Rescue Team

by Candace Calvert

  “Harley? About two months old?” Lauren saw Kate’s immediate nod. “I’ve seen her too. At least a couple of times now. Small world. That reminds me, did Wes ever find you?”

  “I ran into him for a minute before . . . What do you mean did he ‘find’ me? He was looking for me?”

  “He stopped me at the ICU and asked if I knew where you were. As in, he wanted to find you.” Lauren smiled at the thought. “Search, find. What Wes Tanner does. Without the rescue this time.”

  “He did find me.” Kate sighed. “Right as Barrett pulled up.”

  “Ouch. Rescue sounds like a better plan.”

  “Maybe, though now I’m not sure if . . .” Kate’s expression was impossible to read. “Let’s run this last stretch to the Zilker trailhead. My feet need some serious pounding.”

  “I’LL NEED YOU TO COMPLETE your portion of the performance review,” Evelyn Harkin explained, sliding her glasses to the top of her head. Morning light spilled through the office window, hitting the purple frames and shiny lenses, making the glasses look like a dragonfly perched on her hair. “Standard questions about what you feel you’ve accomplished. Your strengths, areas that you feel need improvement, and your future goals here at Austin Grace.”

  Kate nodded. One goal: to stay.

  “There’s a place for special projects,” the CNO continued. “Of course, you haven’t been here long. Past managers have included projects like the fellowship group, organizing the Adopt a Family Christmas program, implementing a staff hardship fund.”

  “I see . . .” that you’re comparing me to Sunni. Kate’s special projects had been more on the order of damage control from the very first day. At least no one had stuffed pork sausage into her car upholstery—yet. She met Evelyn’s gaze directly. “Do you plan to post the department director position? Actively search for other applicants?”

  “We . . .” Evelyn hesitated for a moment. “The plan was that the interim director position would transition into a permanent one. Your education, clinical skill, and leadership experience—along with a stellar recommendation from a representative of the Hale Medical Foundation—was impressive, Kate.”

  But . . . ?

  “I don’t have to tell you that it’s been a rocky few months,” Evelyn continued, empathy in her voice. “The incident with Baby Doe and those anonymous letters to the newspaper aren’t helping things. On top of that, team morale is low and patient surveys show dissatisfaction at an all-time high. None of which sits well with the hospital board. Unfortunately it points to management. All the way to the highest level.”

  Kate remembered Barrett Lyon’s words: “It’s best that fault points away from hospital management. And to non-regular staff.” Dana Connor had averted her eyes when they passed in the hall today.

  “I understand, of course,” Kate told Evelyn. “And I promise that I’ll do everything I can to put the hospital in a better light. I’m working on that—an ongoing special project, you might say.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’m required to post the position, regardless. Even as a formality. If it reassures you, your application will be our first consideration.” But Evelyn’s smile seemed more rueful than encouraging. “I’d like to have your input back within the week. Then we can set up a meeting to go over your review. Perhaps the Monday following Thanksgiving. Would that interfere with your family plans for the holiday?”

  “No. No problem there.” Kate stood. “I can work around it.”

  “Good. We’ll be in touch.”

  Kate retrieved her briefcase and said good-bye, then headed toward her office—and kept going. Along the back corridor, out the employee exit, and across the parking lot. She continued on toward her car, thinking of what she’d said to the CNO about the timing for their meeting. Laughable, if it weren’t so pathetic. There were no Thanksgiving family plans to work around. The truth was that nothing was working the way it was supposed to. All Kate wanted was an end to the turmoil, a new start, with no reminders of—

  She stopped fishing for her keys, grabbed her buzzing cell phone. A text message. From her father.

  Heading back to California. A few miles from you now. Austin Grace Hospital?

  Kate leaned against her car and closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the phone in her hands. Nothing, nothing was working out right. She took a slow breath and deleted the message. Then tapped the speed-dial number for the ER. It was only eleven thirty, but . . .

  “I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Kate told the clinical coordinator when she came on the phone. “You can leave a message in case of emergencies, but otherwise I won’t be available.”

  There was a barely concealed sigh. “Dana Connor went home sick.”

  “Grab a nurse from the walk-in clinic. Take a few patients yourself. Call the staffing agency if you need to. I’m sure you’ll handle it fine.” I can’t stay here.

  Kate pulled out of the parking lot without looking back, made it through the afternoon traffic on autopilot, and was within a mile of Barton Springs when something caught her eye. A woman on the street corner, too much of a blur to make out for sure.

  She made a quick turn, circled the block, waited for a Brownie leader to file her troop over a crosswalk, then slowed and pulled to the curb. Her eyes scanned the street. Where was she?

  There. Unbelievable! Kate slammed the car into park and cut the engine. Blood rushed to her head, pounding in her temples. No way. There was no way she was going to let this happen.

  “You!” she yelled, sprinting down the sidewalk. “You there!” Kate shoved past pedestrians and came to a breathless halt in front of the young panhandler. She jabbed her finger into the space between them. “How dare you! I should call the police right now!”

  “Excuse me?” The young woman, maybe Kate’s age, took a step backward and held her Hungry—God Bless cardboard sign to her chest like a battle shield. Her expression was a mix of fear and streetwise bravado. “I’m not on anyone’s private property. I’m—”

  “Lying!” Kate hissed, beginning to tremble. “I saw you with that poster of the baby. And the candle. Looking so sad. Collecting money for a funeral. Lying about all of it. You got that photo off the Internet, used it to scam people. Other mothers—” She choked on the painful tumble of words. “People who have lost their own children. Who continue to suffer because of that.” She jabbed her finger again, her fingernail poking into God’s name. “What gives someone like you the right to—”

  “Dude, hey.” A bearded young man in a knit cap stepped close, palms raised in an attempt at peacemaking. “Leave her alone. C’mon now.”

  “Yeah, ease up, lady. Chill.”

  “Whatsa matter, sister? You never had no bad times?”

  Bad times? Kate’s brows drew together as she glanced at the handful of people gathering close. Two men held similar cardboard signs. An elderly woman with missing teeth cradled a small, shivering dog against her chest. The troop leader, in a protective gesture, moved the Brownies closer to the line of buildings.

  The young woman lowered her sign. “I was only trying to get by. Survive.” She brushed her fingers across her nose ring, sniffed. “Things are bad all over—I’m not making excuses. But I do what I have to. It’s all I know right now. I’m hoping for better someday. I hear it’s possible. You know?” The look in her eyes was like she could see right into Kate’s soul. “But I’m guessin’ I should say I’m sorry. About your baby, ma’am. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  Please, God, don’t do this to me . . . Kate turned, ran back to the car. She pulled away from the curb and into traffic, only vaguely aware of the unforgiving blare of horns.

  - + -

  “Have you signed the patient registration log, sir?”

  “No.” Matt Callison smiled at the pretty woman in the pink volunteer smock; he’d seen her minutes before, drawing a smiley face on a balloon made from an exam glove. “I’m not a patient. My daughter works here. I’m on my way home to California and I�
�m hoping to catch her for a few minutes. Sort of surprise her.”

  “Oh.” The woman’s smile reached her blue eyes. There were silver angels dangling from her ears. “How nice. I’m Judith, with the Ladies Auxiliary. I’d be happy to help you, sir. What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “Kate Callison. She’s the emergency department director. The clerk is checking; she wasn’t sure if Katy was still in her office.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m sorry,” Judith said, her expression sincere, “but Kate left word that she’s taking the rest of the day off. Perhaps if you call her? I know how disappointed I’d be if my daughter dropped by to see me and I missed her by a smidge.”

  “Yes.” Matt was sure that was true. He wasn’t about to tell this gracious woman that Kate hadn’t returned his text. And had never given him her home address. “I’ll call her. Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome, Mr. Callison.”

  “It’s Matt,” he offered as she batted the glove balloon back to the giggling child. He thought of Juliana playing with Kate. “They keep you busy here, Judith.”

  “Always. I like it that way.” She met his gaze. “And I like your daughter. She’s working hard. In some trying times. I’m sure she told you that our previous department director went missing—so tragic.”

  Missing? Matt’s heart squeezed. He knew only too well how that felt.

  “Your daughter’s doing her best to pull the department together. I support that effort, absolutely. And I admire her moxie in light of the challenges.” Judith offered her hand. “Nice to meet you, Matt. Glad you’re visiting Kate. Encouragement from a father can make all the difference.”

  Matt took her hand. From your lips to God’s ears, Judith.

  It would take that sort of miracle if Kate was ignoring his calls.

  - + -

  “Don’t let him climb into your lap, Gabe. He’s too—” Wes broke off the useless words of caution, laughing instead as Hershey began licking his friend’s face. “At least keep your leg out straight. I’ve got the seat back all the way. The goal here is to get you home. Not mauled in the hospital parking lot.” He turned to the nurse’s aide helping Gabe squeeze into the passenger seat. “Excuse us. Rescue dog gone wild.”

  The bearded aide grinned. “Totally understand. We have a yellow Lab. A hundred pounds of lapdog—don’t even try to eat popcorn with your Netflix.” He checked his patient’s leg position once more. “Looks good, pal. You’re set.”

  Wes thanked him, closed the door, and was jogging around the truck to the driver’s side when he thought he saw—“Matt?”

  “Hey, Wes, good to see you.” Kate’s father walked over.

  “Here to see Kate?”

  “Tried.” Matt shoved his hands into his pockets. “The ER volunteer said she took the rest of the day off.”

  Wes hated that his imagination went immediately to Barrett Lyon. “You called her?”

  “Text message. Haven’t heard back.” He raised his brows. “You’ve seen her?”

  “Not since yesterday.” The day after I kissed her . . . Wes pushed the thought away.

  Matt looked as if he were choosing his words. “I don’t know if Katy told you, but we’ve had sort of a rocky go of it. Some family troubles.”

  “She said her mother died.”

  “Yes.” Matt released a breath. “And I wasn’t there for Kate when I should have been. I’m not proud of that.” His expression was raw, honest. “I’m doing everything I can to make up for those years. Finally get my priorities straight. One day at a time.” He glanced up at the sky. “Thanks to God’s grace. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, sir.” Wes thought of Kate’s doubts, wondered if her father’s faith would only widen the chasm between them. Lost . . . found. Was everything that way?

  “I don’t mean to keep you,” Matt told him. “You need to get your friend home and settled. And I should be on the road back to California. It’s a long drive. I’ll try Kate’s number again.” There was no mistaking the pain in his eyes. “Maybe she had her phone turned off. Or the battery ran out or—”

  “Stop by her place.”

  “I don’t have her—”

  “Near Barton Springs and Zilker Park. You’re like ten minutes away.” Wes shook his head. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve kicked myself for not storing addresses in my phone. It’s 803½ Creekview, the guesthouse.”

  “I . . .” Matt cleared his throat. “Thanks.” He extended his hand, gripped Wes’s firmly. “You’re a good man, Wes.”

  “Thank you, sir. I hope you find her.” He watched Matt Callison walk away, then headed back toward his truck, glad that Gabe and Hershey—and full-volume bluegrass—would fill the drive home. It would distract Wes from thinking about what he’d just done. Completely invaded Kate’s prickly wall of self-protection. Meddled, big-time.

  Though Matt hadn’t voiced it, Wes was certain Kate hadn’t shared her address with him. She was avoiding her father with the same stubborn determination she used to dodge God himself. And Wes had sent one of them to knock on her door. Maybe both, considering Matt’s reference to grace. Either way, Kate wasn’t going to like it. But he had to believe he’d done the right thing. Even if it meant that his first kiss with Kate was also his last.

  - + -

  Kate slowed her jog to a walk, breath still heaving. Lauren had been right; running even this short stretch of the greenbelt trail was far different from working out to a Pilates video on the living room floor. But for the second time in a week, she’d had an angry need to pound something.

  Oh, brother. She cringed, remembering how she’d screamed at the panhandler a couple of hours ago. Yelled, threatened, and sent a Brownie troop running for cover. She’d never intended it to go that far, but . . .

  She sank down onto a bench, wiped her sleeve across her perspiring neck. Jogging truth was less gentle than Pilates truth: her tirade against the funeral scammer was only the tip of the iceberg. She knew that now. The meeting with the CNO and her father’s text had her bailing today, sure, but Kate had been at the helm of the Titanic for months. She’d described it that way to Lauren before: a doomed voyage. And it had only gotten worse. These past few days the deck had begun to tilt dangerously. Baby Doe’s death, the Waiting for Compassion diatribes, a debriefing, her father’s sudden visit—and that miserable lunch with Barrett Lyon. Kate was queasy at the possibility there was truth in what he’d said. That she was someone who looked out only for herself, had no need for a team . . . or for God.

  She shivered as the late-afternoon breeze moved over her damp shirt. Evelyn Harkin had compared her to Sunni Sprague, whether she’d admit it or not. She’d cited Sunni’s special projects, like the hospital fellowship that Lauren now headed. Implying perhaps that faith was a missing puzzle piece, and if Kate found it, her staff would rally round and support her. She frowned. How many prayers had been breathed into that icy air from the decks of the Titanic? It still went down. Lost.

  Very soon there would be a performance review. Then Kate’s application for a permanent position as department director would be discussed by the hiring committee. Meanwhile, according to Barrett Lyon, it was entirely possible that Baby Doe’s mother would be found and the hospital embroiled in litigation. Kate squeezed her eyes shut, remembering what the attorney had suggested: to point blame at the baby’s mother or at Dana Connor.

  Could Kate do that? Blame either or both of them to deflect liability from the hospital and protect her job? Could she make herself believe the desperate young woman she’d spoken with on that dark morning wasn’t pleading for help? And could she forget Dana Connor’s question: “Have you ever made a mistake?”

  Kate started off along the path again. She’d force herself to put one foot in front of the other despite how her muscles and lungs complained. No matter the struggle, it felt better than most things did these days. Running was something she knew well. And it was no secret to Barrett Lyon, apparently. “Ten hospital
s in six years? Seven different cities, three states?”

  Kate clenched her jaw, pushed her speed. Smug as he was, Lyon didn’t know the half of it. Running away . . . and mistakes. But the point was that she’d left all that pain behind and wasn’t going to let anything or anyone make her relive it. Not the hospital attorney, the ghost of Sunni Sprague, well-intentioned inquiries by Lauren, a horrible woman waving a fake photo of a dead baby . . . not even the promise of comfort in Wes Tanner’s arms. Kate had to put the past behind and move on. It was the reason she’d ignored that text from her father today. She simply couldn’t risk . . . going back.

  Fifteen minutes later, when her feet were tired and her heart finally calmed, she walked up the tree-lined driveway. Then saw the car parked near her guesthouse.

  “Kate.” Her father stepped down from the porch. “You’re back.”

  “THANK YOU.” Matt took the mug from Kate’s hands, reminding himself of what the hospital volunteer had told him. “Encouragement from a father can make all the difference.” He prayed it was true—but his daughter’s expression said otherwise. Still, he had to take this chance. It could be his last one. “Good coffee,” he said after taking a sip.

  “Instant.” She wiped a dishrag at a nonexistent spot on the blue-tiled breakfast bar that separated them. It might as well have been the Grand Canyon. “We could have met at Austin Java.”

  If you’d answered my text.

  She hadn’t asked how Matt found her house. He didn’t offer the information. They both knew it would point out the obvious: she didn’t want to see him.

  Matt rubbed a finger over the enameled daisy on the chipped mug—from the set Juliana had found in Carmel long before Kate was born. Her favorites—she’d sipped herbal tea from one when she was in early labor with Kate. And much later, when she was sick and achy from chemotherapy. Kate had taken two of the three remaining daisy cups with her when she’d completed her GED and left for college. Eleven silent months after she returned home from . . . where? He still didn’t know how she’d spent that year of her life.