Rocky Mountain Reunion

by Tina Radcliffe

  A preliminary glucose check on the girl showed elevated levels higher than the meter could read. Anne monitored the child’s neuro status closely as they awaited lab results.

  All indications were that the girl was well fed and cared for. Her jeans and shirt were clean, as was her long tawny-brown hair, parted neatly down the middle. So why was she sleeping on a public bench in the middle of the day? Alone. And who was she? What was her story?

  The girl opened her eyes wide and immediately began fiddling with her hospital identification band and then with the IV tubing attached to her arm.

  “Careful,” Anne said gently. “We need that line. That’s how we give you medicine.”

  The round honey-colored eyes stared through Anne as though she wasn’t there.

  “Can you tell me your name?” Anne asked.

  “Claire” was the girl’s thick reply. Her lids fluttered closed as though she had no more energy, her long lashes resting on pale skin accented by a sprinkling of light freckles. Rounded cheeks held the last evidence of childhood baby fat.

  “Your last name?”

  “Griffin.”

  “How old are you, Claire?”

  “Nine.” She blinked. “Where am I?”

  “In the hospital.”

  Claire’s eyes widened. “Am I going to die?”

  “No. You’re going to get better and go home. Can you tell me what happened today?”

  The girl swallowed, as if her tongue was thick, but didn’t answer.

  Leaning forward, Anne offered her chilled water from a plastic cup with a straw. The girl eagerly drank and then leaned back again.

  Anne lowered her face closer to the bed. “Claire, what happened today?” she repeated softly.

  “I took Stanley for a walk and then I started feeling funny. So I sat down on the bench. I feel better now.” She raised her head and glanced around. “Where’s Stanley?” The whispered words were laced with panic.

  “Stanley is fine. He’s at the vet’s. They’re taking good care of him.”

  Claire’s head sank back against the pillow.

  “I need to contact your mother,” Anne said.

  One by one, a silent trail of tears rolled down Claire’s cheek. She didn’t wipe at them. It was as though she didn’t even realize they were there.

  Tightness pressed Anne’s chest as she waited for the words she didn’t want to hear.

  “My mother is... She died,” she said, her voice heavy and slow.

  Oh, Lord. Not this little girl, too?

  “I’m so sorry,” Anne murmured, knowing the words were ineffectual at best. Before her brain registered what she was doing, she reached out to hold Claire’s free hand and give it a squeeze. “My momma died when I was your age.”

  “Maybe they’re in heaven together,” Claire whispered.

  Anne nodded, surprised yet pleased at the words.

  The girl was silent, as though considering the possibility.

  “Where’s your father, Claire?”

  “Call Delia. I stay with Delia during the day. She lives on Maple Street by the church.”

  A knock on the door to the exam room preceded Marta’s entrance. Anne stood and joined Marta in the hall, leaving the door ajar so she could watch Claire.

  “Labs?” Anne asked.

  Marta nodded. “Tox screen came back negative. Blood alcohol negative. Glucose six hundred.”

  Anne shook her head. “Thanks, Marta. Tell Nelson we need insulin dosing ASAP.”

  “Done. He’s on the way.”

  “You’re good,” Anne commented.

  “I sit at the feet of the master.” Marta quietly chuckled as Anne slipped back into the room.

  “Claire, has anyone ever told you that you’re diabetic?”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “You haven’t been to the doctor recently?”

  “No. There’s nothing wrong with me. I never get sick.”

  “Phone for you, Anne,” Juanita called from the open doorway.

  Anne stood.

  “No. Don’t go.” Claire voice was laced with panic and she reached out a hand to stop Anne, her fingers clinging to the scrub shirttail.

  Juanita lifted her brows.

  “I’ll be right back. I promise.” Anne held the girl’s hand for a moment and smiled.

  “She likes you,” Juanita said, confusion in her eyes as she glanced from the bed to Anne.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence there, pal,” Anne returned.

  “The kids usually bond with Marta. She’s the mothering type. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Anne’s head swiveled to Juanita. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, boss. I just meant...”

  “This one has been through a rough time. I can relate. She reminds me of myself at her age.”

  “Now you’re going to try to tell me that you were a kid once?” Juanita asked with a teasing grin.

  “You’re a real hoot today, aren’t you?”

  “Every day. All part of my job description.”

  Anne washed her hands and followed Juanita down the hall. “Can you call up to Pediatrics for a bed? Nelson will no doubt admit her until her glucose levels are stable. Her name is Claire Griffin.”

  “Will do. Any luck contacting a responsible party?” Juanita asked when they stopped at reception. She nodded her head toward her computer. “Insurance information would be real nice.”

  “All I have so far is the name.” Anne grabbed the blinking phone on the counter. “Matson, here.”

  “Anne, it’s Sam. I just had a call from a Delia Seville. She’s hysterical. Says her husband is in the ER. She doesn’t have any transportation to hospital, and on top of that, her friend’s little girl is missing. Apparently, Mrs. Seville was babysitting.”

  “Seville? One of the two men from the construction accident is Manny Seville. We admitted him.”

  “Was the other guy Matthew Clark? First Construction?”

  “Yes. He’s still here. Right now he’s in Orthopedics being evaluated. Why?”

  “I think that’s his little girl I brought in. The Seville woman says she was with a black Lab.”

  Anne nearly gasped aloud.

  Matt has a daughter?

  “Anne? You still there?”

  “Yes. Sorry. Sam. The girl’s name is Claire Griffin.”

  “That’s her.”

  “I’ll have someone notify Matthew Clark.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to give Mrs. Seville and her baby a ride to the hospital.”

  “Her husband’s stable. Tell her that. And thanks, Sam.” Anne put down the phone.

  Matt has a daughter? Her mind played the words over and over. Well, what did she expect? That his life was going to stop when she walked out on him?

  She turned to Juanita. “I’ve got a responsible party to sign your insurance paperwork on that little girl.”

  “Thank you.” Juanita’s eyes lit up.

  “Matthew Clark. He’s still upstairs. Tell him we have his daughter down here and get him to sign the permission to treat while you’re at it.”

  Juanita shook her head. “Aw, now you’re going to ruin my day. Do not tell me that man has another wife.”

  “Another wife?”

  “Besides you, I mean.”

  Anne could feel her facing warming. “I don’t know anything about Mr. Clark, Juanita, but I feel confident you’re going to find out.”

  “You know me too well.” She scooped her clipboard off the desk and headed toward the elevators.

  Anne gripped the counter and turned to stare at the wall. She did the math. A nine-year-old daughter.

  That would be shortly after her
aunt had had the marriage annulled and transferred her from the University of Denver to Washington State to finish her degree.

  She’d spent the better part of three years completely heartbroken but unwilling to defy her aunt. Her sole guardian.

  Aunt Lily had warned her that a future with Matthew Clark was building her house on unstable ground. He was a penniless student with no prospects. Love, she’d claimed, was fleeting, especially when there was no money in the bank.

  All these years, and her aunt had been proved correct. Anne had mistaken what she and Matt had had for love. Clearly he had no such illusions and had moved on with his life quickly enough, as though their love had never existed.

  * * *

  Matt stood in the door of his daughter’s room, resting his weight on his new aluminum crutches.

  “Mr. Clark, you’re just in time,” the nurse who stood at Claire’s bed said. “I’m Megan Jansen, the diabetic nurse educator.”

  He bit back a surge of pain as he moved into the room and shook her hand.

  “Are you okay?” she asked with a quick glance down at his ankle in the plastic support boot.

  He nodded. Yeah, he was okay. Glad to have dodged the need for surgery, but a badly sprained ankle requiring a walking boot and crutches wasn’t what he had expected when he’d rolled out of bed this morning.

  “We were about to go over the use of the meter,” Megan said with a soothing tone. “I’ve got a warm washcloth to clean Claire’s hand and stimulate the flow of blood to her finger.”

  “I don’t want to,” Claire responded. She forcibly tugged her hand away and turned her head toward the window.

  “We can’t discharge you until you or your father demonstrates the ability to use the meter and administer the injections.”

  “He can do it,” Claire said. The words were a sullen accusation, as though Matt had added yet another heap of misery into her young life.

  Matt feared she was right.

  Across the room, Megan Jansen’s gaze pleaded with Matt to intervene.

  “Claire, we want you to get better,” Matt said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me. I feel fine.”

  The nurse stood and moved her equipment to the bedside table. “I think it’s time for your father to try. The sooner we get this done and get you home, the better.”

  “He’s not my father and I don’t have a home...” Claire’s voice trailed off and her eyes filled with moisture.

  Matt’s gut clenched. Could he blame her? Claire’s world had been turned upside down in the past month. She’d gone from living with her mother in Denver one day to living with a man she didn’t know the next.

  Confusion registered on the nurse’s face as she looked at him. “I thought you were her father.”

  “I am—”

  “I want Anne,” Claire interrupted with a pitiful wail.

  “Anne?” Megan asked, her gaze moving from Claire to him, her brow furrowed yet again.

  “Claire, who is Anne?” Matt asked, as a prickle of apprehension swept over him. Surely she didn’t mean...

  “That nurse,” his daughter answered.

  “From the emergency room?” he asked.

  “The ER nursing supervisor,” Megan clarified.

  “She’s the supervisor?” he countered.

  “Yes.” She glanced at her watch and nodded toward the door, indicating he should follow.

  Matt hobbled outside the room right behind her.

  “Why is she asking for Anne?” Megan asked.

  “I have no idea. Claire was admitted while I was in X-ray.”

  “You know she’s off duty now, right?”

  Matt could only nod and raise a palm. What was he supposed to do now?

  “My mother is a very close friend of Anne’s. I can call her. She’ll try to get in touch with—”

  “No. I can’t... I can’t bother her.” Especially not after his lousy attitude in the exam room.

  “I think you’d better.” Megan paused. “What other choice do you have?”

  “Why tonight? Can’t we wait until morning? After the doctor checks on her? Claire’s spending the night anyhow.”

  “Anne might not even be scheduled to work tomorrow. I think it would be prudent for me to at least have my mother call her.”

  “But you said I could do the injections and testing.”

  “Look, Mr. Clark, unless you plan to be with Claire twenty-four-seven, she needs to participate in her own care. Sure, I can okay her discharge, but that won’t help you or Claire in the long run. Your daughter has provided us with an option, and if Anne’s presence will engage her, well, then...” She raised her shoulders and stared pointedly at him. “You should be willing to try this route.”

  He glanced from the nurse through the doorway to his daughter. Claire’s eyes were closed in an attempt to block out the world. He felt like doing the same thing right about now.

  Instead he fought back his pride and battled against the humiliation of the thought of inviting Anne Matson into his spectacular failure of a life as a new father.

  Matt took a deep breath. “Okay. If it will help Claire. Yeah. Go ahead and ask your mother to get in touch with Anne.”

  Megan left and he moved back into the room to stand at the window and stare out at the Paradise skyline. Clear blue skies, dotted with clouds, stretched as far as he could see. In the distance, mountain peaks hovered at the edge, guarding the small mountain community.

  As a child he had looked out windows at the very same view. Always asking the same questions he was asking now. Where are you in all this, Lord? He silently prayed. Are you listening?

  How had he come full circle back to the one place on the planet where he felt so vulnerable? Paradise Valley.

  He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. Seemed everything had gone from good to messed up; his business, his friend Manny and even Claire. Now he was about to be challenged further. He was about to welcome the woman who’d once destroyed him back into his life. The woman was virtually a stranger to his daughter, yet Claire had chosen Anne over him to support her during this crisis. How was that for irony?

  Chapter Three

  Anne pulled into her driveway and sat in her pickup, staring at the house and mustering the energy to climb the steps while desperately grasping for a peace she didn’t feel.

  Normally she could count on separating her two worlds by the time she had driven home. The sight of the two-story Victorian home signaled the boundary line as she put the day job behind her. The house calmed her, no matter the crisis in the Paradise ER.

  But for the first time in her life calm was out of the question. Seeing Matt Clark and meeting his daughter had knocked her world into chaos and she didn’t like it one bit. Her life had an orderly precision and she blamed the past intruding on her present for today being completely out of control.

  She began to pray under her breath while staring at the lovely building in front of her. It had wide steps that led to a cherry-red door topped with a stained-glass transom. The siding was painted dark cream with sea-foam-green accents. Scalloped cedar trimmed the second story, always reminding Anne of a gingerbread house. On the left was a small turret room that rose above the second floor.

  This year she’d had the entire house repainted. Next summer’s goal was refurbishing the back deck. With a house that was over one hundred years old, there was always something that needed repair.

  This particular home was the only connection she had left to family. And that family was only her great-aunt Lily.

  Lately Anne never knew what to expect when she arrived home. Sometimes it was the dynamic and formidable Aunt Lily of Anne’s childhood, other days her aging great-aunt was disoriented, showing more and more indications of the insidious A
lzheimer’s disease. Their roles had somehow become reversed. Now Anne found herself the caregiver for the woman who’d taken her in as an orphan some twenty years ago.

  She gripped the steering wheel tightly, fighting back the questioning resentment that simmered just below the surface as her mind continued to race with thoughts and mental images of Matt and Claire.

  For the first time since all those years ago she began to question the choices that were made for her when she was eighteen.

  Ten years ago Lily had told her that education, a career and the independence to make her own choices was the important thing. Deep down inside she feared her aunt had been wrong. Those may have been the right choices for Lily Gray, but had they been the right choices for Anne Matson?

  And if not, wasn’t it too late to do anything about it anyhow?

  When the front door swung open and her aunt stepped outside and waved, urging her out of the truck, Anne did a double-take. She quickly reached for her leather tote and climbed out of the vehicle.

  “Aunt Lily, is everything okay? Where’s your walker?”

  “Oh, I don’t need that thing.” Petite and trim, her aunt gripped the rail tightly and held herself up with dignity. She always wore a dress, no matter the day or hour, looking for all the world like the queen of the manor.

  “Okay,” Anne answered slowly. She glanced past her aunt to the open doorway. “And you aren’t wearing your alert necklace.”

  “That’s for people who might fall. I’m fine.”

  “And your aide?”

  Lily shared a satisfied grin and ran a hand through her silver curls. “I sent her home. For good.”

  There was a challenge in her aunt’s words and Anne wasn’t going to feed into it.

  Yet, despite herself, a groan of frustration slipped from her lips. Sometimes her aunt Lily bamboozled her caregivers into thinking she didn’t need help and sent them home. Other times she simply fired them on the spot. Once again Anne would need to call the staffing agency.

  She walked up the drive to the porch, her steps weary. “Why did you fire your aide?”

  “That woman makes me have uncharitable thoughts. I can tell you that the good Lord would not be happy with that.”