“Mr. Waits, I’ve heard a heap of ‘yes, Ma’ams’ from you to last a lifetime, and it hasn’t done a dadgum bit of good for your patient and my sergeant. I think it’s time for me to take extraordinary measures.” The Colonel paused for an uncomfortably long time. She sighed heavily. “I’m gravely disappointed in your work and have zero confidence you’re up to this monumental task.”
Dan Waits slumped. The Colonel was about to fire him from Em Martín’s case, which would scuttle any chance of a much-needed promotion this year. As the Colonel ripped him a new one—again—his disdain for Martín grew exponentially. She was the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever worked with, and he’d worked with some doozies in his life. Nearly eighteen years as a physical therapist, working with some horribly injured patients along the way apparently wasn’t enough experience to prepare him for the monster named Em Martín.
Colonel Baverstock stood up from her leather office chair, put her free hand on her hip and declared, “I’ve got calls out across the country looking for a therapist who can actually do their job properly.”
“I understand, Ma’am,” Waits mumbled, though inwardly he was about to jump for joy at even the idea of his horrible patient going elsewhere. For months she had ruined his life, and now… promotion be damned. He crossed his fingers as Baverstock continued.
“You have promised me, ad nauseam, and to my face,” she stressed, “you would get that young woman walking again, and the cold hard fact is, Mr. Waits, you haven’t. Mr. Waits, when someone makes a promise to me, I expect it to be kept, and in a timely manner. Period. I will expect you to give the new physical therapist, whoever he or she may be, a full accounting of Sergeant Martín’s case.”
Click.
Dan Waits pulled the phone receiver from his ear and stared at the earpiece with wonderment. “Dammit. She hangs up on me every time!” Waits shook his head as he gently placed the receiver on the base hook. He gathered up a small stack of patient files and left his office to attend to his next appointments. Despite having been chewed out by Colonel Baverstock for the umpteenth time, Waits left for his appointments with high spirits. He hoped it would be the last time he’d have to endure The Colonel’s wrath, and that she would keep her word and get that horrible patient out of his life for good.
6.2—Changing Course
Colonel Dot Baverstock sat back in her leather office chair and lit a cigarette. She breathed deeply, doing everything she could do not to think about the drink she so desperately wanted but would not have. She felt a little bit of remorse about chewing out Em’s physical therapist yet again, but she couldn’t help it. He just wasn’t up to the job, but she supposed she could be a bit more gentle with the man—he couldn’t help being an idiot. She smiled.
Dot was frustrated with Em and her lack of progress. Unfortunately for Em’s physical therapist, Dot took that frustration, and then some, out on him. She knew Em was angry and depressed and as uncooperative as a person could possibly be—perhaps even a monster as Waits had often claimed—but understanding that didn’t make the situation any easier or acceptable.
She felt responsible for the crash and all of the terrible that came along with it. Over the months, Dot had almost begun to feel like a surrogate parent to Em. Em’s absentee parents were busy traveling the world and had been little to no help other than offering to pay her medical bills, which Em rejected out of hand. No matter how fervently Dot pleaded with her, Em didn’t want anything from them, even if it meant she could receive the best care in the world. Without involved natural parents, Dot felt it was up to her to be Em’s parent and advocate.
If Em didn’t get better, if she never walked again, Dot would never get over it. Em not walking again and Em not being happy again, were not options for Dot. She would move heaven and earth to fix the trouble she knew in her heart she herself had wrought. If only she had left well enough alone and not meddled in Em and Alice’s affairs and let the investigation take its course naturally. If only…
Deep in her thoughts, Dot was startled by a soft knocking on her office door. “Enter,” she said in her best commander’s voice.
The office door opened slowly and The Colonel’s assistant poked his head in, “Ma’am, you told me to let you know… It’s California on the line.”
“Yes, of course, thank you, Airman.”
Dot snatched the phone’s receiver off its cradle, and quickly punched the blinking red light on the multiline phone console. “This is Colonel Baverstock,” Dot announced.
“Hello, Commander, this is Lynn Krane, Director of Physical Therapy at the VA hospital in Los Angeles.”
Dot sat down in her chair, leaning back into the softness of the leather. “Ah, Miss Krane.”
“Lynn, please.”
“Of course, and please, call me Dot,” Dot replied cheerily. “I’m so happy to hear from you. I understand you have a physical therapist out there with quite a reputation for handling so-called tough cases.”
“We do,” Lynn concurred. “Prairie Vaughn. She’s amazing, and we’re so fortunate to have her on our staff. She really could work at any of the top hospitals in the country—maybe the world—she’s that good. For some odd reason only Prairie understands, she seems to prefer working here. We call her Wonder Woman, because she really does work wonders.”
Dot sighed with relief. This could be the perfect solution for Em’s awful situation.
“Well, one of my Sergeants could use a Wonder Woman in her life right about now. She was in a terrific crash, people died, and she almost lost her leg. If she hadn’t been in the right place at the right time, she would have, or died, even. But…” Dot paused, worried if she told Lynn everything about Em’s current condition and attitude, they might not accept the case.
“I know all about her, Dot, and I’ve spoken to Dan Waits about her already as well. She sounds like a hopeless case—”
Dot interrupted, “Well, I reject that she’s a hopeless—”
“No, no, I’m not saying we’re not interested or can’t help her,” Lynn interjected quickly. “I’m just saying, that’s the state of the patient right now. Am I right? Hopeless, angry, depressed…”
Dot nodded, resigned to accepting the truth. “She thinks she’s responsible for… well, we’ve talked about it over and over again—her terrible attitude—but in the end, she’s a stubborn cuss. And honestly, I don’t think she likes that Waits fella. They don’t click, and I think she needs—”
“Someone she can trust,” Lynn finished Dot’s sentence.
“Exactly.”
“Well, Prairie is a no-nonsense, compassionate, truly gifted and dedicated physical therapist. I’ve never seen a physical therapist so intuitive and able to, against all odds, not only gain patients’ trust, but get from them what doctors denied was even possible. She’s tough, but just so incredibly talented.” Lynn could go on and on about Prairie’s talents, but didn’t want to oversell her. They knew how good Prairie was.
“Well, now, that sounds like just the ticket for Sergeant Martín, but the question is, how would Miss Vaughn feel about taking on such a difficult case?” Dot didn’t want to throw a wet blanket over the conversation, but she also didn’t want to be disappointed. Already she was afraid she was too invested in this Prairie person, that if she said no, Dot would join Em in the depressed and disillusioned column.
“That’s not a problem, Dot,” Lynn assured. “Prairie also had a conversation with Mr. Waits, reviewed Sergeant Martín’s file, and sees Martín as a challenge she’d like to take on. Prairie is nothing if she isn’t competitive, Dot. If she wants this case, you can be extremely confident she will succeed in getting Martín walking sooner than later.”
“Hot damn!” Dot slapped her free hand on the chair arm, making a splat sound as the flat of her hand hit the leather. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear, Lynn. It’s been killing me seeing what Sergeant Martín has been going through, and I haven’t been able to do a damned thing about it—and th
at’s not how I roll. I like to get things done, right now!” Dot chuckled. “So I guess we’ve got a winner. Prairie, um… Vaughn. Wonder Woman! When can we get started?”
“Well,” Lynn began hesitantly. “There is one slight problem.”
“I’m listening.”
“We’re the VA hospital. We technically only treat veterans. Sergeant Martín is still active duty, so…”
“So?”
“We aren’t able to treat her, without—”
“Special circumstances. Problem solved.”
“What? I thought you said…”
“Sergeant Martín isn’t going to stay in the service. Even if she should get to a hundred percent, which we both know is highly doubtful given the extent of her injuries, she doesn’t want to stay in. I’ll have her mustered out tomorrow if you need it, but for the time being, I’d prefer she remain active duty. It’s best for now. My main concern is getting her back on her feet. Right now her concern is hanging on to somethin’ that isn’t healthy. Among other things, she needs a change of venue. I have many different strings available to me, and I’ll pull each and every one of ‘em to get her out there. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll git ‘er out there.”
Lynn laughed. “Great. As soon as we get the um, paperwork in order, we’ll begin the transfer process. I read in her file that her home address is actually in Los Angeles. Bel Air? Will she be an out-patient, or…” Lynn’s voice trailed off as she again got stuck on the Bel Air address, wondering why someone with an address in that part of town would even consider a VA hospital when Cedars Sinai, Good Samaritan and so many other medical facilities were perfectly wonderful private options.
“Nah.” Dot knew this was coming. “She, um, she and her richy rich parents don’t see eye-to-eye on—” Dot sighed with frustration. This could be so much easier if Em and her parents would stop being so dumb. “She’ll need to stay at the hospital. If funding is an issue, I have some friends in high places, maybe I could also pull some allocation strings, or—” Dot wanted to spit those words right onto the ground, they disgusted her that much. She rarely traded favors and despised funding swaps. They made her feel dirty, but she would do just about anything for atonement.
“No, no, that’s not necessary. She would be considered a long-term patient, so no worries. I, too, have strings available to me. We’ll get her transfer expedited. Too bad about her parents, though, right?”
“You have no idea, Lynn,” Dot admitted.
6.3—The Usual
Long after the call with Lynn Krane concluded, Dot wondered how Em would take the news of a transfer out West. The longer she thought about it, Dot’s wonder turned to worry. She knew she would be sad to see Em leave Texas as they had become friends of some kind, but it was for the best—and not forever. But what about Em? Already Em felt she had no control over her life whatsoever, but once she transferred to Los Angeles, she wouldn’t have Dot to look out for her, or to visit her several times a week.
Dot glanced at the clock on the wall. Five-thirty-two. She stood up from her desk and stretched. “Guess we’ll find out here pretty quick what kind of fireworks we’re gonna have,” Dot said to herself as she prepared to leave the office for the day, putting on a jacket and a scarf, and her beloved service hat. She gathered her black Air Force issue purse, took a quick glance around the room to ensure everything was in its place, and then moved to exit the large Base Commander’s office. She closed the office door behind her and took note that her assistant was gone for the day, leaving his desk exquisitely neat. She then left the office, her shoes squeaking on the highly polished linoleum as she briskly strode toward the building’s front doors. Better to break the news sooner than later, she thought.
Dot walked into the twilight of early autumn to where her Commander’s car and driver waited for her at the curb. She walked with purpose toward the car, its engine starting just before she reached it. As she opened the back passenger door, a young female driver greeted her, “Good evening, Ma’am.”
“Good evening, Airman,” Dot replied as she stooped her tall frame down into the dark blue Air Force sedan.
“The usual Ma’am?”
“The usual.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The driver put the car in drive and headed toward the hospital.
SEVEN
Operation Prairie
7.1—First Dance
It had been over an hour since the driver dropped her off, and her now short temper was about to explode right along with her bladder. Surprisingly, Em found herself wishing she still had that disgusting catheter. Where was everyone? Anyone? She shifted her body once again, trying to find a comfortable position in a chair seat that was designed for function, not comfort.
The rehab room was deserted but for what were obviously resident torture devices of every size and description. Something wasn’t right about it. The silence was almost beyond silent to the point that it was suffocating. As she sat waiting, her impatience growing by leaps and bounds, she began to suspect the room had more than just the appearance of being abandoned. She fidgeted some more until, completely out of patience and in desperate need of a bathroom and assistance, she tried to wheel herself toward the exit in search of another human being.
Despite having been wheelchair bound for several months, Em’s movement was labored and far from smooth. Her lips pressed tightly together and normally subtle lines in her face creased into deep furrows, the result of months of unending pain of some degree or another. She labored toward the exit against the weight of her disability and opiates that kept her in a perpetual fog. Halfway there, Em’s travel was halted by the sudden presence of a woman who appeared at the doorway, pausing only for a moment before she sauntered into the room.
Em eyed the woman with an unsettling mixture of hostility and curiosity, and proceeded to take an immediate mental inventory. Em guessed she was in her early twenties and about five-foot-five or six—easily a good four or five inches shorter than Em. Her hair was flaming red, short-cropped and unruly. A spray of freckles lay across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones. Her eyes were big, and piercing blue, with a sparkle. The way her seemingly strong, athletic build filled out her hospital scrubs was extremely flattering—definitely not flat-chested. In another place and time, Em thought she might be a little sexy, and speculated about how she might look in street clothes.
The stranger sported navy blue scrubs that looked as if they had just been starched and ironed, and perfectly white tennis shoes that appeared to be right out of the box. It was unusual to see scrubs with every crease sharp and unwrinkled. They were impeccable. In all her time in the hospital in Texas, Em had never seen scrubs so neatly pressed. A Veterans Administration patch on the tunic confirmed their location. Right near the VA patch were two cloisonné lapel pins, one of which was an American flag, the other appeared to be an Air Force sergeant’s chevron similar to what would normally be worn on the collar of an Air Force uniform. A lanyard with hospital ID in a plastic sleeve hung around the woman’s neck, but the photo and name were not visible from where Em sat. Em was riveted, lost in the mental exercise of trying to process every last detail of the stranger standing before her, when the woman’s voice startled her. Em directed her focus to the woman’s face.
“There you are,” the woman said, her voice, tinged with a slightly masculine timbre and filled with relief. Her eyes glistened with her discovery. “I’ve been waiting for you since nine.” She motioned to the round clock on the wall. “You must be Mary-Mackenna. I’m Prairie.” She reached her hand out to Em, and added at the questioning look on Em’s face, “Yup, Prairie—just like it sounds,” and flashed a big, bright smile.
Em did not move or respond, but continued to stare without an iota of acknowledgement. Prairie continued smiling, and casually withdrew her hand, though inwardly she was startled and slightly thrown off balance by Em’s rebuff. For several moments the awkward silence between them practically devoured the room. Both partie
s sized each other up and calculated how to handle the situation to their own best advantage. Prairie would give her patient as much time as she needed to acknowledge Prairie’s presence, using the time to evaluate her new assignment.
Based on all immediate indications, Prairie quickly concluded that the person sitting before her wasn’t what she was expecting at all. After speaking to the patient’s doctors and therapist in Texas, Prairie knew her new patient was going to be a challenge, but she just wasn’t prepared for the stark reality in front of her. It was a struggle not to shake her head with pity, because the creature sitting in front of her was a pitiful sight, indeed.
Her new patient was painfully thin and pale, and with her injured leg propped up on the raised leg rest of her wheelchair, there was a heightened sense of frailty. Em was much more timid than Prairie was led to believe. The notes Prairie dutifully read in Em’s medical file had left her with the impression she would be dealing with a malcontent, not this withdrawn, drugged and unkempt waif sitting before her. She was a mess, to be sure. At the least, Prairie thought, her matted and tangled hair could use a good washing, or a thorough brushing to improve her initial appearance. A shower wouldn’t be out of the question, either.
As Prairie contemplated the situation, she could see Em’s dramatic facial scar accentuated even more by the gaze of someone heavily medicated and filled with anger. Angry at what, Prairie didn’t know exactly, but could just imagine by the sight of Em and her obvious injuries—not to mention the ones that weren’t obvious. Prairie waited for a response until she couldn’t bear Em’s empty stare for another second.
“Please tell me you have not been sitting here the whole time,” Prairie pleaded apologetically.
“I have,” Em answered, her voice flat and lifeless.
“Gah! I’m so sorry. When you didn’t show up I was afraid they dumped you off here. This is our old rehab center. We just moved to the other side of the hospital two weeks ago, but obviously your driver didn’t get the memo. I can’t believe the dufus didn’t notice there isn’t anyone here. Idiot,” she said under her breath. “Gosh, I’m sure sorry about that. Anyway, like I said, my name’s Prairie—I’ll be your physical therapist while you’re here at the hospital. Since you didn’t indicate otherwise, I’m going to assume you’re the Mary-Mackenna Martin I’m looking for?” Prairie flashed her a bright white, toothy smile. “Welcome to town.”
Prairie Fire Page 12
