Strength in Numbers

by Charlotte Carter

  Chapter Four

  ANABELLE HELPED THE PACEMAKER PATIENT TO sit up on the edge of the bed. The pale blue hospital gown slid off his shoulder and he pulled it back in place.

  “Any dizziness?” she asked.

  “Nope. I think I’m ready for a round of golf anytime the doc gives the word.”

  “Let’s first see how well that pacemaker works with your taking a lap around the bed.”

  She knelt to help Mr. Rochester put his slippers on. A man in his late seventies, this was his second pacemaker, replacing one with a dying battery. He’d had the routine procedure early that morning; and, assuming no complications, he’d be going home either later this afternoon or early tomorrow. If the rest of his vital organs held together, the pacemaker ought to keep him enjoying rounds of golf on the local links for a good many more years.

  She walked him around the room and out into the hall for a few minutes. When she was satisfied his heart was working properly, she escorted him to his room and told him to get some rest. She returned to the nurses’ station.

  Diana Zimmer was talking with James, her beautiful, well-trained dog Ace sitting patiently beside her.

  Anabelle greeted Diana and gave Ace a welcoming pat, adjusting the green bandanna around his neck. “Making your rounds this morning?” she asked the dog trainer.

  “I asked her to visit my adolescent leg amputee,” James said.

  “I’m afraid I wasn’t much help,” Diana admitted. “The boy’s so far down in the dumps, he didn’t even want to look at Ace, much less pet or play with him.”

  Anabelle’s heart gave a painful squeeze. Her youngest daughter Kirstie had lost her right leg in a bicycle accident thirteen years ago. The experience had been horrible for Anabelle, maybe even more so than for her daughter. She’d never felt so helpless in her life. Even after all these years, she still had dreams about the nightmarish moment when she had first seen ten-year-old Kirstie crumpled on the ground.

  “It will undoubtedly take a teenager a long time to adjust to losing a leg,” Anabelle said. “Adults have difficulty coping with an amputation, so you can imagine how hard it is for a vulnerable teenager.” She remembered Kirstie’s tears of frustration every time she was fitted for a new prosthesis. And her own tearful prayers asking the Lord to help her to be strong for her daughter.

  James hooked his stethoscope around his neck. “I thought maybe Ace could cheer the kid up. I guess he’s not ready for that yet. Thanks for trying.”

  “No problem,” Diana said.

  James turned to check on something, but Anabelle stopped him.

  “Maybe I could get Kirstie to visit the boy,” she said. “She’d certainly be sympathetic and at the same time be a good example of how life can go on after a tragedy like this.” Besides, it would give Anabelle an excuse to call her daughter. She missed Kirstie terribly since she moved to her own apartment in town close to the elementary school where she taught.

  “Hey, that’d be great,” James said.

  “I’ll call her this evening.”

  A patient in James’s unit pressed his call button, and James hurried down the hallway to see what the patient wanted.

  For the moment, Anabelle’s patients were taken care of, paperwork under control, and doses of sympathy dispensed as needed.

  “Diana, do you have another minute?”

  “Of course. Do you have a patient you’d like me to visit?”

  “No, I wanted to talk to you about something.” The other day she’d been driving home from work when she saw some children playing with a puppy in their yard. The sight had stirred something inside her—an ache, a longing—for the unconditional love a dog showed its owners. A faithful companion who needed her. She’d been unable to get the thought out of her head. “I’ve been thinking about getting a puppy.”

  Diana’s light brown eyebrows rose.

  “I’ve been suffering from empty-nest syndrome since my youngest moved out, and I thought a puppy might fill the void.” She lifted her shoulder in a self-deprecating shrug. “Not that Cameron is enamored of the idea.”

  “Your husband?”

  “He’s retired from his landscaping business, so he’s home most of the time.” Their son Evan had taken over the business and was doing wonderful things with it. “In fact, I think a puppy might fill a void for him too. Although he keeps busy, he doesn’t have nearly as much personal contact with people as he used to have when he was working.”

  “It’s really better if everyone in the household is committed to having a pet join the family.”

  Anabelle sat down in the chair behind the counter. Over the years, she’d learned to rest her feet whenever the rare opportunity occurred.

  “I know,” she said, “but I’m sure Cam would come around in no time. We certainly have enough yard for a dog. Plus two fair-sized pastures.” She held out her hand to Ace, and he nuzzled her palm. “You’re such a good boy, Ace. Such a good boy.”

  “Have you thought about what kind of dog you want? What breed?”

  “Not really. I don’t know that much about breeds. When the children were young, we had a part collie, part mutt. Skipper was wonderful with all the neighborhood children. The boys loved playing fetch. One of the girls even dressed him up with pink ribbons and pushed him around in a stroller.”

  Diana laughed a high tinkling sound. “You and your husband might not want a dog who’s that active.”

  “Probably not. I do want one that’s affectionate and loving, that much I know.”

  “Most dogs qualify in that department if they’re treated well.” Diana turned as a hospital aide pushed a food cart out of the elevator and it rattled past the nurses’ station with lunch trays for the patients. The faint scent of freshly brewed coffee trailed behind the cart.

  “There are lots of other issues to consider,” Diana continued. “The size dog you want, how social and easy to train. Long hair or short hair. If he’s going to be an indoor or outdoor dog.”

  “Goodness, our last puppy belonged to a friend whose dog had had a litter. She was giving them away free to anyone with a good home. So we adopted one.”

  “That’s not at all unusual, but it may not be the best way to select a pet.” Reaching across the counter, Diana picked up a pad and pencil. “There’s a Web site that will give you an idea of what you ought to consider. It will help you make the decision and maybe get you and your husband talking about what’s right for you.” She jotted down the address and handed the pad of paper back to Anabelle.

  She held up her glasses, which were on a chain around her neck, read the note, and slipped the glasses back into the breast pocket of her lab coat. “Good idea. Then I’d at least have something to talk to Cam about. If I can get him on-board…”

  “That would be best.”

  It would, of course, Anabelle thought. Even though retired, Cam kept busy. He’d done a wonderful job landscaping the hospital’s new courtyard and supervising the installation of a waterfall. After a huge storm hit Deerford a few months ago, he’d jumped right in, organizing teams to repair roofs and board up broken windows.

  She wasn’t at all sure she could convince her husband that man’s best friend was what they both needed to fill up their empty nest.

  Well after one o’clock, James’s unit finally reached a steady state, his patients napping or being entertained by their visitors. He took a break to get some lunch in the cafeteria.

  The catering company that operated the cafeteria took great pains to serve healthy food at a reasonable price. The food was so good, in fact, employees from surrounding businesses often came for lunch. The expansive salad bar seemed to particularly attract the women who worked in nearby doctors’ offices.

  James opted for a bowl of chili con carne made with ground turkey, coffee and a slice of apple pie.

  When he looked around for a place to sit, he found the room was pretty crowded despite the late lunch hour. The only person sitting alone was Quintessa Smith, the assis
tant to the hospital’s Chief Financial Officer, Zane McGarry.

  An attractive and friendly young black woman, Quintessa seldom ate alone. James had the uncomfortable feeling others were keeping their distance because of the proposed pay cuts. Her boss was taking a fair share of the blame for the situation they were all in.

  Laying the blame on Quintessa, too, and ostracizing her, didn’t seem fair.

  “May I join you?” he asked when he reached her table. She had a fashion magazine open in front of her and a half-eaten salad.

  She looked up and smiled. “Please do. I’ve begun to think I either have the plague or a huge zit on the end of my nose and no one wants to tell me.”

  Chuckling, he sat down across from her. “I guess everyone’s upset about the salary cut.”

  “Tell me about it.” She forked a slice of hard-boiled egg into her mouth. “Since the announcement, Mr. McGarry’s phone hasn’t stopped ringing. We’ve got employees who are threatening to quit or go on strike. I’ve even had spouses trying to talk to Mr. McGarry. He’s got me taking messages and then never returning their calls. He doesn’t want to talk to them.”

  “Which leaves you in a pickle, I imagine.”

  “I’ll say.” She ate another bite of salad, then narrowed her eyes. “You don’t want me to take a message, do you?”

  “Not really. Doesn’t sound like he’d return my call either.” The chili had a pleasant zing to it but wasn’t too spicy.

  “I have to say, I’ve looked at the balance sheet, and I don’t know what else the hospital can do. We’ve already cut every bit of fat out of the budget that Zane or Mr. Varner can find. The problem, of course, is that we take in patients who are uninsured and can’t pay their bills. Worse, sometimes the insurance companies won’t even pay the full amount on procedures we do for their people.”

  “None of which helps the employees who won’t be making as much money as they have been come January first.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.”

  Nor was it his fault. Or Candace’s, who had to support two kids on her own. Or Elena’s, who’d been dreaming of a trip to Spain since forever.

  The niggling headache that had threatened all day jabbed him right behind the eyes.

  Maybe a gigantic yard sale wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At the moment, it was the only one they had.

  After James finished his lunch, he went through the lobby where a twelve-foot Christmas tree stood and stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air. The winter sun cast pale shadows across the parking lot. Casually, he walked a few paces away from the hospital entrance.

  There had to be some other alternative to a parking lot sale.

  He pulled out his cell phone and punched in the number for St. Francis Medical Center in Peoria. He asked for Human Resources. A pleasant-sounding woman with a broad Midwestern accent answered.

  After giving her his name, he said, “I’m inquiring about part-time nursing positions you have open. I have more than twenty years’ experience as an RN, both in general medicine and surgery. I also have a military background—”

  “By any chance, are you currently employed by Hope Haven Hospital?”

  The question surprised him. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “I see. You’re about the twentieth call from Hope Haven employees I’ve had in the past two days.”

  He winced. “I guess a lot of us are looking for options.”

  “I don’t blame you. Really, I don’t. But unless you live here in Peoria, the cost of transportation and the time you’d spend on the road, particularly in winter, would likely eat up any gains you made. If you think you’d be interested, Mr. Bell, of course you’re welcome to submit your résumé electronically.” She provided the e-mail address. “I’ll look it over and get back to you as soon as I can.”

  He thanked her for her time but didn’t make a commitment about sending his résumé. That was going to take a lot of thought. Fern was right about his not wanting to be away from her and the boys any more than he had to be.

  Discouraged, James returned to the second floor. When he stepped out of the stairwell, he heard Ted Townsend shouting his head off.

  James broke into a run down the corridor.

  “Get out of here! Get out!” the boy yelled. “Your stupid God’s already done enough. Get out!”

  James rounded the corner into Ted’s room, almost colliding with Thomas Wiltshire, the hospital chaplain. Wearing a dark jacket and clerical collar, he looked unfazed by the boy’s outburst.

  “Your parents asked me to talk to you. They’re worried about you, son.” Pastor Tom spoke in a soothing voice, a tone developed during years of counseling those who had been injured or were grieving over the loss of a loved one.

  The chaplain noticed James and gave him a brief nod to acknowledge his presence.

  “I said I don’t want to talk to you. Are you deaf or something?” Ted turned his face toward the opposite wall.

  “We don’t have to talk about your injury. We could talk about the Chicago Bears. They’re having a pretty good season this year.”

  “Football stinks.”

  James wondered at the vehemence of the boy’s anger. Maybe the kid had problems beyond his amputated leg.

  “Ah, now, there’s a man after my own heart. A baseball fan, huh?” Pastor Tom grinned as though he was just getting warmed up. “The Cubbies. Now there’s a team worth rooting for. Talk about underdogs, those boys do their best but it’s never enough. The management hasn’t the sense the good Lord gave them.”

  As the pastor continued his monologue, Ted slowly turned back to the preacher with a half-interested expression. Somehow, with the change of subject and talk about sports, Pastor Tom had gotten past the boy’s anger, distracting him enough to stop the yelling.

  Smiling to himself, James backed out of the room. Not surprisingly, the hand of the Lord was once again working through Pastor Tom.

  Maybe they ought to put the pastor to work solving the hospital’s financial crisis.

  At the nurses’ station, James logged onto the computer again. Meds were due for the pneumonia patient in 210. He placed the order with the pharmacy.

  More than thirty minutes after Ted’s outburst at Pastor Tom, the chaplain stopped by the nurses’ station.

  James gave him a thumbs-up. “At least you quieted the boy down.”

  “The young man is simply frightened.”

  “Understandable,” James said. “Lots of unknowns in the future for him.”

  “True enough. After we got past the relative merits of football, baseball, and soccer, we had a very interesting discussion. He’s not only worried about having one leg. He knows, intellectually, he’ll be able to get around with a prosthesis.”

  “But not play soccer.”

  “More than that. Several universities have been scouting him with full scholarships in mind. His dream is to be an aeronautical engineer, maybe even an astronaut. The astronaut idea is probably out, though not entirely, I would think. The Americans with Disabilities Act might actually give him a leg up, if you’ll excuse the play on words.”

  A pastor cracking jokes, even bad ones, always tickled James. “In either case he could still be an engineer.”

  “The problem is money. His parents aren’t wealthy. His dad was working as an auto mechanic for the Ford dealership just outside of town and hurt his back. He’s on long-term disability now. His mother works as a typist in an insurance office. Ted doesn’t see how they’ll ever be able to help him through college.”

  A stab of guilt lanced James’s chest. He’d been so worried about his own upcoming financial problems, he hadn’t given any thought to what difficulties others might be facing.

  “Are his grades good enough to get an academic scholarship?” he asked.

  “He’s put so much time and energy into soccer, his grades have slipped. Now he’s missing school.” The pastor’s clear blue eyes clouded with sympathy. “He d
oesn’t think he has that option.”

  James wondered. Maybe a seventeen-year-old boy didn’t know about all the available options.

  Chapter Five

  CANDACE PULLED HER CAR INTO THE ATTACHED garage of her split-level home on Fourth Avenue. A familiar ache filled her chest, the spot where Dean used to park his car was now occupied by her mother’s old sedan, a daily reminder that her husband was gone.

  Forcefully, she banished the thought. Lila Adams, the counselor she’d been seeing lately, often reminded her about the effects of dwelling on her loss. Candace had to admit she had felt some of her loneliness lessening since starting her sessions.

  She got out of the car, but before she could reach the door into the house, Howie pulled it open.

  “Mommy! Mommy! I gots a stamp.”

  Candace scooped her son into her arms. “You got a what?”

  “A stamp.” He held out his tiny fist to show her the back of his ink-smudged hand. The decoration looked vaguely like a red star. Or maybe a Christmas candle. “Miz McCarthy said I know my letters real good.”

  “Good for you, sweetie.” She gave him a kiss. “My smart boy.” Howie had been doing quite well in kindergarten, many thanks to his wonderful teacher, Miss McCarthy. It was a real pity the young teacher was engaged and planned to move to California after her marriage early next year.

  Candace carried her son through the mudroom into the family room and eased him down. He raced across the room waving his arms, making a noise like an airplane and doing crooked somersaults. He landed in the middle of his Lego set and tossed the pieces up in the air.

  Wincing, Candace marveled at how active little boys could be. Since she’d only had one sister, and no brothers, she hadn’t been prepared for Howie’s high-octane energy.

  In contrast, Brooke, whose school had gotten out early, was sitting cross-legged on the floor watching television, her long blonde hair messy from a day of playing. A plate with the remnants of cheese and crackers sat on the coffee table along with an empty glass. Her afternoon snack, apparently.

  “Hi, honey. How was your day?” Candace asked.