“Awww. Thanks, Ma,” Sheila said, and then hugged her again.
“I like it when you call me Ma,” Joan said as her eyes started to well with tears.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon. She should be more awake by then,” said Sheila.
“Okay. I’ll be here,” said Joan with a tight squeeze.
Sheila and Joan parted and wiped their eyes again. Jeff ushered the two women through the automatic doors that led to the waiting area and elevators. The sweet fragrance of roses that once filled their nostrils was replaced with antiseptic and hand sanitizer. Jeff and Sheila continued down the hall toward the parking garage as Joan stood at the brown elevators and began assaulting the “up” button repeatedly with her thumb.
†
Room 258 at Las Palmas Hospital was a busy place for a Sunday. The room was occupied by a busted-up cowgirl with plenty of friends and family, and a new tenant in her mid-twenties. Nurse Leah worked quietly as she set up IV antibiotics for her new patient, August Riley. August, who was already heavily sedated, tightly clutched the same kind of pain button as the one in Colleen Caldwell’s hand.
August had skin that was a leathery tan from too much sun, and hair that was long and stringy from too much bleach. Her right eye was covered with a white bandage, which was wrapped at an angle over a third of her head. Oversized silicone breast implants made it look like she was hiding Chinese grapefruit under her hospital gown, which was identical to Colleen’s. The heavy plaid curtain that hung from the ceiling was pulled between the two patients, allowing for visual privacy.
August was no stranger to the second floor. She had been Leah’s patient a number of times over the last twenty-one months, which was Leah’s tenure so far at Las Palmas. Leah was what they referred to as a “traveler,” which meant she worked under contract for a thirteen-week term. Leah, however, was just beginning her eighth contract renewal. She had worked on the Two North wing for about three months shy of two years.
Leah had a talent for remembering her patients, and she got to know them quite well. She could recall their afflictions, the names of their family members, and even what room they were in the last time they “visited.” What she knew about this twenty-five-year-old patient was no exception. She knew that August ran away from home before her seventeenth birthday to pursue acting and modeling, but never got the “big break” she was looking for.
She knew that she was married to a military man of the same age who was overseas for extended periods, and they had no children. She also knew that August had a propensity to afflictions that ranged from head trauma and broken bones to sexually transmitted diseases.
August Riley came to know a great deal about her favorite nurse as well. She knew that she grew up in a small town in central Virginia, and was once a travel agent that dreamed of being a nurse. Leah graduated with honors in her nursing school class in Charlottesville, and three years later, she came across an ad in a magazine about travel nursing. Within a few months, she moved to California with her boyfriend.
Leah spoke of her boyfriend often, and said that he left the corporate world to pursue his dream of being a photographer, but somehow moved to producing films and writing novels.
Leah was by far the young blonde’s favorite. Unlike the social worker, Leah didn’t ask too many questions. August dreaded the social worker, but thankfully she only worked during the week. That gave her time to think up different answers to the same questions she always asked.
The nurses in ICU knew more about August than anyone. The results of countless X-rays, CT scans and MRIs suggested trauma that was consistent with injuries sustained in quite different circumstances than those suggested by the patient.
Countless bruises about the arms, back and legs held Leah’s attention as well, but August evaded even the vaguest of questions about how she incurred such telling injuries. To Leah’s recollection, she ran into doors, fell off her bicycle three or four times, and was beaten and mugged repeatedly. This time, the ICU nurse reported to Leah that she had fallen down a flight of stairs in a drunken stupor, but her blood alcohol level didn’t support that theory.
The only alcohol present in Room 258 was still coursing through the veins of Colleen Caldwell, whose tequila hangover was a product of the latest Musketeer adventure. She felt little pain from the broken leg and collar bone, but she heard blood rushing past her ringing ears with every beat of her heart. The pain button did little to alleviate the headache, no matter how many times she pressed it.
Leah finished her work and pulled the heavy plaid curtain around the foot of the new tenant’s bed. The sound of the sliding curtain woke August from her sedated snooze.
“That you, Leah?” asked August.
“Yes, sweetheart, it’s me again,” Leah replied with a whisper.
“Will you turn the light off when you go, please?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure will.” Leah flipped off the light over the sink.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Leah said as she left the room.
Colleen stirred and tried to reposition herself with her right arm and leg, but gave up the struggle. She felt restrained from the heavy steel pins that protruded from her leg and the sling that held her arm at a right angle over her midsection. “Somebody over there?” she asked as she lay with her eyes closed tightly.
“Yeah,” said August. “Sorry if I woke you up.”
“No problem. My name’s Colleen. What’s yours?” Colleen asked.
“August. But you can call me Augie.”
“Hi, Augie,” Colleen said. “Whatcha in for?”
“Fell down some stairs. What about you?”
“Got trampled by a horse.”
“That’s a good one,” said Augie. “Can I use that?”
“Sure,” said Colleen. “In my case, it’s true. Broke my damn leg and I think my shoulder.”
“That sucks,” Augie said. “I broke my eye and a couple of ribs.”
“Broke your eye?” Colleen asked, confused.
“Yeah. That’s what he said, anyway. And a couple of ribs.”
“Ouch,” said Colleen weakly.
“It’s not too bad, actually. I’ve had broken ribs, but I never broke my eye before.”
“You sound young, Augie,” Colleen said with a frown.
“I’m twenty-five goin’ on fifty,” said Augie with a light chuckle.
“I’m thirty-two,” said Colleen. “Where you from?”
“Originally from Miami, but I live in Simi. You?”
“Simi. Born and raised.”
“Well… nice to meet you, Colleen. I’m gonna take a little nap,” she said with a yawn.
“Good idea,” said Colleen.
†
Joan chewed her thumbnail as she stood and waited for the heavy elevator to open. She wondered if Carlos was somewhere in the hospital, and if he had already been in Room 258. Her thoughts turned to the cowboy that saved her precious Colleen’s life. She tried to remember what he looked like, but the clouds of dust from the show ring clouded her mind.
The old elevator bell announced its arrival with a dull thud, and Joan stepped inside. She mashed the button for the second floor repeatedly until she realized what she was doing. She chuckled to herself as she thought of Xia the nurse and her scrub top with Tigger on it.
Joan leaned against the wall and resumed her thumbnail snack. The same bell thudded with a muted clunk as the elevator reached its destination and the doors opened. The brightly-lit hallway was fairly empty, but mechanical blips and bleeps emanated from the patient rooms more frequently than before, almost in concert with one another.
She glanced in the doorway of the nurse’s station as she passed by and saw someone in a white lab coat leaning against a tall counter. She took a few more steps before her brain caught up with her. It was Doctor Nguyen, Colleen’s surgeon. She went back to the doorway and poked her head inside. Doctor Nguyen was standing on his toes as his elbows rested on th
e high counter. He was talking to Leah, who was seated with her back to one of the many computer terminals in the crowded room.
“Doctor Nguyen?” Joan said.
“Joan Caldwell,” replied the doctor as he sunk to his heels and turned to face Joan. “Hi. I Doctor Nguyen,” he said as he stuck out his hand and announced himself in the same humorous tone as he did before.
Joan shook his hand and couldn’t help but notice that the Vietnamese man in his mid-fifties was much shorter than she remembered.
“Hello, Doctor. Have you already been to see Colleen?”
“No. I go now,” he replied in his thick Asian accent. “You go, too?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Joan. “Would you like to walk there together?”
“Okay. We go. You want still hold my hand?”
“Oh sh—” Joan stopped as she caught herself. She looked down and realized she was still holding Doctor Nguyen’s hand and quickly let go.
“That okay. Nusses want to hold my hand all the time.”
Leah and the others in the nurse’s station laughed loudly as Joan and the doctor exited the room and started down the hallway toward Colleen’s room.
“He’s so damn cute,” laughed Leah as she watched the two pass by the window.
Joan and the doctor stepped quietly inside Room 258. Joan noticed that the bed next to Colleen’s was now occupied, but couldn’t see who was behind the curtain. Doctor Nguyen approached the left side of Colleen’s bed and touched the strap that held the blue sling on her left arm. Joan stopped at the foot of the bed and inspected the yellow roses in the glass vase on the table. She leaned over and inhaled deeply through her nostrils as she searched for a card, but could find none.
“Ma?” Colleen called without opening her eyes.
“It’s me, sweetheart,” replied Joan as she went to the opposite side of Colleen’s bed and leaned over her. She pulled Colleen’s hair back with her left hand and kissed her on the forehead.
Colleen opened her eyes and looked at her mother-in-law’s face.
“You look like shit,” Colleen said.
“You don’t look so good yourself,” replied Joan playfully as she took Colleen’s hand in hers.
Colleen turned her head to the left.
“That’s Doctor Nguyen,” Joan said.
“Hi, Doc,” Colleen said with a grunt.
“Hi. I Doctor Nguyen.”
Joan chuckled aloud as the doctor stuck out his hand over Colleen’s midsection.
“What’s so funny?” Colleen turned her head and asked.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later,” Joan replied.
Colleen let go of Joan’s hand and pawed at the air trying to shake the doctor’s hand. “I Colleen,” she said, mocking the short man of medicine.
“I know. I put leg back together.” He shook her hand weakly and then let go.
“So where are my boots?” Colleen asked.
“We had to cut boots off,” he said as he touched the outside of the steel pins that held her leg together. “You want keep them?”
“No,” she said as she turned her head away.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Joan said.
Colleen thought about the expensive snakeskin boots that Chase had given her for her thirtieth birthday. They had just begun to turn a hint of yellow from the sun and extensive wear over the last two years. “It’s okay. It was about time to let them go anyway.”
Doctor Nguyen was still inspecting the steel pins on her leg as she turned her head back toward him and said in a stern tone, “You owe me one gumball machine.”
“What is gumball machine?” asked Doctor Nguyen, confused.
“Never mind. It’s a quote from a movie. Nobody ever gets that.”
“Who sent the flowers?” Joan asked.
“Flowers? Where?”
“Here.” Joan motioned to the end of the bed, shuffled over to the table and held up the vase of yellow roses so Colleen could see them. She looked like a short, older, female version of a tennis champion lifting her trophy to the crowd.
Colleen felt her thoughts drift as the Morphine mixed with the tequila she finished only twelve hours before. “Bring one here,” she said. “I wanna smell.”
Doctor Nguyen pulled a pair of thin latex gloves from his coat pocket and struggled to pull them over his fingers. He pulled back the brown bandages near the pins and inspected his work. “Look good,” he said. “That hurt?”
“No,” replied Colleen.
“Then I put leg back right,” the doctor said proudly.
“Pfft!” Colleen replied with a half-hearted snicker.
Joan removed one of the roses from the vase and brought it to Colleen’s nose.
“Mmm,” said Colleen. “That smells wonderful.”
“Pretty flower,” Doctor Nguyen added. “You feel this?”
“No.”
“I do good work,” he said, positioning the pillow under her leg.
“Glad you approve of your own work.”
“Sometime I have parts left over,” he said without breaking a smile. “Instructions in Chinese, so I not know if I do it right.”
He removed his gloves and tossed them in the wastebasket next to Colleen’s bed. Muffled giggling came from the other side of the heavy plaid curtain.
“That’s real funny, Augie,” Colleen said loudly.
“I can’t help it,” said Augie. “He cracks me up.”
“August Riley,” the doctor said as he looked at the ceiling.
“Hi, Doc.”
“I come see you five minute.”
“Okay,” Augie replied. “I’ll be here.”
“How long will I have to have that damn thing on my leg?” Colleen asked.
“Six month. Mebbe eight.”
“Are you serious?” asked Joan, who still had her nose buried in the yellow rose.
“Did I say six month? I mean week. Six week. Mebbe eight,” he said with a straight face.
More giggling came from the other side of the curtain. Joan chuckled and Colleen just smiled.
“I give up,” said Colleen. “How about my arm, Doc? Will I ever be able to play the piano again?”
“Yes. You play piano just fine,” replied the doctor in a serious tone this time.
“Good, because I couldn’t play worth a shit before,” said Colleen.
Doctor Nguyen laughed with a loud chortle that sounded too big for his body. It made everyone else laugh harder, including Augie.
“I go home now. August Riley,” the doctor called loudly.
“Yeah, Doc?” Augie replied, still laughing.
“When Leah come back, tell her you want move to difflent loom,” he said loudly.
“Get over here, Doc,” Augie commanded playfully.
“I come back tomorrow and check on you,” said Doctor Nguyen as he touched Colleen on her restrained left arm.
“Okay, Doc.”
“Good to see you again, Doctor Nguyen,” Joan added.
“You too,” replied Doctor Nguyen.
Doctor Nguyen stepped away from Colleen’s bedside and touched the curtain as he walked around the foot of Augie’s bed. Joan and Colleen heard the water from the sink against the wall as Doctor Nguyen washed his hands. Joan turned her attention back to Colleen.
“So have you seen Carlos?” she asked.
“He must have brought the flowers. He was here about half an hour ago,” said Colleen. “Is there a card or anything?”
“I couldn’t find one,” said Joan.
“He was crying, I think.”
“Crying?” asked Joan.
“Yeah. Poor thing. He blames himself for what happened.”
“Still?” asked Joan. “He said something about that when I called him earlier.”
“I barely remember him being here, I was so out of it.”
“He’s just worried about you,” said Joan.
“I know,” said Colleen. “He’s worried about you too, Ma.”
“Me?
Why does he worry about me?”
“Because he loves you.”
†
Jim peered around the corner of the 7-Eleven. A white Chevy pickup came to a stop in an oil-soaked parking space near the store entrance. He quickly made his way to the passenger door. The pickup was tall, and Jim’s short older brother looked out of place behind the wheel. The diesel exhaust fumes combined with the sweltering heat made Jim cough as he opened the door and got in.
“About fucking time,” Jim said as he adjusted the air conditioning vents on his side of the cab.
“Kiss my ass,” said Jim’s brother. “And don’t get blood all over. This is a company truck.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” said Jim.
“You will if you want my help, ass—”
Jim looked out the passenger window at the black and white sheriff’s patrol car that pulled in the space next to them. The pickup towered over the patrol car, and the uniformed officer that was sitting in the driver’s seat was looking forward, speaking into his radio. Jim hunkered down in his seat.
Jim’s brother shifted into reverse and eased the pickup out of the parking space, taking extra time as he maneuvered around the small parking lot and into the street.
“Did he see you?”
“Nah. I’m like a cat, man,” replied Jim.
“Shit. I thought we were screwed.”
“It’s all good,” Jim said as they pulled onto Wilbur and turned toward Moorpark. “Did you bring me what I asked for?”
“Yeah. It’s behind your seat in the bag.”
Jim sat up and turned on his knees toward the back of the extended-cab pickup. He grabbed the bag and then sat down facing forward again.
“Let’s see what we got here,” said Jim. “Shirt… pack of underwear… Band-Aids… gauze… antiseptic spray… aspirin… and look what we have here,” said Jim. “A carton of Marlboro Reds. Got any money?”
“Jesus Christ. Not even so much as a thank you?” said Jim’s brother, disgusted.
“You owe me,” said Jim.
Jim took out the pack of cigarettes he bought earlier and removed one. He fished in his pocket for his Zippo.
Remembering August (Triple C Ranch Saga) Page 8
