A Mother's Special Care

by Jessica Matthews

  “What can we do?” Corey asked. “If Dad finds a housekeeper he likes…”

  “You’ll have to make sure that he doesn’t,” Ronnie informed him. “Can you do that?”

  Corey’s eyes gleamed with devilment, just like Alex’s did before he got into trouble with their teacher, Mrs Cooper. “I think so.”

  “Good.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure her mother wasn’t listening nearby. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do…”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WILL you be OK for a few minutes while I run to the pharmacy?” Talia asked on Friday morning, shortly after Lori had arrived from accompanying Corey to school. “The drug cabinet is nearly empty and because I’m on call this weekend, I’d like to restock it now.”

  “Good idea. Would you mind dropping off those empty blood bank units at the lab on your way?” Lori pointed to the counter near the doorway before she opened another box of syringes and refilled a drawer. She’d expected their first patients by now, but apparently the procedures hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as anticipated. Until they arrived, she could find plenty of little jobs to keep herself busy.

  Brad, who was standing at the counter, looked up from the chart in his hand. “Did I hear that you ladies need an errand boy?”

  Lori grimaced at Brad’s syrupy tone. She didn’t know which she hated more—his overly friendly attitude or his grumpy mood. Either way, his temper seemed more mercurial than a high pressure system and she didn’t feel like pandering to him today. Her time with Corey had given her a lot to think about, namely why Mac didn’t take time to have fun and enjoy his son. Although she told herself to stay out of their affairs, Corey’s need for love was hard to ignore.

  “We need to pick up a few things,” she told Brad, “but we can manage.”

  His smile was wide and, in Lori’s opinion, somewhat fake. “You’re both busy. I’ll be happy to go.”

  “You were complaining earlier about the ton of paperwork waiting for you,” Talia reminded him.

  “Ah, but I need to stretch my legs.”

  Lori narrowed her eyes. Brad didn’t do anything out of the goodness of his heart. “I don’t buy the excuse of exercise, not after you’ve whined about how many miles you walk around here.”

  “All right,” he said in his most long-suffering voice. “I hear we have a new pharmacist and I want to check her out.”

  Talia rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

  “Hey,” he protested. “I’m trying to make the new employee feel welcome.”

  Both women groaned.

  Lori folded her arms. “I suppose if you do this for us, you’ll grumble about how you have to do our work as well as yours.”

  He held up one hand. “I won’t. Scout’s honor.”

  “You weren’t a Boy Scout,” Talia accused.

  Brad sniffed. “I was, too. Many years ago. You weren’t even born yet.”

  “Not that old saw again.” Lori thrust the sack of empty blood bags and the copies of the transfusion records at him. “Here. Have fun. And you’d better be back in thirty minutes. I want to take care of all the paperwork before this place turns into a zoo.” The controlled drugs had to be carefully accounted for and stored under lock and key to meet federal requirements or heads would roll. She’d rather it wasn’t hers.

  “Your wish is my command.” With a theatrical bow, he left.

  Talia watched the doors swing closed behind him. “That guy is weird. One minute he’s yelling at us over nothing and the next he’s Mr Helpful.”

  “You never know what to expect from Brad,” Lori agreed. “Although right now he’s obviously trying to get on our good side. He probably thinks it’s time for a little damage control because of my last incident report.”

  “I wonder what he has to do before anyone will clip his wings?”

  Lori shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “You get along well with Dr Grant these days. Have you thought of saying something to him?”

  “I did,” Lori admitted, remembering their short conversation concerning Mr Clark.

  “Really? When?”

  “The day Dr Harrington had to take his patient back to surgery. You probably didn’t notice because you were busy with your own patients.”

  “What did he say?”

  “You mean, after he saw firsthand how Brad didn’t give a charted dose?” At Talia’s nod, Lori explained. “He asked me if this had happened before and I couldn’t lie. I was afraid he’d dismiss it or try to excuse the mistake, but he didn’t. Naturally, even though I brought it to his attention, I still filled out all the risk management forms. I can’t believe that I haven’t told you this before.”

  Talia shrugged. “We were busy that day.”

  “Anyway,” Lori continued, “I assume he talked to Brad, because he’s been on his toes the last few days, but we’ll never know for sure. I’m certainly not going to ask Dr Grant if he counseled his employee, and Brad definitely won’t broadcast it if he did. I’m hoping things will be better from now on.”

  “Amen to that,” Talia said fervently.

  The double doors burst open with a clang and Lori immediately shot to attention.

  “We need suction here!” Mac and one of the circulating nurses ran alongside a gurney where the unmistakable sounds of retching were taking place.

  Lori quickly flipped the switch to the wall unit and began suctioning the fluids out of the patient’s mouth while the two nurses set the brakes. “Fifteen-year-old with an emergency appendectomy,” Mac informed her over the slurping noise of the vacuum. “He tried to eat breakfast, but doubled over and collapsed on the floor of his kitchen. His parents brought him right in. They denied knowing he’d been ill.”

  “Was it ruptured?”

  “Yeah.” Mac’s face was grim. “We started him on vancomycin during surgery. Get a peak level in thirty minutes.”

  The drug he’d mentioned was one of the most powerful antibiotics in a physician’s arsenal, but receiving too much wasn’t always a good thing. The dosage had to be carefully monitored to avoid toxicity.

  “He was doing fine until we wheeled him into the hallway.”

  The young man, Blake Potter, hadn’t been the first person who’d needed intervention while caught between surgery and the recovery room. Sometimes those few feet seemed as long as a mile.

  “Watch him closely,” Mac continued. “He doesn’t need pneumonia on top of everything else.”

  “I will.” The suction hose had remained empty, so Lori switched off the pump. She laid the hose on his bed for immediate access while she started the usual checks-and-numbers game. Blake still looked pale and she had a feeling that he’d require her full attention until his stomach settled.

  “I’m cold,” he mumbled.

  “I’ll get another blanket.” Lori retrieved a blanket from the warmer designed for that express purpose and draped it over him. With winter coming on, she wished she had something similar at home.

  Mac’s pager sounded and he didn’t waste any time in picking up the phone to dial the number. As soon as he identified himself, he listened, then said, “I’ll be right there.” After dropping the handset back in its cradle, he asked, “Questions?”

  At Lori’s negative head shake, he said, “I’m off to ER.”

  His scent hadn’t cleared the air before another patient arrived, and then another.

  “Another day in the fast lane,” Talia said under her breath.

  “Look on the bright side,” Lori said as she ran her practiced eye over the blips and bleeps of the monitor screens. “The day will fly by.”

  For the next two hours, Lori dealt with Blake’s nausea and the myriad tasks inherent with her job. She carefully monitored his drainage tubing, the bandage around the incision and the warmth of his toes. A call to the lab brought a technician to draw a blood sample at the appropriate time.

  “Has Brad ever brought those meds to us?” Lori asked during a moment
ary lull.

  Talia shook her head. “I didn’t sign for them. Since you’re asking, I assume you didn’t either.”

  “Darn that man. It doesn’t take two hours to travel from here to the pharmacy, the lab and back again. If he’s been sweet-talking his new lady love all this time, I’m going to—”

  “Here are your goodies,” Brad said as he burst through the doors to place his cargo on the counter.

  Lori raised one eyebrow. “Did you get lost?”

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, affronted. “ER paged me. Some big guy, a construction worker, fell off scaffolding on St Patrick’s Church. It looks like he’s broken his neck, among other things. ER wanted us to intubate him, but I didn’t have any luck. We had to call out the big guns.”

  So that was the case in ER requiring Mac’s presence. She hoped the situation wasn’t as bad as Brad had indicated.

  “That guy’s a mess,” Brad reported. “We’re LifeWatching him out just as soon as the chopper gets here.”

  Omaha was the closest tertiary care facility and it wasn’t unusual for the helicopter service to make several runs a week.

  “Anyway, I’ve got to go,” he complained. “Can one of you take this stuff off my hands?”

  “I’ll do it.” Lori compared the vials he’d brought against the paperwork, then locked everything away in the cabinet. “You’re all set for the weekend, Talia.”

  “Let’s hope I won’t have to use any of it.”

  The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Because Lori had taken the late shift to accommodate her breakfast at school with Corey, the two children had walked home. When she arrived shortly after five, she found them in Ronnie’s room, deeply engrossed in their Go Fish cards.

  “Hi, guys,” she said.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, Mrs Ames.”

  Lori noticed the juice boxes and the plate of cracker crumbs on the floor. “I see you had your snack.”

  “Uh-huh.” Corey picked up another card from the discard pile.

  “Have fun.”

  Lori left them to their game and hurriedly changed into more comfortable clothes. She couldn’t wait to relax and sip on a cup of hot apple cider until dinnertime. Knowing she would run late today, she’d simmered chili in the crock-pot and hoped that Mac would like it. In the space of their ten-day-old arrangement, he’d arrived in the middle of their meal on all but one occasion. He always stayed long enough to eat and it had become a routine to set a place for him at her table and to see his broad shoulders rising above the high-backed chair.

  She hadn’t realized how many special touches had gone by the wayside over the years with only Ronnie at home. With Mac’s and Corey’s regular appearances, she’d gradually reincorporated the little details of matching the stainless-steel cutlery, folding the napkins and using serving bowls instead of eating buffet-style from the stove. It felt good to add those small gestures again, although she convinced herself that she was only doing them to teach the children proper etiquette.

  On this particular Friday, Mac arrived at five-thirty instead of six. Lines of exhaustion marred his handsome face and fatigue filled his eyes as if his week’s stressful schedule had finally caught up to him.

  “I’ll fix a mug of cider while you let Corey know you’re here,” she told him. It had occurred to her that Mac and his son were virtual strangers because of Mac’s profession, and her gift would be drawing them together. Of course, her success depended upon how long her influence lasted, but she could already see some changes in the way Mac looked at and treated his son. They both needed to form new habits where each other was concerned.

  Lori went to the kitchen while Mac ambled down the hall to Ronnie’s room.

  “Hi, Dad,” Corey said, flashing him a brilliant smile before he concentrated on the cards in his hand.

  “Hi, son. Ronnie.”

  “Hiya, Dr Grant.”

  Mac studied the two children, who’d returned to their game. Corey had definitely thrived during his time here. He seemed happier and definitely more outspoken than before. Perhaps Martha had been right. Corey did need more than a grandmotherly figure in his life if he was ever to learn the dynamics of a family relationship. Unfortunately, Mac wasn’t in any position to teach him and he couldn’t prevail upon Lori to shoulder the task indefinitely.

  Corey’s voice stopped him from heading toward the kitchen. “Are we staying for dinner, Dad?”

  “Do you want to?” he asked, hoping his son would agree and praying that he wouldn’t. Staying here, even for an hour, was becoming as addictive as the alcohol he’d pickled himself with after Elsa had died. His awareness of Lori had grown by leaps and bounds, although he’d taken great pains not to show it. A no-strings affair was all he was emotionally capable of offering, and so far he hadn’t seen any signals to indicate she would welcome such an arrangement.

  Once again it struck him as odd that he would even consider such a thing. For the past few years his career and son had filled his days to the max, although sadly Corey hadn’t received his due. While he was now trying to balance those two responsibilities, in less than two weeks Lori had made him wonder if he might need something else as well. Something to round off the hard edges in his soul that medicine and a child couldn’t touch. Something more personal, more intimate.

  Corey’s head bobbed like a cork in a tub of water. “It smells good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does,” Mac agreed. After Martha had moved out, the only food smells in their house were the aromas left behind from their take-out boxes. He hated to feel beholden to Lori for their meals, too, but his stomach hadn’t permitted him to refuse her kind and generous offer.

  He’d make it up to her somehow.

  Apparently taking Mac’s response as an indication that they weren’t going home yet, Corey returned to his cards. Mac smiled, feeling dismissed, but as he turned, the row of picture frames on the wall caught his attention.

  Studio portraits of Ronnie at various ages hung at different heights, as well as two enlarged snapshots of Ronnie as a baby, being held in a man’s arms. Obviously, the fellow was her father if the resemblance between him and the Ronnie of today was any indication.

  What struck Mac closest to home was this fellow’s body language. He looked as if he was afraid this wiry little bundle would explode at a moment’s notice. Mac had the sneaking suspicion that after the photographer had snapped the shutter, Ronnie had been passed back to her mother.

  It was almost like staring in a mirror.

  The snapshot Mac kept in his drawer under his socks, the same snapshot that had been taken six months after Elsa’s death, showed Mac wearing the same uncomfortable expression as Ronnie’s father. He knew why he looked as he did, but what was Lori’s husband’s excuse?

  “I see you found my daughter’s photo gallery.” Lori smiled at him as she handed the mug over with the handle facing him. “She was quite the photogenic little pixie.”

  “She still is. Is that her dad?”

  Lori sipped her cider as she glanced past his finger. “Yes. Glenn was always nervous about holding her. He had this horrible fear of dropping her, which was silly since she was eighteen months old at the time. It shows, doesn’t it?” Her chuckle sounded forced.

  “I’m sure he got over it.”

  “No, he didn’t. He died shortly after.”

  “I’m sorry. Car accident?”

  “Supposedly.”

  He stared at her, surprised by her response. “You don’t think so?”

  She turned toward the kitchen and he followed. “He was definitely killed in a car wreck,” she said as she scooped bank statements and bills into a pile. “I just don’t think it was an accident.”

  “Suicide?”

  “No. Glenn had problems and I suppose if he’d ever kept his doctor’s appointments, he would have been diagnosed as manic-depressive, but suicide?” She shook her head. “His biggest problem was that he owed a lot of money to a lot of people a
nd they weren’t all reputable, if you know what I mean.”

  “Loan sharks?”

  “Among others. But they weren’t the only ones. As I was sorting through his business papers, I discovered several credit cards that I didn’t know we had, charged to the max. The worst blow was the shoe box filled with IOUs to friends, relatives, his co-workers.” She shrugged as she placed the pile of documents inside a drawer. “I have no idea where the money went. Gambling, I suppose.”

  “You didn’t know what he was doing?”

  “I had my doubts about where his money came from because he always had plenty, but whenever I asked, he had a plausible excuse. Overtime, a side job, whatever. I didn’t want to think otherwise, so I accepted what he said at face value. After he died, I realized that he’d told me what I’d wanted to hear.” She paused. “I paid the price for burying my head in the sand and, believe me, I don’t intend to do it again.”

  “What did you do?” he asked, anticipating her answer.

  “The only thing I could do. I finished my nursing degree, found a job and began fighting my way out of debt.”

  “You could have taken out bankruptcy.”

  Her smile was wan. “My pride wouldn’t let me. Anyway, we managed. I found a credit counselor and he helped me budget my income so I could pay back my school loans, the financial companies and everyone else. I drew the line, though, at repaying the shady characters. Anyway, barring any unforeseen expenses, my slate will be clean in three or four years.”

  She rubbed her neck and shrugged as if she didn’t have a care in the world, but he saw through her pretense. Her hands trembled slightly and she gazed at his chin rather than his eyes in her effort to shield the suspicious glimmer in those dark depths.

  Mac reached out to hold her, but it had been so long since he’d comforted anyone that he stopped himself. In spite of feeling awkward, he couldn’t deny the urge to touch her hair and stroke the side of her cheek. “It hasn’t been easy, has it?”

  Lori’s gaze met his. To his surprise and relief, she pressed his hand against her face, and for several delightfully long seconds he soaked in everything about her—the smooth texture of her skin, the floral scent surrounding her, the silky feel of her hair against his arm. He hated to hear of her struggles, but her story only confirmed what he’d suspected.