Rescue Team

by Candace Calvert

  “No,” Kate agreed, thinking of Dana attending Baby Doe’s memorial service. A sad, late attempt to fix her part in the baby’s tragedy. Like her own frantic search for Harley . . . because of my son. Kate’s fingers found the bruise on her cheek. “And I know I can’t fix all the worries you’ve had since that incident at the hospital. But I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  Dana’s eyes widened.

  “When I called you into my office that day, I handled it poorly,” Kate said. “You were trying to explain the chaos of that night, how hard it was to function given the patient acuity and the staffing. I cut you short. I should have listened instead of pointing a finger.” A groan escaped her lips. “It’s not like I don’t remember how it feels to be in the trenches. I do. You shouldn’t have to remind me.”

  “Sunni used to say something like that when someone would grumble about a bad day or a difficult patient.” Dana shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “She’d put her hands on her hips and say, ‘You’re preachin’ to the choir—I’ve been in that foxhole.’ Then she’d ask what she could do to make it better.”

  Sunni. Kate glanced down at her hands, feeling that weathered bone. Then remembered Judith’s words: “She’s human; she made a mistake.”

  “Do you think . . . ?” Dana’s voice was tentative. “Do you think it was Sunni’s bones that you found?”

  “Yes,” Kate said, feeling the certainty even more deeply. “I do.”

  “I think that will help make things better at Austin Grace.”

  “And I think—” Kate caught Dana’s gaze—“it would make things even better if you stayed, Dana. I’m asking you to do that. I’ll talk to the CNO about finding you a permanent staff position. With full benefits and—”

  “Wha . . . ?” Dana’s voice choked. “But what about Ava Smith?”

  “We’ll handle that if we have to,” Kate told her. “I’ll vouch for the job you had to perform under very difficult circumstances. But I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.” Because she’s long gone. Hiding somewhere. Kate knew it with the same certainty she felt about the bones.

  Hope began to replace the bewilderment on Dana’s face. “Why would you do all of this?”

  “Because we need nurses like you,” Kate said simply. “And because . . .” Somehow the words began tumbling out of their own accord. “I’m sure you know the security cameras caught an image that might be Ava Smith. I was in the film too. I saw that girl when she was leaving the ER. It was dark, but I could tell she was pale and shaky.”

  Dana stared at her.

  “I told the police that we exchanged only a few words,” Kate continued, “and that’s true. I asked her if she needed help. She said she was fine. I gave her my name and tried to point her back to the registration desk. But then Lauren came and the girl ran off.” She swallowed against a sudden ache in her throat. “What I didn’t tell the police is how frightened she looked. Desperate. I think she really wanted our help. I . . . should have done more.”

  Kate met Dana’s gaze. “I made a mistake too. I intend to add that to my statement. From what I’ve heard, there may be no case against the hospital. But I promise if anything further happens, you are not in this alone.”

  And that’s why I came here today.

  Ten minutes later Kate pulled away from the Connors’ cul-de-sac with a gift from Dana’s four-year-old son: a ziplock bag filled with Texas-shaped tortilla chips. She shook her head, watching as the GPS powered up. Dallas or . . . ? She still had no clue where she was going.

  There was a buzz and Kate glanced at her cell phone, lying on the passenger seat next to the bag of chips. A call from . . . Great.

  She pulled to the curb and yanked the phone from the seat. Heat rose in her neck as she tapped the button to connect. “Barrett—perfect timing.”

  “Really? I liiike the sound of that, pretty lady.” His familiar chuckle was deep, seductive.

  “No,” Kate told him, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t think you’ll like what I’m going to say at all.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that I’ve been a fool to play this cat-and-mouse game with you. No, wait. I should have said deer-hunting game—isn’t that what you told me? I’m like one of those deer hunters on your granddaddy’s hunting lease. And I’d do whatever it takes to bring down a trophy buck?”

  “A metaphor, darlin’.”

  “Don’t. Don’t call me darlin’. And don’t tell me ever again that I’m like you.” Kate knew she was close to shouting and didn’t care. “I’m nothing like you. And you’re sadly mistaken if you think I’ll throw one of my nurses under a bus to help you win a court case. Even if you got one of your golf buddies to grease my way into that director’s position.”

  “Kate, Kate. You’ve had an accident—a concussion, for heaven’s sake.” The slick courtroom voice was back. “It’s only natural to feel confused, emotion—”

  “What’s your excuse?” Kate blurted, realizing she’d somehow smashed the Texas chips.

  “Excuse?”

  “For unprofessional, inappropriate behavior toward a female employee—of a hospital your legal firm represents.” She hoped she’d heard a gasp. “Coming to my home uninvited. Making personal remarks, inviting me out to dinner on several occasions, along with offers to be of ‘help’ with my employment situation, and—”

  “What are you implying?”

  “Not implying. Promising,” she told him calmly, snapping another chip with her fingertip. “If you do anything to hurt Dana Connor or any other member of my staff, I’ll be filing a harassment complaint. I’ll make you feel like you sat on a hill of fire ants, Mr. Lyon. It may be the last thing I do as interim director, but I will so enjoy it. Count on that.”

  There was a short silence.

  “Well then.” Barrett’s voice was cool, detached. “I won’t keep you . . .”

  No, you won’t.

  Kate disconnected. She sprinkled some of the smashed tortilla chips into her palm and lapped a few salty bits, then prodded a less demolished chip. Not a bad representation of the state map, considering that it was cut from cornmeal. Gulf Coast, panhandle, east Texas . . . Where am I going?

  She stared at the GPS. The truth was, Kate had no idea where she was headed, and she’d already hit two major speed bumps: the detour to Dana Connor’s house and that long-overdue conversation with Barrett Lyon. Each completely unplanned. Yet, strangely . . .

  Something about them made her feel a little less lost.

  KATE AWAKENED SEVERAL TIMES in the night, heart pounding in the dark, confused by the pain in her ribs and again by the unfamiliar hotel surroundings. I’m in Dallas. Her mind tumbled through a disjointed recap of the past week before she slid back into fitful slumber. Only to awaken and have the cycle repeat without mercy. Where am I? What happened?

  Dawn found her staring at the ceiling, and it wasn’t until hours later—to the distant buzz of Tuesday morning commuter traffic—that Kate finally found a few hours of dreamless sleep. The muted TV news showed that it was after ten when she stumbled barefoot to the shower.

  Afterward, she wiped the steam from the mirror and studied her reflection. The face could have belonged to a stranger; she traced damp fingers across her cheek in a foolish reality check. Too real: etched shadows—like artist charcoal—smudged her eyes, the bruise on her cheek going green around the edges. Her always-wispy and wayward hair now begged for a trim. Kate dropped the hotel robe enough to see her ribs, gasped at the mottled purple bruising. Too much like flog marks against her pale skin. She leaned closer to the mirror and stared into her own eyes, the truth making her groan. She looked exactly like she felt: battered, body and soul.

  Tears welled. Where can I run . . . to leave you behind?

  - + -

  Wes’s mom stilled the rocking chair, meeting his gaze over the sleeping baby’s head. Her smile was dreamy soft. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful face?” she whispered, her lips against Ha
rley’s curls.

  “No,” he told her honestly, feeling the ache that was now a permanent part of his throat. He drew in a breath scented by baby lotion and freshly stacked Pampers. “She looks . . . content.”

  He’d almost said safe. It seemed like the right word. His father’s word. “I want to believe she meant that. About keeping her child safe.” It was a confusing possibility Wes had never considered before. Trista, Ava, Lee Ann Tanner, and maybe . . . The ache was determined to choke him senseless. Safe?

  His mom set the rocker to creaking softly against the wood-plank floor. “I heard that they’ve arrested Trista’s father. And after things have been determined by the court, she’s hoping to go live with a cousin in Oklahoma. Go back to school. Start fresh.”

  Wes watched as the pink bundle stirred, murmured, then burrowed her face against his mom’s neck, relaxing again. “She’s planning to take the baby?”

  “No. Even if Harley were allowed to return to her, Trista made it clear it’s not part of her plans.” She sighed. Then smiled in the way Wes had seen for as long as he could remember. Peaceful, trusting. Certain. “I’m so relieved God has plans too.”

  God’s plan. Was it possible . . . ?

  “Dylan said something this morning before he left for school.” His mom’s eyes captured his. “He told me, ‘Wes looks sad.’”

  “Mm . . .” Wes dragged his fingers through his hair, knowing the importance of what she’d said. Reading emotions—empathy—was a big accomplishment for someone with autism. Wes was proud of his little brother . . . and Dylan was right.

  “Kate’s gone,” he said, heart lugging.

  “Gone?”

  “She asked for a week off to recover from the accident. But . . .” The choke hold squeezed tighter. “She’s running away, Mom.” He saw the compassion in her eyes. And questions she wouldn’t ask out of respect for his privacy. “I think she’s bothered by all that’s happened lately. The baby at the hospital, Harley, and finding those bones.” His stomach churned as the truth hit. “I think it’s stirred up some of those ‘tough things’ she said she had to deal with in her life.”

  His mom nodded, her silence speaking more eloquently than words. “Like it has for you, my son. I’m so relieved God has plans too.”

  “I should go,” he managed. He stepped close, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then stroked a fingertip along the sleeping baby’s feather-soft cheek. “I’m glad Harley’s safe.”

  He’d reached the nursery door when his mom called out, “Your cell phone.” She pointed to where he’d left it on the edge of the baby’s changing table. “You wouldn’t want to miss a rescue call.”

  - + -

  Kate pushed the room service tray aside. Despite the fact that she’d had nothing to eat since yesterday, breakfast had been as appealing as those tortilla chips she’d pulverized during her conversation with Barrett Lyon. She’d forced herself to eat, but somehow it only made her feel emptier. How was that possible? And why—when it had always worked before—hadn’t she found the relief that came when she packed a bag and jumped into her car?

  “You’re running away?” Wes’s words rushed back, bruising her further.

  She’d been alone for so many years. Needed that protective solitude, stubbornly clung to it. And now, inexplicably, being alone felt . . . lonely. I’m so lonely. How could that be?

  Wes. She closed her eyes, remembering the awful moment when she told him about her son. His gasp of shock and that look in his eyes. She’d seen it, hadn’t she? Revulsion, loathing, unforgiveness. It had to be there. Because it was exactly the way she’d felt about herself all these years.

  She drew her knees up, resting her face against the terry fabric of the hotel robe. Then let herself recall the conversation she’d had with Wes at the old Braxton well. The day he’d told her about his training, the test to prove he had the “right stuff.” She’d revealed that she’d run away from home and hinted at that terrible year. She told Wes she didn’t think God would listen to her prayers because she’d made so many mistakes.

  And then . . . Kate squinted her eyes, remembering. He’d talked about grace. He’d said, “We all make mistakes. We’re human. We’re flawed. That’s where grace comes in . . . an undeserved gift.”

  What if that were really true?

  Kate stared at the muted TV, then reached for the remote. It was a national news broadcast with a ticker banner that read, Bones identified as missing Austin TX nurse. She hit the button just as the cameras zoomed in on the faces of a middle-aged couple.

  “We’re heartsick,” the man said, putting his arm around his wife. “It’s been such a long, painful journey. No parent wants to hear this kind of news.” He glanced at his wife, his voice thick with emotion. “But we’re grateful, too. For everyone who has searched, for all the prayers. And for our daughter’s friends—all the good folks at Austin Grace who never gave up . . .” He hung his head.

  Kate held her breath, trembling inside as Mrs. Sprague continued for her husband.

  “Sunni was blessed by that team; she was grateful every day to be part of it. Being a nurse was her calling. Even the times it broke her heart . . . and . . .” She swiped at a tear, then smiled. “It was a nurse who found her. The same nurse who filled in when Sunni went missing—she’s the one who found our girl. And now she’s keeping our daughter’s legacy going forward.” She nodded as her husband drew her closer. “We have to believe that God planned it that way.”

  Kate listened for a few minutes longer as a law enforcement spokesman gave updates on the renewed search for Sunni’s killer. He sounded cautiously optimistic. Kate switched off the television and stared at the blank screen for a long time. She let it all tumble, mix, sort . . . and tumble again. She struggled to find the connecting thread she knew was there. Something that linked so many tragedies, so many losses: her mother, Baby Doe, Harley, Judith’s husband, Sunni Sprague . . . Kate’s son. And caused people to make so many mistakes: Ava, Trista, Judith, Wes’s mother. Even that homeless woman holding up the fake sign for a baby’s funeral.

  What was it the woman had said when Kate confronted her? She said she was “only trying to get by.” That it was all she knew right now. And she was hoping for better someday. That she’d heard it was possible.

  Kate hugged her arms around herself, unable to stop the trembling as the truth finally settled around her: Desperate people. Painful mistakes . . . tragic losses. And a plan? Was it also true what Sunni’s mother said? That God had a plan to connect all these things?

  Kate closed her eyes. “God,” she breathed, “you know I’ve made one mistake after another. I’m not even close to having the ‘right stuff’—maybe I did once, but I threw it away. Or wrapped it up and hid it in a closet. I don’t know. All I know right now is that I can’t live like this. I can’t go on feeling so lost. I want to stop running.” A tear slid onto her lips. “I want you to point me in the right direction. I need you in my life. Please help me.”

  By 3 p.m. Kate had cleared Dallas security and slipped her shoes back on. There would be just enough time to hit Starbucks and send Lauren a short text message; that would have to do for now. Though she ached to know how her friend was faring in Houston, Kate wasn’t ready to talk yet. Everything that was happening seemed too new and fragile. She needed to focus on what lay ahead. It felt more important than anything she’d done. Even so, Kate couldn’t remember ever feeling so free, so much at peace. And strong, too—like anything at all was possible now. She smiled. Thank you . . . oh, thank you.

  She hitched her duffel over her shoulder, new hope warming her heart. No GPS needed for this trip. Kate knew exactly where she was going.

  MATT DISCONNECTED FROM THE CALL. Leaving a message was futile. Kate wasn’t answering her phone. And she hadn’t replied to the message he’d sent on Saturday asking if she’d been affected by what had happened with the abandoned baby and that ugly discovery in the park. From what he’d seen on the news today, he was sure
of it now. It had to be Kate who’d found that nurse’s bones. His throat tightened as he recalled the image of the murder victim’s parents; he knew only too well how it felt to have a missing child. Matt was so grateful that Kate had come home—so to speak.

  He set the phone down. He’d be at an AA meeting tonight, and according to her habit, Kate would very likely leave a message then. “Work’s great. . . . I’m fine.” Messages left in place of conversation. He prayed for so much more.

  With a pang, Matt reminded himself that the Sprague family would never have even that much. Thank you for this blessing, Lord.

  He glanced toward the Crock-Pot on the kitchen counter, sniffing the air with appreciation. Chicken with carrots, red potatoes, and a package of frozen peas waiting to be stirred in later. He’d added a few stems of the rosemary bush that had taken over Juliana’s vegetable patch. Sadness nudged again, whispering that he’d lost so much more than his job. It was good there was a meeting tonight. He’d find fellowship, offer hope to another lonely and desperate person.

  The doorbell rang once, twice. Followed by rapping on the wooden door. Light like the small knuckles of a neighbor child or—

  A voice from the porch. “Daddy?”

  Was he imagining it?

  Another knock. “Are you there, Dad?”

  Matt raced to the door, barely able to breathe, and flung it wide.

  “Kate . . .” His heart stalled at the sight of her bruised face.

  “Hi.” Tears welled in her beautiful eyes. She blinked up at him with a tentative smile. “I was in the neighborhood and . . .” Kate pointed to the sign on the lawn. “You sold the house?”

  “I—”

  Before Matt could say another word, his daughter dropped her bag and flung herself into his arms.

  - + -

  “I’m okay,” Kate reassured her father for the third time in twenty minutes. She sat back against the chenille couch pillow. “Really. Just bumps and bruises. Nothing that won’t heal.” The broken heart will take longer.