by Rada Jones
Ann frowned.
Emma laughed. I wish they could transplant a sense of humor. It would do Ann a world of good.
18
By the time she got home that evening, Emma was “hangry”. So hungry, she was angry. She had nothing but coffee all day. After February, she decided to do something for herself. She was going to lose those extra pounds. Easier said than done. Her schedule sucked. The break room overflowed with junk food. Only one way to do it: stop eating at work. No doughnuts, no cake, no junk.
This way I can enjoy my wine without worrying about calories.
Her hands were shaky and her fuse was short, as she dropped her bag on the chair. Taylor was obviously better. The sink was full of dirty dishes.
Why does she need a new dish every time she takes a bite? Because she doesn’t do the dishes, that’s why!
Emma hated dirty dishes. In her private list of least favorite things, dirty dishes were #2. After rats, and before stepping in dog poop. Snot was #4, but that came with the job. Dishes didn’t. It took all she had to control her OCD and ignore the sink.
Hip-hop music thundered from Taylor’s room, jarring Emma’s empty stomach. Taylor lay in bed, reading the second Harry Potter. The book was falling apart.
She’s been crying again. That smudged mascara makes her look like a raccoon.
“How are you?” Emma asked.
“OK. You?”
“Better now that I’m home. How are you feeling?”
“Same, same.”
“Any bleeding?”
“Not yet.” Tears streamed down her thin face.
Emma’s soul hurt. She wanted to hug her, but she knew better. She’s like a cat. She only wants to be touched when she’s ready. Not now.
“How’s the pain?”
“Same. Cramps every fifteen minutes.”
“You want to go get checked?”
Her softness vanished.
“I told you no! Five times!”
“I thought you changed your mind.”
“I never change my mind!”
Emma laughed. Not more than every five minutes, you don’t. Taylor understood and broke in a rare smile.
“Not that often. I’ll find out soon enough anyway.”
“But…”
“You said there’s no way to prevent a miscarriage. If I get worse, you’ll take me there.”
“Don’t you want to know?”
“I’m afraid to find out. I don’t want to know. Well, I do, but only if it’s good news.”
“What’s good news for you?”
Taylor frowned.
“What do you mean? I see. If I miscarry, I don’t need to tell Eric.” She cupped her growing belly between her hands. “Good news would be to see the baby alive. I can’t wait to hold him. But I don’t know how to tell Eric.”
“You’ll have to make a decision.”
“Not now. I have enough on my plate.
Not really. You lie in bed, wallowing in self-pity. You read Harry Potter. You wonder what’s happening but don’t want to know.
“Your father and Eric are sick with worry. You need to tell them you’re OK.”
“I will, eventually.”
“When?”
“When I’m ready.”
“When are you going to be ready?”
Taylor sat up. Dark hair streamed around her narrow face like hissing snakes.
The harpy woke up.
“I’ll let you know. Now, if you don’t mind…”
“I mind. You need to tell them.”
“It’s my business. I’ll tell them when I’m ready!”
“It’s my business too. This is my house. You chose to come here.”
“I needed help. I trusted you!”
“I let you be long enough. You tell them or I will. By tomorrow.”
“Are you serious?” Taylor’s pale cheeks flushed with anger.
“Damn serious. Get out of the hole you dug for yourself. You shouldn’t have lied to Eric…”
“I didn’t lie to Eric! I never said a lie!”
“You lied by omission. You know what you did. I told you then that it was a bad idea. You didn’t listen. You never do. If you don’t tell them, I will. It’s up to you.”
“Mother!” Taylor sobbed. “Please, you can’t do that…”
Miss Bipolar is working on me. She’ll do whatever it takes! If anger didn’t do it, pity will. No, baby, we’ve already played this game too many times. I’m not your father, who always lets you have your way. Nor poor Eric.
“Taylor, I’m helping you become a responsible adult. You have until tomorrow. If you don’t call Eric and your father, I will.”
19
Carlos woke up in Faith’s bed. She was warm and soft, and she smelled like chocolate, pepper, and sex. He luxuriated in her scent. Until the memories exploded in his brain.
She enticed him. He surrendered.
She broke down his defenses. Again. He forgot that she cheated on him, betrayed him and uprooted his life. Once again, he fell for her. As soon as she touched him, he melted into a haze of lust. He was her toy. She called, and he dropped everything. He had left his life possessions in the street.
He saw red. He was angry at her, but even angrier at himself. She had wrapped him around her finger. Again.
He struggled to control his breath. He slid out of the bed with less noise than a falling feather. He crept to the kitchen. His clothes were on the floor. No underwear. He pulled on his pants and T-shirt, grabbed his jacket, and snuck out like a thief.
Get out before she ensnares you again.
The last two boxes sat by the door, where he’d dropped them. He wanted to take them, but couldn’t take the risk. He slipped through the door, leaving it open. He took the steps as if he stepped on hot nails.
The trunk was empty. So was the car. Every single box was gone. His tools and his bag too.
He spat his anger to the ground and took off without closing the trunk. Anything to not wake her up. He deserved to lose his stuff. He’d been stupid.
Never again.
I won’t come back.
20
Sitting across the desk in Mike’s office, Emma struggled to keep her cool. She had stopped by to talk to him on her way to the ER, but he didn’t want her there. He didn’t say it, but his eyes avoiding hers and his sullen expression were loud enough.
Too bad. We need to talk.
The coroner’s report was out. Hypoglycemia.
“Why would she be hypoglycemic? She wasn’t diabetic. She wasn’t ordered insulin. She wasn’t even septic.”
“We’ll do a root cause analysis,” Mike said.
“Could it be a medication error? We need to test for C-peptide. That will tell us if she received any insulin.”
Mike cleared his throat.
“We’re still waiting for some of the results.”
“Did we test for C-peptide?”
Mike looked at his watch.
“I don’t see how that makes a difference.”
“There was no insulin order for her. If she received any, that would make it a nursing error.”
“There could be a verbal order,” Mike said.
“Why? She wasn’t hyperglycemic. There was no reason to give her insulin!”
“Her potassium was high. Maybe they gave it for high potassium.”
“5.2 isn’t that high. If they gave insulin for that, they should give glucose too. And there’s still no order.”
“As I said, we’ll do a root cause analysis. We’ll talk to pharmacy and risk management.”
“I think it’s a nursing error.”
“Everything is possible. Don’t you worry about this, Dr. Steele. You have plenty to worry about. Your metrics. The door-to-doc time. The patient complaints. Those are your responsibilities,” Mike declared. “At this time, this does not appear to be an MD problem. As such, it’s not your responsibility. I’ll let you know if something changes.”
He st
ood up. The conversation was over.
Mike was new. As ED director, he was responsible for the operations and the ED staff, all but the doctors. Emma, as medical director, was only in charge of the doctors. But issues were never isolated. They were complicated and multifactorial, involving everything and everybody. But Mike didn’t want Emma’s help. He needed to prove himself. Plus, Mike was a male nurse. Emma was a female doctor, bending the traditional gender roles where doctors were male, and nurses female. Mike chaffed.
Emma shrugged. Technically, this isn’t a doc problem. Not yet.
“Let me know if you need my help.”
She went to her patients, but deep inside she was weary. She knew something bad was going on. She just didn’t know what.
21
Taylor woke up with a heavy heart. Then she remembered why. She had to call Eric.
She didn’t want to. She’d rather not speak to Eric. But she didn’t have a choice. Her mother would do as she promised. She always did.
She sighed and dialed his number.
“Taylor!”
“Yes.”
“Where are you? I’ve been worried sick about you! How are you?”
“I’m OK.”
“Where are you?”
She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want him coming to harass her. Though, once she told him… Maybe she could go with the rape story… No, that wouldn’t fly. She’d just prove herself untrustworthy again.
“Let’s meet.”
“Where?”
“The library?”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Taylor splashed cold water over her eyes to bring down the swelling. She put on mascara. Lots of it. She brushed her hair, for the first time in days. She put on dark sunglasses. She added a baseball cap, trying to hide.
Looking handsome but tired, Eric was waiting. His rapt smile made her heart ache. This may be the end.
He hugged her like he’d never let go.
“I missed you! What happened?”
Taylor sighed. She glanced around, looking for courage. No courage anywhere, just kids playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. Their smiling mothers, watching. Trees, sprouting fresh green leaves. Even the wind smelled moist and rich, heavy with the promise of growth, as it caressed her face.
The loss crushed her.
She had hoped to be like these parents. Loving, smiling, secretly proud that their kid was the best. The tallest, the smartest, the most successful.
That wasn’t happening.
First, her kid was not their kid. Second, her kid was likely to be different. Between drinking and drugs, she had seen to that.
“Let’s walk,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
Hand in hand, they walked along the quiet street.
“Eric, I lied to you.”
His hand gripped her tighter. She waited for the question, but it didn’t come.
“I didn’t really lie to you. I just omitted telling you some stuff.”
“Like what?”
“I didn’t tell you…I couldn’t tell you…I…I just couldn’t…”
Eric stopped. He took off her sunglasses. His luminous blue eyes melted her soul.
“It doesn’t matter, Taylor. You don’t need to tell me. The past is the past. I don’t care. I love you.”
Taylor’s heart swelled. Then it shattered.
So much joy. So much pain.
She wanted to let it go. The past was the past.
But the past was not the past. The past was here. Growing into the future, right inside her. He’ll notice, any day now. The past, the present, and the future, all here, right now. She had to deal with it.
“I wish it was so.”
“It is. The past doesn’t matter. What matters is now. What matters is the future. Our future.”
She couldn’t take it anymore.
“Eric, I’m pregnant.”
His eyes lost focus. Then his face lit up.
Taylor understood. She didn’t have to lie. He thought the baby was his. She could just let it go.
“That’s wonderful! I…”
“It’s not yours.”
He frowned.
“The baby is not yours.”
Scorched.
The light died. The ashes remained. Like the silent torment in Munch’s scream, his face became a mask of pain.
He let go of her hand. His arms fell sideways like dead branches. His head hung.
“I’m sorry, Eric.”
He nodded. Taylor felt as if she’d hit him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“I see. I have to go now.”
He left.
He didn’t walk. He ran as if wolves were nipping at his heels. Taylor watched.
Her eyes followed him, hoping he’d stop, turn around, and come back. She could explain.
He didn’t.
What do I do?
Her soul drowned in darkness. She felt empty inside. Painfully empty. Like a black hole.
She remembered the gun in her father’s safe.
She knew the combination. She’d find a peaceful place. She wouldn’t have to suffer any more. No more shame. No more pain. No more nightmares and sleepless nights, wondering if the baby was going to be normal or an abhorrent mistake of nature.
She wouldn’t have to face her father, who had always loved and trusted her. She wouldn’t have to see his disappointment.
She wouldn’t have to face her mother either. She wouldn’t say: “I told you so,” but she didn’t need to. If she’d listened, things would be better now. They could hardly be worse.
She made a beeline to her father’s house. It was still early. Amber should be at work, the girls in school. There shouldn’t be anyone home but the dogs. They won’t ask questions.
She was right. Thelma and Louise jumped on her, yapping their love. She hugged them, scratched them and said good-bye.
The office was dark behind the heavy curtains. The safe combination hadn’t changed. It was still her mother’s birthday. She took the gun and the ammo. She put them in her pockets. She took a last look around. Nothing new but a frame on his desk. The picture of Amber with Opal and Iris had moved to the side. The new one was a snapshot of herself and her mother. Victor took it the day she went to rehab. She smiled, glowing with happiness, her dark hair ravaged by the wind. Emma, behind her, looked into the camera. Her coffee-colored eyes were smiling, tender and knowing. Her mother’s eyes looked straight into her soul, as if she knew she was up to something. Again.
Taylor turned the picture face down and left.
Some parents are too much to bear.
22
Angel
“Mommy! Mommy!”
I look inside Room 14. She’s crying, hugging a teddy bear.
She’s not a kid. Not in forever. Her green eyes faded to white. Her skin is so thin it’s transparent.
I step in.
“Are you my mother?”
“No.” God forbid.
“Where’s my mother?”
Her mother must be dead. She should be dead too, if the Almighty was kind. She’s not.
“Can you call my mother?”
I check her ID. Ella. She’s ninety.
“What do you need, Ella?”
She smiles.
“Can I have a cookie?”
“I’ll get you a cookie.”
By God’s mercy, there are chocolate chip cookies in the break room.
“There you are, Ella.”
“Thank you, Mommy. Where’s my milk?”
Milk. I get her milk.
She gums the cookie. She chokes.
I take away her cookie.
“My cookie! My cookie!”
I check her chart. Dysphagia diet. Thickened fluids only.
She’s screaming. I give back her cookie. She chokes again.
She’s ninety, she wants her mother, and she can’t even eat a cookie. She drops the cookie and starts screaming.
; All right, Ella. How can I help you?
I’m running short on fentanyl. I don’t have insulin handy. A pillow won’t work for this one. She’s too loud.
I spot the hypertonic saline on the counter. It’s a concentrated salt solution that helps shrink swollen brains. They ordered it for the brain injury, but the patient that needed it is gone. Pharmacy’s so slow, you’d think they made it from scratch.
I don’t know if it works. And, if it does, it won’t be fast. So what? What’s the big rush? She’s waited for ninety years!
I give her another cookie. I attach the hypertonic bag to her IV and squeeze it in as fast as I can.
My heart’s pounding. I have no business being here. If they catch me, I’m toast. I’m not her nurse, Ben is. What if he comes in? I need to get out of here. I squeeze harder. I’m afraid I’ll blow her IV.
The door opens. I hide the bag under the sheets and pretend I’m checking the IV.
It’s X-ray. I smile.
“Come back in ten, please.”
She leaves. I almost peed myself.
The bag’s almost done. She’s still gumming her cookie. This was iffy. Stupid too.
I wonder what will happen? Will her brain shrink? Or swell? Shrink, I think. Maybe. It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing that again.
I’ll get some potassium pills. Crushed and injected, they should work.
It’s not sterile. So what? They’ll die before they get septic.
23
By the time her next shift came, Emma forgot about Mike and her uneasy feeling that something eerie was going on. She finished draining the swollen knee in Room 9. A full 30 cc syringe. The thick, straw-colored fluid was clear enough to read through. Great. The knee’s ugly, but the fluid looks good. It’s not septic. Gout maybe? She went back to her desk to find Alex waiting. As always, his thick round glasses enlarged his eyes, making him look puzzled.
“Can I run something by you?”
“Please.”
“I had this nursing home patient yesterday. She had a urinary tract infection. She was a little confused, but she looked OK. I gave her fluids and antibiotics, and I sent her back.”
