissue it was bad news. There was nothing they could do on the ship about a subarachnoid haemorrhage, if that was what he was experiencing. It was likely he’d need a lumbar puncture.
‘This is serious, and we’re still fourteen miles from land,’ he said into the phone. ‘Yes. There is a risk to life, limb and eyesight. He’s breathing, but his blood pressure is rising.’
He caught Sara’s questioning glance. His words must be worrying her and he knew it.
‘It’s OK,’ Sara whispered to Conor at his bedside, though Fraser was pretty sure that at this point Conor couldn’t hear her. ‘Help is coming.’
He was put on hold. He caught Jude peeking through the glass of the door and his heart went out to her as Sara applied the pressure cuff again. Ruptured brain aneurysms were fatal in roughly forty per cent of cases like Conor’s, and even if a patient survived, over sixty per cent experienced some sort of permanent neurological deficit.
No one could deny that waiting till the ship reached land would at this point be putting Conor’s life even further in danger, but Fraser knew full well that there was a certain hierarchy involved when it came to a Coast Guard deciding to perform a medevac.
He glanced to the window. The sky was getting darker as the world outside inched into twilight, and the wind was picking up again.
‘They won’t send help?’ Sara asked him as he stood there, still on hold. She walked over to him. Concern was written all over her face. ‘We reall
y need them here now.’
‘I know.’ He held a hand over the receiver. ‘But sending a helicopter medevac is viewed as being a last resort,’ he whispered. Her perfume smelled like lilies. ‘The Coast Guard knows we’re pulling the ship into port soon; also that we have competent medical staff on board.’
‘But there’s only so much we can do in this case.’ She was clearly trying to keep the horror she was experiencing from her voice.
He held a finger up to his mouth. Someone was back on the line.
‘Yes, yes...’ He paused, looking to Sara. ‘Yes, we can provide a professional.’ He paused again as Sara’s eyebrows shot to her hairline.
She motioned to herself with a pointed finger. ‘Me?’
Fraser nodded his affirmation and watched her let out a deep breath, obviously trying to compose herself as he carried on making the arrangements.
‘They’re on their way,’ he said when he hung up. This time he placed a hand at the small of her back and led her to the side of the room. ‘Are you OK to go with him? They need a nurse from the ship.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she told him, flustered.
Conor was out cold.
‘Are you sure? The helicopter medevac team are only equipped with the basics. If he needs more, which he likely will, we have to sacrifice a member of the ship’s staff.’
‘Of course—of course I’ll go. But what about...?’
‘Esme will be fine. Don’t you worry. Jess is here, and Marcus, and me.’ Fraser put a firm hand to her shoulder, forcing her eyes to meet his. ‘I’ll prepare Conor for evacuation. He’ll need extra blankets—it could be a cold and bumpy ride. Go and get your things together—warm clothes for you too. I’ll get a message to Jess and tell her to meet us on deck.’
‘Do you think he’ll make it?’ Her fear was evident.
‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly.
* * *
Sara pulled on jeans and a red cardigan, the warmest things she had with her for a Caribbean cruise. She packed an Ocean Dream backpack with clothing for the night and made her way to the deck. The beating of her heart was the loudest thing in her head, but she heard Fraser before she saw him.
‘Out of the way please!’
He was making his way over to her quickly. His broad shoulders were highlighted by the ship’s lights, which were also shining on Conor, lighting the scene of the emergency for the helicopter. It was controlled chaos.
The bright yellow bulk of the medevac was a whizzing beacon in the sky. It couldn’t have been too far away when they called, thank goodness. Sara felt angsty for a million reasons. And she couldn’t see Esme yet.
‘You all set?’ Fraser stopped in front of her, his sneakers almost touching her black flats. ‘Are you OK with this?’ His hair was wilder than ever in the wind. His white coat was thrashing about his frame. He leaned in closer, speaking over the noise. ‘This is about as exciting as these cruises get, Cohen.’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘You’ll be fine.’
His fingers were twitching at his sides, as if he too was finding it hard to resist reaching out to her before she was hoisted into the sky.
‘I’ll meet you at the hospital as soon as I can.’
‘I’ll take care of things,’ she said, pulling her cardigan round her tighter as the helicopter inched ever closer overhead. ‘Where’s Esme?’
Fraser was being called on the radio. From the corner of her eye she registered the arguing couple again. The black-haired girl was shoving Mr Ponytail’s chest with her palms, angry at him about something as usual.
She should probably talk to that girl at some point, she decided. But she couldn’t think about that now.
‘Mummy!’ Esme was rushing at her from Jess’s side, running across the deck in her pink pyjamas. ‘Mummy are you really going up in the ’copter?’
Sara reached for her, scooped her up into her arms, breathed in the scent of her warm hair. ‘Someone is very sick,’ she said. ‘I have to go with him to the hospital. I need you to be brave and do what Jess tells you, OK?’
‘Can I come?’ Esme asked in a small voice as she put her down.
Fraser crouched down to Esme as the wind whipped at their clothes. ‘This is something Mummy has to do for work. She has to go and be a superhero—is that all right with you?’
Esme studied him. ‘Yes...’ she said cautiously, after a moment.
Renee was with Conor, talking over what was happening and what was about to happen with his family as the staff prepared a special stretcher for the airlift.
Sara would have to be raised along with him; there was no way the helicopter was landing on the deck. So surreal.
Fraser caught her bag as it threatened to blow from her shoulder. The rotor blades were drowning their voices already. Esme watched the helicopter with fascination, one hand locked in Fraser’s, her camcorder focused on the scene. Sara didn’t have the heart to tell her to turn it off. She’d probably never seen anything so exciting in her life.
She kept her head down the whole way over to the stretcher. They’d loaded Conor up and were making space for her beside him. Time was ticking. In reality it had only been a few minutes, maybe seven or eight, since they’d made the call to the Coast Guard, but under such pressure it felt like an eternity.
She said a silent prayer as Jess came for Esme and Fraser took control of the situation. She followed his every command as she was buckled and strapped.
‘Make sure Conor’s head is supported...make sure his tubes are wired and not about to blow away...make sure he’s covered in yet another Ocean Dream blanket.’
He was already covered in at least six.
She looked up at the paramedic, readying himself to be lowered onto the deck, and tried not to think what might happen if the winch broke.
‘Stand back, please!’
Security were in action around the deck, stopping those passengers who were moving about the scene with their cell phones.
Her breath caught in her throat as the paramedic started lowering himself on the line towards them. He was swaying in the wind, his bright orange jumpsuit turning him into some kind of exotic emergency bird.
‘Please help him...we’re getting married,’ Jude sobbed. Her bright red curls were being flung in all directions by the wind and the helicopter blades.
Sara felt for a moment as though she were floating above the scene, rather than a part of it.
In seconds she was lifted into the dark sky. She caught her breath as the wind threatened to steal it. Fraser’s eyes were on her. She could still see him from above, on the deck with his hand above his eyes, shielding his face from the bright lights.
She was a professional—she could deal with this. But as the ship became a strip light in the distance, and the endless sky stretched before her, just the thought of him and Esme both being so far away was terrifying.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CONOR HAD NEEDED seven and a half hours of surgery to clip the aneurysm in his brain.
‘He opened his eyes and asked if we’d started the surgery yet,’ the surgeon said.
Fraser watched as Sara lowered her head beside him. She was exhausted—that much he could tell. Her eyes held shadows he hadn’t seen before.
‘They can’t let him die. Please, we’re getting married,’ Jude had whimpered on their way over to the hospital from the port.
He could see her now, through the glass, sitting at Conor’s bedside. She looked calmer, but her desperation born of fear had snapped off another piece of Fraser’s heart that was always reserved for his patients.
He couldn’t help wondering what Boyd was about to tell him regarding his blood test. His concern had escalated, and all the drama combined had meant he hadn’t slept a wink either.
‘The fact that he came to us when he did, and that he
was in your care when it ruptured, saved his life,’ the surgeon said now to Sara. He was twiddling his long grey beard with two fingers. ‘It didn’t cause any irreversible neurological injury.’
Sara looked relieved. ‘Thank goodness for that.’
She was still in her clothes from last night, which were crumpled at best. Her long cardigan looked cosy, like something he wanted to snuggle against with Sara still inside it.
‘It was a blessing that the Coast Guard was so close,’ Fraser said. ‘Any further away and they might have written off our case. Conor certainly wouldn’t have survived if they’d waited for the ship to reach Antigua.’ He looked to Sara. ‘Not a bad result for your first medevac.’
She threw him a weary glance. ‘Thanks to you, Fraser.’
‘Take a compliment. We make a pretty good team.’
He noticed her smile, albeit a little tightly, no doubt thanks to her tiredness.
Conor was blinking groggily. Jude was clutching at one of his hands. His mother, nearly forty years wiser, was clutching the other one even harder.
‘You should go and get some sleep,’ he told Sara, thinking of his own mother for a moment.
He still felt guilty every time he left her, even after two whole years without his father being around, though she insisted she was fine in that big old house all alone.
‘I can keep an eye on things here for the next couple hours, sort the records.’
‘Are you sure?’ Sara swiped a hand over her eyes and forehead.
‘Of course I’m sure. There’s some other stuff I have to do here anyway,’ he told her, stepping aside with her. ‘I’ll meet you back at the ship?’
He hoped she’d agree. His appointment with Boyd was set to commence on another level of the hospital any minute now. He would have had to come here anyway, of course. He just hadn’t planned on Sara being there, too.
‘I’ve spent enough time on that ship,’ she told him, taking him by surprise. ‘Esme’s going on a trip on a glass-bottomed boat. Isn’t there something fun we can do, Mr Tour Guide?’