Leigh reached up and rested her palm against his face. “Yes. I do know that much. I want us to have a chance.”
He pulled her close, hugging her tightly, and kissed her again. And again. She chuckled against his lips.
“What?”
“If Tony leaves his heart in San Francisco one more time, I’m calling the transplant team. And—” she yawned—“I’m so tired I can’t focus my eyes.”
Nick nuzzled her neck. “So shut them.” He scooted back against the armrest, pulled her into his arms, and arranged the down blanket over them. “Comfortable now?”
Leigh nodded, lulled by the feel of his chest rising and falling and the soft thudding of his heart. She wanted to say she’d never been more comfortable in her life, that she loved him, that with all her heart she wished that she could believe in forever. She couldn’t help but think it would feel a lot like this.
+++
Nick’s eyes flicked open at the clicking sound, and he tensed for moment, pulse quickening. His gaze darted toward his duty weapon on the mantel; then he blinked, realizing that the sound was from a key in the front door. He lifted his arm to glance at his watch, careful not to disturb Leigh. Midnight—Caroline, coming home from her evening shift at the hospital. He waited for the inevitable.
She stepped into the foyer, switched on the light, and walked toward the kitchen, then did a double take as she caught sight of the still-glowing embers in the fireplace—and of him on the couch. Her eyes widened. She walked a few steps closer, her mouth dropping open as she saw Leigh asleep in his arms, her dark hair tumbled over his chest. He smiled sheepishly in the darkness.
She shook her head, a grin spreading slowly across her face. Then lifted her hand in a thumbs-up before quietly retracing her steps, switching off the hallway light, and tiptoeing toward the stairs.
Nick could have hugged her. Thank you, sis.
He listened to Leigh breathe for a while and then glanced toward the bleached pine bookshelves framing the fireplace. Second shelf on the right, fifth book, the gold lettering on its spine lit by the fading fire—the study Bible he’d bought Leigh when they’d started attending church together. He had no doubt it needed dusting; he was fairly certain she hadn’t picked it up since November. He was sure, too, that the bookmark was still on the same page it had been months before that: 1 Corinthians 13. The verses he’d read aloud to her in those last tumultuous weeks before they’d separated. The ones he’d wanted to say at their wedding. About love: “It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
He rested his palm against Leigh’s hair, felt her warm weight lying against him, smelled the faint trace of eucalyptus from her shampoo. “Love never fails.” His heart tugged. He had failed her, but he wouldn’t do it again. He’d spend the rest of his life proving that to her, protecting her, loving her . . . showing her she could trust him. She was giving him a chance. And that was what he’d been praying for all these months. God was giving them a second chance to get it right. Nick would make good on that. When he’d told Leigh he’d wait to make love to her, it hadn’t only been because she was tired and because he wanted her to say she loved him, to feel committed to their marriage. It was also because he knew that in order to finally get it right, God had to be part of it—at its center, exactly as the marriage counselor had said. If they had a chance for survival, it had to be that way. God’s blessing was their hope. “Love always hopes . . .”
He needed time to talk with her about that. And he would. Because now he had the luxury of time. He’d call the court and get the divorce put on hold. They’d already agreed to honesty and a second chance. Add God to that, and they’d have it all. He tightened his arms as Leigh murmured in her sleep and remembered the tiny infant caps she’d been knitting. Warmth filled his chest. Tonight he’d sleep with his wife in his arms. The first night of forever. His home, his family . . . Thank you, Lord. Thank you for your grace.
He glanced toward the ceiling at the sound of soft footfalls. Caroline. In a few hours, he’d be fixing omelets for three.
+++
Sam shivered, teeth chattering, and batted at the air around her head. The snowball had gone right down her wool sweater. She shivered again, racked by a chill so forceful she bit her tongue. “Stop it, Toby! It’s c-c-c-old; you’re gonna freeze me! Try that again and I swear I’ll pop you one!” She batted again, and strong fingers grabbed her arm.
“Miss Gordon. Samantha, relax. There’s no snow here. It’s a cooling blanket. You have a fever; you’re in the hospital. Open your eyes and look around.”
“What?” Sam blinked against the light. “What the . . . ?” She grimaced and grabbed at something hanging from her nose. Then glared at a heavyset woman with crooked teeth and unplucked brows leaning over the bed. “Get this off my face!”
“Can’t,” the woman explained gently, reaching for Sam’s arm again. “It’s oxygen tubing. You’ve had surgery, dear. On Tuesday morning.”
Sam lifted her head and felt a stab of pain in her abdomen. Surgery? She squinted, surveying the room and shivering as the puzzle pieces started to lock together. Surgery, because I was . . . She closed her eyes as the ugly truth settled in around her. The nurse’s voice continued.
“That’s better. You spiked a temp of 104. That’s far too high. Sometimes it happens as a reaction to anesthesia; we’re not sure yet. You’ve had a Tylenol suppository.”
Sam grimaced at the indignity and shivered again—this time with fear. What will happen to Elisa if I don’t make it?
“And we’ve drawn a CBC and blood cultures. You’ll have a portable chest X-ray, and I’ve taken a urine sample from your catheter. Dr. Bartle is on top of things; don’t worry.” The nurse glanced at a small IV bottle hanging from a hook overhead. “You’ve got a second dose of broad-spectrum antibiotic hanging, but if the fever continues, there will likely be a new one ordered on day shift. We’ll know which kind to use after the blood cultures.” She leveled a no-nonsense look that Sam hadn’t seen since grammar school. “I’m sorry about the cooling blanket. But it’s necessary.” She raised a warning finger. “If you pull at your oxygen or get any more agitated, I’ll have to ask the doctor for permission to use soft restraints on your wrists. For your safety.” She smiled and showed several more equally crooked teeth. “All righty then. Are you on board?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll behave.” Sam glanced toward the phone on her bedside table. “I was expecting a call.”
“I heard how upset you were earlier about missing a call, Miss Gordon. And I promise you that I’m being very watchful. There haven’t been any calls. But it’s 4 a.m. Most folks are still snuggled down, of course.” She sighed. “I must say, I’m envious; I usually work evenings.”
Sam promised once again to be cooperative, lay quietly as the toothy nurse checked her temperature—103.1—and watched as she waddled back toward the nurses’ station. Sam stared at the antibiotic bag, carefully metering curative solution drop by drop, then glanced back at the phone. Nick hadn’t called even after she’d left the pathetic, fabricated message about Elisa. And two other calls. Was she right that he’d turned his phone off? Why would he do that? She shivered. Was he with Leigh?
She leaned back against the cooling blanket, submitting to its merciless and teeth-chattering chill, and hoped that the Tylenol and antibiotic would do their magic. She had to get well. And she needed a clear head, all the strength she could muster. If Nick was with Leigh, she would have to do everything she could to stop things from going any further. Her whole future depended on it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Leigh opened her eyes to pale morning light, confused for a moment. Then she realized she was on the couch in Nick’s arms. Last night’s sense of amazement mixed with nervous uncertainty flooded back. She lifted her head from where it rested against his chest and looked at him. He was asleep, hair mussed, arm flung over his head. Pale sunlight spilled through the windows, glinted on his p
latinum wedding band, and played over black lashes nestled in the hollows of his eyes. His mouth sagged softly open as he breathed. He looked, somehow, boyish and solidly heroic all at the same time.
Heroic. She glanced toward his gun on the mantel, remembering how he’d talked of the shooting. How hard it had been and how he’d raced to the hospital, afraid of losing Leigh. And then his sensitivity last night, when he’d understood her confusion; he hadn’t pressured her to go to bed with him. She smiled, remembering the expression on his face when he’d looked at the stairs. But then he’d told her he didn’t want that to happen until she knew she loved him, could trust him, wanted their marriage to work. Leigh’s stomach quivered as the nervous confusion returned. Could she do that? put all that had happened behind, trust that things would be better between them? look him in the eyes and promise that she’d love him . . . forever?
The doubts swirled. She’d insisted that Nick tell her the truth, but was she being as honest? with him . . . with herself? She’d tried last night. The truth was, it wasn’t the idea of making love that had stalled her; that intimacy had always been wonderful for them. It was everything else that came with it. How could she tell her husband that she’d never believed in forever when she saw it so plainly in his eyes?
Nick stirred, and his arms found her. “Good morning.” He lifted his head and smiled, warmth filling his eyes. “I thought I’d dreamed it all. But—” he stroked her hair—“here you are.”
She pushed herself up to a sitting position. “And you must be completely cramped—you’re too big to sleep on a couch.”
His chuckle was part yawn. “Yeah, well, don’t tell Buzz.”
There was a stretch of silence as awkward, she imagined, as the aftermath of a reckless one-night stand. She could feel the question hanging in the air between them: What happens next?
“You’re off work today?” he asked, groaning a little as he dropped his legs over the edge of the couch.
“I’m going in for a few hours as a favor for one of the docs. And I need to check on Frisco; Patrice is away for the day and her sister’s not that experienced with horses. Other than that, I’m not sure what—” She stopped midsentence as he took her hand.
“I meant what I said last night. Everything I said.” His gaze moved over her face. “I’m not going to pressure you. I can stay with Buzz.” His thumb brushed over her hand. “We’ll . . . go on dates. Yeah.” His eyes lit. “I’ll take you to the places we’ve always liked, and we’ll find new ones, too. Places we never got around to, like hiking at Yosemite—the fall colors should be incredible—and up to Lake Tahoe for the first snowfall; down the coast, too. You always wanted to see Big Sur; we’ll pack a lunch and climb in the BMW, hit the coast highway . . .” He took a breath, watching her. “We’ll take it slow, Leigh; I promise. We’ll do it right. It’s too important.”
Her throat constricted. “I’ll . . . try,” she whispered, knowing—and hating—that her vow of honesty wouldn’t let her say more. “I do want a chance.”
“That’s all I need to hear.” He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs gently brushing her skin, and bent close, kissing her tenderly. Then touched his lips to her forehead, the tip of her nose, her chin, and—
Caro cleared her throat dramatically, and they turned.
“So,” she said, arms crossed and sleep-tumbled hair trailing across the shoulders of her long pink nightshirt, “I have one burning question for you two.”
Leigh held her breath.
“Give it to us,” Nick said, sliding his arm around Leigh’s shoulders.
Caro grinned, the single dimple appearing beside her mouth. “Does this mean omelets?”
+++
Riley hadn’t counted heads, but she was certain that this was the highest attendance she’d ever had at a Faith QD meeting. Evening shift staff had come from several departments: nurses from pediatrics, ICU, surgical intensive care; kitchen workers; and security, of course. She glanced toward the table by the altar. There must have been fifty candles burning for Cappy. It would be the first time he’d missed a gathering since she’d begun them. Even a few of the victims had filed quietly into the chapel: the pregnant nurse—on crutches because of the wound in her calf—and her coworker, the bearded man with the Care Bears scrub cap Leigh had treated for bruised ribs. His wife, the volunteer, stood by his side.
Riley had expected—prayed—that the Golden Gate medical staff would find some measure of comfort here. What she hadn’t expected was to see Leigh Stathos walk in. Riley glanced at her, standing between the pregnant nurse and a female security guard, and thought once again that she looked different today. Something had changed. She had a feeling it was for the better.
Riley spoke to the gathered group. “Are there other special concerns today? for patients or for yourselves as caregivers and support staff?”
The nurse on crutches shifted her weight and winced against obvious pain. “I’d like us to offer a prayer for the parents of our peds patients. One of the fathers called me this morning. He . . .” Her voice cracked. “That poor man actually apologized for not coming to my aid that day. He said he’d been awake all night thinking that he should have done something. He’d gathered his little boy up after the shooting started and hid in the bathroom. He sang songs to keep his son distracted from the sounds of screaming. He feels guilty. And I feel awful for him.”
A gray-haired cafeteria worker spoke up, her eyes tear-filled behind her glasses. “My staff is having a hard time.” She reached up and tucked a stray hair into her elastic-edged cap. “Cappy was on that special diet, and even though his wife brought his lunch, he’d come in and load up a tray—sometimes ten or fifteen dollars’ worth. And he’d take it out to those homeless folks down on the corner across from the Laundromat; you know where I mean.” She sniffed and glanced down. “It’s going to be hard.”
Riley waited, hearing a few other sniffles.
“Those officers, too,” a guard said. “We should pray for them. I was at the other end of the parking lot by the gunman’s car when it all went down.” He swallowed. “They had a lot of guts, and sometimes police officers get a bad rap. I’m grateful they were there.”
Riley saw Leigh nod.
“I want to remind you,” Riley said, when no one offered more, “that the social service and chaplaincy departments will be holding debriefings starting today. Your individual department heads will be giving you more information. Meanwhile—” she looked from face to face around the circle—“I’m available anytime if anyone needs to talk. I’ll do anything I can to help. I thank you all, so much, for being here today to support one another. And now . . .” She bowed her head.
“Heavenly Father,” Riley began, “we’re grateful for . . .”
+++
“You’re surprised,” Leigh said once the others had gone and she and Riley were alone in the chapel. “Admit it.”
Riley smiled. “The last time I saw you here, you were expecting a lightning strike. ‘A jillion heavenly volts,’ I think you said.”
“I still wouldn’t stand too close to me, but . . .” Leigh’s stomach dipped and she realized that what she was feeling—what had compelled her to come to Faith QD, seek Riley out right now—could very well be hope. She pressed her fingers to her lips, felt tears gather.
“What?” Riley asked, her voice gentle, interested. “What’s happened?”
“Nick,” she said simply, feeling it again . . . hope. “We’ve been talking. And I think it’s possible that we might have another chance together.”
“Oh, Leigh! That’s wonderful.” Riley wrapped an arm around Leigh, hugging her. “Tell me more. You’re stopping the legal proceedings?”
Leigh leaned away and smiled at Riley. “Nick and I are going to the court this afternoon, when I’m finished with work. But first he’s going to talk with Sam. Make sure she understands.” Something that looked like concern flickered across Riley’s face. “Is something wrong?”
“No
t really. It’s just that I stopped by the SICU this morning, and the nurses were saying she had a rough night,” Riley explained. “An unexpected fever. They had her on the cooling pad. It sounds like she was delirious for a while.”
“And she gave the staff a hard time, I’d bet.”
“You’d win that bet.” Riley grimaced. “She accused them of withholding calls from your husband.”
“He didn’t call. He was with me.” Leigh nodded. “He’ll tell her. She needs to hear the truth. Nick will see to that.”
“And meanwhile, you came here.”
“Yes.” Leigh glanced toward the altar, lit by the glow of Cappy’s candles. “There was a lull in the ER. And I wanted to be here for the staff, but I also . . .”
Riley stayed silent.
Leigh swallowed and her voice emerged in a whisper. “I’m meeting Nick in a few minutes. But right now I think I’d like to just sit here for a little while. Is that okay?”
“Very okay.”
Leigh hugged Riley once more, watched her leave, then walked slowly toward the front of the chapel. She pulled her stethoscope from around her neck, tucked it into the pocket of her white coat, and took a seat in the front row. Her gaze moved from the candles to the simple cross affixed to the wall above, illuminated now by light streaming through the narrow pane of yellow glass. She thought of how she’d waited for Caro outside these doors after the shooting and how Nick had been here. Seated right where she was now. She thought of Cappy and his wife, Antoinette and Harry, the Owens, and how they all had more in common than a solid, happy marriage. She thought about her friend Erin and her upcoming wedding to Scott McKenna and of how many times Erin had invited Leigh into the chapel at Pacific Mercy. The common denominator in all those success stories was faith. Undeniably.
Code Triage Page 24
