To the average human eye, I was still sitting nestled next to one of the computers at the nurses’ station, but actually I was perched beside Bobby, having an excellent conversation about his new radio-controlled fire engine. Adults rarely see me, but little kids often can, as long as adults aren’t around. When his limited attention span waned, I suggested that we go down to the sunroom and put a puzzle together. He liked that idea and, in spite of his cumbersome cast, Bobby clambered over the metal railings of his bed like a monkey. As he dropped to the floor, he looked over at his roommate. Teddy was engrossed in poking his green Jell-O and paid us no heed, so off we went, me riding on Bobby’s shoulder. Since most of the children were having lunch, the sunroom was empty. Bobby’s mommy had promised to stop at Mickey D’s for lunch on the way home, so he had skipped the hospital’s noontime culinary offerings. Smart kid.
Bobby dragged a chair over and took his favourite Harry Potter puzzle off the top shelf and tucked it under his cast. While he was up there, he noticed something on the wall beside the cupboard.
“What’s that, Flea?”
“It’s called a fire alarm. It makes a big noise, but it’s for emergencies—only emergencies. You mustn’t touch it.”
Of course, he touched it. “What’s an emergency?”
I got nervous at the way his curious little fingers were tracing the outline of the alarm box. “Why don’t we go over to that table over by the window and put together your puzzle?”
“What’s an emergency, Flea?”
So much for distracting him. I sighed. “An emergency is when something bad happens, like a fire starts and you need to let everyone know so that help can come.”
He nodded and started to turn.
I breathed a sigh of relief, then my eyes widened. “No!”
Bobby pulled the alarm.
“Oh no, no, no!”
Bobby jumped when the siren clanged out through the quiet halls. He dropped the puzzle, hopped off the chair, and darted out of the room.
In his haste to leave the scene of the crime, I was knocked off his shoulder. I peeked around the door at the commotion in the hallways as nurses and orderlies scurried about in a rapid, but organized evacuation of the children.
“Oh, this is so not good.” I huddled in the corner behind a large potted philodendron and waited for things to quiet down.
That’s where Anemone found me, just as I knew she would. She’s one of the supervisors of the hospital Guardians. Inevitably, if I screw up, it’s on her watch. This time she poked her head through the leafy fronds and laughed at the sight of my miserable face.
“I’m sorry, Nem. I didn’t know he’d pull the stupid thing. I did tell him not to.” I took some measure of comfort from the affectionate twinkle in her dark eyes.
“Flea, how long have you been working this assignment?”
I thought back quickly. I’d been here since they brought the first children into the old hospital. “Um, ’bout sixty or seventy years, I guess.”
“And in that time, how often have children heeded a simple ‘no’?”
I knew I’d already lost the argument, but I couldn’t concede completely. “It could happen.”
She smiled and pushed aside the big leaves so she could crawl through to my corner. Tucking her silky wings behind her, she sat beside me, took my hand, and patted it. “Don’t worry. It happens to all of us, and there was no real harm done in this case. Bobby has already gone home, and all the other children are safely back in their rooms.” Her smile faded. “But there is something else. I need you to help Nehemiah tonight.”
“A bad one coming in?”
“A burn case.” She sighed. “He’s going to have his hands full, and I want you to be there to help.”
Nehemiah was the Guardian for the kids in Intensive Care, and it wasn’t unusual for me to be called in when he was overwhelmed with frightened, grieving relatives. At those times, Anemone would keep an eye on my kids as she went about her own duties. I’d be needed to offer comfort to a mother who couldn’t believe that the child who had helped her make cookies hours before was now on the edge of death; or a father stunned by the abrupt way his safe, predictable world had been upended; and terrified grandparents who pleaded with the Boss to be taken in place of a child who had barely begun her life’s journey.
I nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Nem gave me a light kiss, and a flutter rippled right down to my toes.
She stood, gracefully shook out her wings, and studied me for a long moment. “Call me if you need me. I’m always here for you.” With that, she launched into the air, swooped ’round the foliage, and vanished through the doorway.
I stared after her, my fingertips touching the cheek she’d kissed. I couldn’t help smiling, despite the grim duty that faced me that evening.
It was a tough shift. Nehemiah and I had our work cut out for us, but we kept the family sane and functioning while the doctors and nurses worked on their baby.
Anemone checked in once to assure me all was quiet on my floor, but I was too harried to stop and talk. I was frantically trying to convince the father not to leave the hospital with vengeance in his heart. He was determined to go after the babysitter. The girl had been texting with friends, and her inattention enabled the accident that left his two-year-old daughter badly burned and fighting for her life. The babysitter’s conscience would forever torment her, and no good for anyone could come of the father’s fury. I managed to calm him and redirect him to supporting his inconsolable wife.
It was well into the night before a tired doctor emerged from surgery to assure the family that their baby would live, albeit with a long road to recovery. The parents’ tears, which they had been battling fiercely all night long to hold back for each other’s sake, now flowed freely.
I was relieved to see that, and Nehemiah and I exchanged exhausted smiles.
“I can take it from here, Flea. They’ll be okay now. Thanks for all your help. Any time I can return the favour, just ask.”
I patted him on the back and left. I probably would never need to call on Nehemiah, but that was the way of the Guardians. We are there for our humans, and for each other, no matter what.
Weary, I went back to the nurses’ station and slipped back into my elf body. I yawned and lazily eavesdropped on a conversation between two nurses who were updating charts between sips of strong coffee. Twelve hour nightshifts were no picnic, and I’d long ago learned the indispensability of the thick, black sludge they all seemed to subsist on.
“So, do you have any plans for the holidays, Jaideep?” Susan asked.
“I am taking my family back to India to visit my grandparents for two weeks. What about you?”
“Duncan wants us to go skiing and avoid all the seasonal fuss, but I have to work on Boxing Day, so I don’t feel like going far. We’re trying to reach a compromise.” Susan shook her head and scowled. “This is the first Christmas I’ve had off since I started here, so I don’t much feel like going away. He can’t seem to understand that.”
“My wife and I are lucky to both be off this year. Since we don’t celebrate Christmas, I usually volunteer to work; but with the children out of school for two weeks, it was the perfect time to travel.”
Susan reached for another file. “Yeah, luck of the draw, I guess. Mind you, Christmas was pretty quiet last year, so I didn’t really mind working then.”
She was right. In my experience, most parents tried to have their children home for the big day. With few elective surgeries scheduled, a lot of the patient rooms were empty during the December holiday, though there were always accidents and illnesses no matter what time of year it was. Last Christmas, Anemone was even able to spend the whole afternoon with me. I was hoping she could do that again this year.
Jaideep stood, stretching out his back with a grateful sigh as he did. “So, who got stuck on shift this year?”
Susan chuckled. “Well, you can figure Dr. Jess will be working, and if she
’s working—”
“Then Connie will be on too.”
They grinned at each other.
I couldn’t help a silent snicker. That was a slam dunk prediction. Despite her seniority, Dr. Jess always took the least desirable shifts, and inevitably Connie volunteered for the same duty schedule. Single for many years, Jess worked most holidays so that her fellow doctors could enjoy the special times with their families. Connie did it because she’d loved Jess with an unspoken intensity almost from the moment she’d first come to the hospital twelve years earlier.
Don’t get me wrong, Connie was fiercely dedicated to her small patients, too, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed amongst her colleagues that the usually highly competent nurse often got flustered and tongue-tied in Dr. Jess’ oblivious presence.
I closed my eyes and idly contemplated the mystery of how humans managed to fumble such simple situations. I’d almost nodded off to the murmur of the nurses’ chatter, when a warm presence materialized beside me.
Anemone put her arm around me and gave me a hug. “You did well tonight, Flea. I’m so proud of you.”
She disappeared before I could respond, but it sure put a big smile on my face. As I drifted off into a well-deserved sleep, I wondered what Anemone would think if I gave Connie a little help in the Dr. Jess department. Technically, matchmaking wasn’t numbered among my duties, but I decided that the Boss surely wouldn’t object. Two lonely women needed a nudge towards recognizing what was right under their noses. Where was the harm?
I’d have to consider it further after a long nap.
* * *
It was Christmas Eve, and I still hadn’t figured out how to get Dr. Jess and Connie together. I’d even sent a gossamer-mail asking advice from my old buddy, Naida, who specializes in romantic situations.
Unfortunately, she was tied up with a difficult case involving an international meeting of hearts. Apparently some cold-hearted government department was being irrationally inflexible about allowing the couple to be together—some nitpicking thing about crossing borders. As Naida pointed out with exasperation, trying to sway Homeland Security was like trying to sway the path of the moon: it could be done, but it would require persistence, time, and effort.
Naida’s return g-mail told me I was on my own for now, though she said she’d be glad to help once she had gotten her pair of lovers together.
Being as this was my first foray into matchmaking, I’d watched Connie and Jess very closely for the previous couple of weeks. I was responsible for the well-being of the staff as well as the patients, but usually that entailed comforting them after losing tough cases. I’d never before played Cupid, but as soon as I started to pay attention, it was as plain as the painted nose on my face that Jess and Connie had deep—albeit unacknowledged—romantic feelings for one another.
The great thing about being inanimate—as far as the staff could see—was that I was free to observe them in their unguarded moments. Once I was on the lookout, the signs were obvious. I’d known in an abstract sense that Connie had been crazy about the good doctor for years, but now that I focused on Jess, it was evident that she wasn’t quite as oblivious as everyone thought she was. She had a thing for Connie, too.
What I saw convinced me that each was meant for the other, but that if I didn’t get involved, they were going to spend the rest of their lives exchanging shy smiles and not much else. Honestly, you humans do such a dance around each other. There’d be a lot less time wasted if you all just spoke up. But then, I suppose there’d be a lot fewer stories written, too, if everyone just blurted out their feelings willy-nilly.
I’d been taking notes since the night I overheard Jaideep and Susan, and there had been twenty-seven covertly longing looks, eighteen deep soulful sighs, and nine bright red blushes between the two of them in just two weeks. How could they not see what the other was feeling?
The night before, I started to giggle when I saw how Jess’ gaze tracked Connie down the hall when she left the station to attend to one of her patients. Naturally, Anemone chose that moment to drop in on me and wanted to know what I was laughing about.
I put on my best innocent look. “Nothing, Nem. Just feeling good is all. Must be that time of year, I guess.”
She gazed at me suspiciously. “Uh-huh. The last time I saw that look on your face, it was after an unexplained black-out that plunged the entire city into darkness for twenty-four hours.”
Oh yeah. I’d forgotten about that. I’d been playing tag with a new Guardian when we had an unfortunate accident down by the city’s central power station. But Anemone couldn’t know what had happened…could she? I’d sworn the newbie to silence and thought I’d covered my tracks pretty well.
“Aw, Nem, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Sure a few people were inconvenienced, but look at all the beautiful new babies that joined the world nine months later.”
My beatific smile didn’t have any effect. She knelt in front of me and stared into my eyes. Suddenly, all thoughts of Jess and Connie flew out of my head. All I could focus on was the feel of Nem’s warm breath on my face and the delicate, enticing fragrance that filled my nostrils. I was seconds away from doing something that was going to be really hard to explain, when she pulled back.
I blinked. What the heck had just happened? Anemone and I had been friends for centuries, but I was acting like a star-struck pixie. Geez, I hoped she hadn’t noticed.
“I know you’ve got something up your sleeve, but I won’t press you for it now. Just try to stay out of trouble, all right?”
“Um, trouble, right. No, I mean, no trouble, no trouble at all. I promise.”
Oh, that was brilliant. She’s going to think I’d been nipping at the eggnog in the staff lounge again, and it had been at least thirty years since I made that mistake.
Anemone gave me one last suspicious look and flew off. I tried to stand up to go do my rounds, only to find my knees strangely and unaccountably wobbly.
Focus, Flea, focus. You’re a Guardian, and you’ve got work to do.
Still unsteady, I tripped over a plate of shortbread cookies brought in for the staff by a grateful mother, did a somersault over a stapler, and landed feet first in a mostly-empty cup of cold coffee. With all the wounded dignity I could muster, I struggled out of the cup, ignoring the tinkling of familiar laughter that sounded in the distance. I brushed myself off and wrung out my slippers, very glad that human adults couldn’t see me. My less than suave performance would not have reflected well on the reputation of the Guardian Corps.
It was a pretty uneventful night after that, and once my feet dried out, I was able to focus on the problem of how to get Dr. Jess and Connie together. I knew that if I could come up with a plan in twenty-four hours, I’d get some help from Christmas Eve itself. It’s a special time, when the protective shields that humans wrap around their hearts loosen under the magic of the night.
With a little push and a little proximity, those two would finally open their eyes.
And now, here it was, Christmas Eve, and did I have a plan? Well, no, not exactly. Plotting and scheming apparently were not my forte. I’d just have to stay on my toes and seize any opportunity that presented itself.
It was almost midnight, and the floor was quiet. A couple of hours earlier, we’d had one little boy come in. He’d gotten so excited about seeing if Santa had arrived that he tumbled down a flight of stairs while trying to peer through the banister at the tree. Jess had seen to him in the ER and recommended that he stay overnight. The boy and his mother had taken up temporary residence in the last room on the right. They’d leave in the morning in plenty of time for him to open his presents.
I’d peeked in on them, but they seemed to be doing well, so I continued my rounds. A ten-year-old girl with Norwalk virus was doing much better. Jess hoped she could go home in a couple of days. Her parents had promised to delay the family Christmas until she could be back with her brothers and sister, so she was sleeping soundly with a smile on her face.
I was about to check on a toddler with mumps when the phone rang down at the nurses’ station. I popped back there to see if it was anything I needed to be concerned with. Polly hung up the phone and closed her eyes for a long moment before she turned to Connie.
“Three-year-old female on her way from the ER. Looks like an abuse case—cracked ribs, cuts, and contusions. Geoff is bringing her up now.”
Connie shook her head. These were the hardest cases for the staff. Accidents and illnesses were bad enough when the young and vulnerable were the victims. But when they dealt with the aftermath of deliberate cruelty, even the most experienced had difficulty steeling themselves to professional objectivity.
“I’ll put her in 312. Did Geoff say if anyone would be with her?”
Polly shook her head. “He said not. Dunno where the parents are, but she came in with only the paramedics in attendance.”
“Helluva Christmas.” Connie walked down the hall to collect her tiny patient at the elevators.
I decided I’d better stick close, even though the toddler would undoubtedly be drugged and sleep through the night. This might be one of the occasions when my skills were needed more for the staff than the patient. I took their emotional welfare very seriously, and it looked as if I might be working overtime tonight.
The elevator doors opened. Geoff pushed the gurney, with all its attached paraphernalia, out into the hall. The child lay so still and small on the mattress. I couldn’t help gasping at the sight of her tiny face, bruises half hidden under stark, white bandages, an oxygen tube running into her nose and an IV going into her foot.
Connie drew a sharp breath before she steadied herself.
“Yeah, sucks big time,” Geoff said. “Makes you want to throw her lousy parents into a pit of lions to see how they like being scared, defenceless, and at the mercy of things that want to rip them apart.”
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