by Diane Moody
“Shall we pray,” he said, and we all bowed our heads.
But just as I started to bow my head, something caught my eye. I turned around after noticing a man in sunglasses standing just a few feet from me near the exit. His blond curly hair and beard struck out in stark contrast to his black pin-stripe suit. As I glimpsed his way, he scratched his head. I noticed his whole head of hair moved ever so slightly. As he nudged what appeared to be a strange toupee, I saw it—there on his wrist, a turquoise and diamond watch. I blinked twice to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks. Just as he turned to leave, he looked my way. He paused briefly, lowered his sunglasses, and tossed me a wink. Just as quickly, he pushed his shades back in place, that wide crooked smile creeping up the side of his face.
I smiled back.
In fact, in spite of my sorrow, I don’t think I stopped smiling the rest of the day.
Chapter 38
The following weeks rambled on. I was in such a funk, I found no interest in much of anything. Sandra and Trevor were seeing more and more of each other whenever they could. They were so cute together—Trevor, over 6’4”, and tiny Sandra, not even 5’2” in heels. I was really happy for them, but I missed having Sandra around at home. Of course, a resident’s schedule doesn’t leave much free time for extensive dating, but somehow they worked it out. I loved seeing her so happy.
But “happy” had long since disappeared from my horizon.
In fact, as happy as I was for them, their relationship seemed to mirror a sharp contrast to how much I missed Tucker. We’d run into each other from time to time at work or at church. It was always awkward, always strained. Once, during the worship service, I glanced over and caught him staring at me. But when I attempted to smile, he just looked away. It surprised me how much that hurt. I began avoiding church whenever possible.
Donnie was getting worse every day. I never missed a day’s visit, but it was getting so difficult to be cheerful as I entered his room. Even harder to hide how scared I was for him.
As July melted into August, I still hadn’t heard from Jimmy. It had been more than a month now. By this point, I was more angry than disappointed. The least he could do was call. I checked in regularly with Mom and Dad. They hadn’t heard from him either, but seemed much more understanding than I was.
“He just needs a little more time to readjust,” Mom had said.
I just hoped he hadn’t lost his shirt down in New Orleans. I was half-tempted to drive down there some weekend and try to find him, but I nixed the idea. What would I do? Just walk through the Quarter and hope to bump into him?
The office atmosphere continued on a downhill slide as well. Chelsea and Rebecca had already handed in their two-week notice to Mrs. B, having found jobs elsewhere. The rest of the girls were busy scouting the paper for job opportunities. I knew I should be doing the same, but I couldn’t make myself do it. Not yet.
As for Mrs. Baker, we’d all noticed how much she had changed. The loss of her friend and pastor had visibly affected her. I realized she wasn’t scheduling afternoons off to play golf anymore. She kept mostly to herself, rarely coming into the back office to visit with us in the afternoons like she’d always done. And her smile was manufactured when needed. As if a great black cloud had descended over her and wouldn’t go away.
I have to admit, I felt like it was hanging over me, too. It wasn’t like me to stay down and blue like this. But I just couldn’t shake it. I threw myself into my patients’ needs, visiting them more than I ever had. Most of them seemed to love the extra attention—but not all.
I’d just knocked on 910 and said hello to Daphne Lee Crockett. She’d been here for a week now and was still waiting on results from all the tests they’d been running. I’d already stopped by several times and run a couple of errands for her.
“You again?” She let her newspaper fall onto her lap.
She sounded so terse I assumed she was teasing. I was wrong.
“Young lady, if I need something, I’ll call you. I don’t like to be constantly bothered, and I certainly don’t need babysitting. So just scoot your little self right back out that door and leave me be.”
“Uh . . . oh, okay. I’m sorry. My apologies.” I ducked back out the door, wondering if she’d hurl a pillow at me if I didn’t. I also wondered why everyone on the planet seemed to be in the pits. I took a deep breath, straightened my uniform, then tapped on 912 to check back in on Mr. Slidell.
“Oh, good. I was just about to call. Could you hand me the bedpan, miss?”
Not my job!
Some days you wonder why you even bother to get out of bed.
By mid August, I was actually relieved whenever my turn rolled around to work in the ICU or ER. On Saturday, August 13th, I was scheduled to work the 3:00 ER shift, which was good. It meant I still had a big chunk of the day to myself before I went to work. And since Saturday nights were always the busiest night of the week in the ER, I knew the time would fly by.
Before I went to work, I cleaned the house then decided to work on my pitiful tan. I stretched out on a lounge chair in our backyard and felt the heat against my skin while I listened to Stevie Wonder, the Eagles, Jimmy Buffet, and Fleetwood Mac on my radio. But the music didn’t help. My mind kept traipsing off in directions I didn’t want to follow, so I eventually gave up, showered, and went to work.
But when I arrived at the ER just before 3:00, I caught a brief glimpse of Tucker down the hall. Just my luck. He must be working the same shift. Thankfully, he wasn’t in the ER for long and exited without seeing me. I hated this game we seemed to be playing. Or was it just me? Maybe he’d long forgotten what we had . . . or what we almost had.
I did my best to avoid him, which was fairly easy since anesthesiologists don’t normally hang out in the ER unless they’re called in for a particular problem. I’d managed to evade any face-to-face interaction right up until 10:30 that evening. That’s when the ER receptionist asked if I would help an elderly woman back to see her husband in Trauma 2. I helped her to his room and made sure she was okay. Then, as I was making my way back to the waiting area, I spotted Tucker. I’m not sure why he was back in the ER again, but there he was—leaning against the wall, his right knee hiked up with his foot anchored against the wall behind him. It’s how he always stood whenever we talked in the hall. Just a silly nuance, something I’d always found endearing. But this time, a very attractive nurse stood close to him, obviously sharing a joke. I didn’t recognize her, but I could tell this wasn’t a doctor/nurse consultation. This was much more personal.
I know it’s absurd, but I felt like someone punched me in the stomach. I had no logical reason to react that way. We weren’t in a relationship. He could talk to whomever he pleased.
Before another thought crossed my mind, the bay doors just beyond where Tucker and his friend were standing slammed open. Paramedics rushed in with a bloodied patient on a stretcher, shouting as they rounded the corner toward Trauma Room 1.
“Pedestrian hit by a truck. Multiple injuries. Contusions, abrasions, BP’s falling, 72/40. Pulse 120. He’s had two morphine and two liters saline.”
The doctors and nurses went to work, guiding them into the examination room, Tucker and his friend joining them.
As I started to return to my post, I heard someone shout my name.
“Shelby!”
I turned, surprised to see Tucker rushing toward me, his face etched with concern. “It’s Jimmy.”
“What?” The air whooshed from my lungs. “That’s not possible. He’s—”
He gently grabbed my arm and nudged me toward a row of chairs lining the wall. “It’s him, Shelby. It’s Jimmy. Let me go back and see what’s going on. I’ll let you know. Just don’t leave.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
I lowered myself into a chair, my mind swirling with questions. How could that be Jimmy? He’s supposed to be in New Orleans, right? If he’d come back to Memphis, he would have called. I don’t understand . .
.
Twenty minutes later I would understand—much more than I wanted to. Tucker came back down the hall toward me.
“Shelby, come with me. We need to talk.”
Oh God.
Of all places, he led me into the prayer room. He placed his hand on my back, moving me toward the back row where we both sat down.
“Tucker, you’re scaring me. What’s happened? Is Jimmy okay?”
“He’s in bad shape, but I think he’ll make it—”
“You think? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They said he was walking down the middle of Union Avenue—”
“What?”
“A delivery truck had just turned the corner and didn’t see him. Plowed him down. It looks like he’s got some broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, and a serious head injury from hitting the pavement so hard.”
My shoulders began to shake as I completely lost it. I heard myself crying as if from across the room. “Oh, Jimmy . . . oh God!”
Tucker wrapped his arm over my shoulder, his head resting atop mine. “Shelby, listen to me.”
I kept sobbing. I felt like I might get sick.
He lifted my chin, making me face him. “Listen to me. They need to operate on his spleen STAT. I need you to get a hold of yourself and sign some papers for me. Can you do that?”
I seemed to have no control over my extremities. Everything was trembling. “But Tucker—”
“We can talk more later. I promise. I’ve got to get upstairs to give him his anesthetics, so we need to do this now. Right now.”
He stood up, helping me to my feet. I wasn’t sure I could stand on my own. “But Tucker—”
And then he wrapped me in his arms. He rested his head on mine again, saying my name softly, over and over. I gripped the front of his shirt so hard and buried my face against his shoulder, my tears soaking his white lab coat.
“Shelby, I have to go. Here—” He handed me his handkerchief. I would have laughed at the irony of it if I hadn’t been crying so hard. “We’ve got to get those papers signed, sweetheart. Come on.” He grabbed my hand leading me back out into the ER hallway as I wiped my tears.
In less than a minute he was gone. I signed the papers and turned just as he ran out the door toward the OR.
In something I can only describe as a dense, thick fog, I made my way back to the prayer room, stumbled toward the front of the room . . . and collapsed.
Over the next hour I talked to Mom and Dad twice, called Sandra and asked her to come, paced the ER, prayed in the prayer room, and cried enough tears to fill the Atlantic. Mom and Dad promised to be on the road to Memphis as soon as they could get dressed. Sandra showed up and quickly came to my rescue, helping calm me down and stop pacing. She was such a rock. I couldn’t have made it without her. Trevor showed up a few minutes later and offered the kind of reassuring presence only a doctor can. He had the access we didn’t to find out what was happening up in the OR. He quickly escorted us upstairs to the surgical waiting room then disappeared to find out what he could.
Through it all I prayed constantly. Aloud. Under my breath. Silently. I prayed. Begging God to spare Jimmy. To give him another chance. And I took a U-turn whenever my thoughts tracked too close to the reason he was in that OR. I couldn’t handle that right now.
After the longest three hours of my life, the surgeon and Tucker pushed through the doors and into the waiting room.
“He made it,” Dr. Lewis said, his mask hanging from his neck. “Your brother did just fine, all things considered. He’s not out of the woods yet and has a long road ahead of him, but he’s stable. And that says a lot.”
I thanked him profusely, wanting more details, but knowing those would come later from Tucker.
“He’ll be in recovery for a good while yet. I won’t release him to a private room until I’m sure he’s a little more stabilized. But you can let go of that breath you’ve been holding now, Miss Colter.”
I did just that and shook his hand, thanking him again.
Tucker gave me a side hug. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. Was it bad up there?”
Sandra and Trevor closed ranks in our little circle as Tucker told us about the surgery. I didn’t understand most of it, particularly in my emotionally drained state of mind. He continued, and while I couldn’t comprehend what he was saying, his tone told me what I needed to know. Jimmy would be okay.
“That’s a good sign,” Trevor added. “Basically means he won’t suffer any long-term memory loss. Though he might not remember the accident. Which might not be a bad thing.”
“Tucker, do you have any idea what happened?” I asked. “Did the paramedics explain how he was hit?”
He looked exhausted, raking his hand through his hair. When he looked up, I couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Maybe you should wait and discuss this with the police who worked the scene.”
“Why? Why can’t you tell me?”
“Shelby . . . I just don’t think I should be the one to—”
“What aren’t you telling me, Tucker?” I pushed. “Please—this is Jimmy we’re talking about!”
“Precisely,” he said, in a much-lowered voice, “And as you’ll recall the last time we talked about Jimmy was the end of us.”
“We’re gonna take off,” Trevor said, giving me a hug. “You take care and we’ll talk soon.”
Sandra hugged me, too. “We’ll be in the building. If you need me, just have me paged, okay?”
“I will. Thanks, Sandra.”
As they left, Tucker suggested we take our conversation somewhere more private. We decided on the hostess office since no one would be there. After we entered and turned on the lights, we each took a sofa in the back office and resumed where we’d left off.
“Look, Shelby. I’m not trying to be mean or obstinate here. I’m trying to do what’s best. For both of us. And I just think the police will be able to tell you the facts much better than I can.”
I folded my legs under me and tried to get a grip. “I appreciate that. I do. I realize I came down on you awfully hard when we—when I . . . And no offense, but right now I have to think about Jimmy. If it causes another rift between us, so be it. I have to know.”
He studied me for a moment then gave in. “If that’s your preference—”
“It is.”
“Shelby, he was drunk. His blood alcohol level was at 0.15. More than twice the legal limit. I doubt he had any idea he was walking down the middle of Union. I doubt he had a clue where he was.”
I stared at him, trying to keep my mind open.
“And . . .” He paused.
“Go on.”
“They found marijuana on him. A pretty big stash of it. Along with some pills which we suspect are amphetamines. I’d guess speed. Who knows what the toxicology report may show when it comes back.”
I dropped my head in my hands.
“I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, especially after everything we’ve been through.”
I nodded, my head still in my hands. “Oh, Jimmy.”
I felt the warmth of his hand on my back as he took a seat next to me. “I’m so sorry, Shelby.”
“No. No, I’m the one who should be apologizing.” I looked up at him as a tear spilled down my cheek. “You tried to tell me, and I wouldn’t listen. Oh Tucker, if only I hadn’t been so stubborn! If only I had listened instead of snapping your head off. Maybe I could have helped Jimmy instead of . . . of . . .”
“We can talk about all that later. Right now you just need to be there for Jimmy. Neither of us really know what’s been going on with him. God knows he’s been through hell during the war. They all have. But at least he’s alive. He’s going to recover. And then we can get him some help.”
I wiped my tears away, so sick of them. I tried to think of what to say, but I couldn’t stand it another minute. I wrapped my arms around him, burrowing my head on his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”
&
nbsp; He held me for the longest time in the silence of that small room. “There’s a lot we need to talk through, but I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got another 24 hours on my shift. But when I get off, I’d like to go somewhere we can talk. Are you open to that?”
“Yes, of course. I’m not leaving. My parents are due anytime, so I’ll be with them until then. At least until Jimmy is moved to his own room.”
As we stood to go, he pulled me into his arms and held me tight. “I’m here for you, Shelby. Please let me.”
I nodded against his shoulder. He kissed the top of my head then was gone.
Chapter 39
The next 24 hours seemed like a blur to me now. Mom and Dad finally arrived. They were frantic by the time they finally walked into the hospital. We had a good cry together as I filled them in on everything—including Jimmy’s troubled road. They were shocked then deeply grieved that they’d missed any of the warning signs. As was I. Jimmy was moved to a private room on Twelve around midnight on Sunday. We immediately moved in with him, not willing to leave his side.
I couldn’t help thinking of all my patients whose family members stayed with their loved ones around the clock. And I thought of those with no visitors at all. Hospitals could be a place of comfort in the worst of circumstances, but they could also be one the loneliest places on earth.
When Jimmy finally came around he wept openly, seeing us all there, and didn’t stop crying for a long, long time. The accident had opened a wound that was much deeper than any of those on his body. He poured out a story filled with unimaginable, horrific scenes played out in the jungles of Vietnam, over and over throughout his tour of duty. He shared the nightmares that consumed him, most filled with endless visions of floating body parts and the empty stares of buddies who never made it home. He wept as he told of the gut-wrenching fear he faced every second he was there . . . and the blessed, numbing effects of the alcohol and drugs he willingly turned to.
But we were probably more shocked when he admitted lying to us about his extended tour of duty. He stayed in that part of the world because he was too afraid to come home. Too afraid to let his family know the ugly truth. The grip of his addictions held allurement; going home scared him to death. Even though his tour of duty was over, he’d basically wandered around Thailand, Malaysia, and the Philippines for most of those two years after the fall of Saigon. Occasionally he’d find a job to make a little money, but mostly he just roamed those foreign soils and got high.
