Cat’s Patient Heart by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
First edition previously published as “A Patient Heart” in 2012 by Rebel Ink Press
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Copyright Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy 2014
Cover by Toby By Design
That was then….
At the age of nine, she knew she’d marry him someday. Catherine dreamt of white wedding dresses, frilled and lace-trimmed even though all they did together was play hide-and-go-seek until dark or join in the pick-up baseball games down the block. She loved Connor Donavan and she knew one day he’d love her the same way. Boys just didn’t get into love as early.
When she turned fourteen, Connor was sixteen and without much conversation, he asked her out and she accepted. They dated, casual Friday night dates where he came over and they watched movies, ate pizza and formal ones where they went to school dances, even the prom. He took her cruising and out to eat, sometimes hiking or on a picnic in the park. He never had much money and after his seventeenth birthday, he worked part-time at one job, then another. Catherine still believed she’d become Mrs. Connor Donavan one day.
After her parents made over the old apartment above the garage into a rec room for Catherine, her brother Cade and her sister Candice, she spent a lot of time with Connor there, kissing him on the rump sprung ancient couch and cuddled together listening to music. It became their place, a private haven where they could be together and sometimes they planned their future, never talking marriage but always one where they weren’t ever apart.
Everything changed, though, one beautiful May afternoon, days before Connor’s high school graduation and just one week after prom. Catherine sprawled on the couch, waiting for him, reading, but when he came in the look on his face warned her something must be wrong. Even with his current sour expression, Connor put all the teen idols to shame. None of the hot dudes on the posters that hung on her bedroom wall or in any of her friends’ rooms could match him, not even close. “What’s the matter?” she asked. He’d never scowled so much before, never, or looked so dark.
He stood silent and stared at her for a long time, “I’m splitting after graduation, the day after,” he blurted out, his voice harsher than ever. He stood across the room from her, hands balled into fists as if he didn’t trust himself not to touch her.
He couldn’t have shocked her more if he’d said he was traveling to the moon.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m leaving this town and going somewhere new, I don’t know where. I’m just going to get in the Trans Am and leave.”
Tears burned in her eyes like salt but Catherine tried to hide them. “What about me? How long will you be gone?”
Connor stared at her, his amazing brown eyes illuminated as if a candle burned behind them, then looked away. “I’m going away for good, Catherine. You don’t need me. I’ll just hold you back, bring you down. You’re going to college, you’ll have a career and you don’t need a dirty white boy like me around.”
He referenced one of his favorite vintage songs, an old 1970’s Foreigner hit, Dirty White Boy but she ignored the insult he dealt himself.
“I do need you, Connor. I love you.”
Color flooded his face with pink but he shook his head. “I love you too, Cat, but it’s not enough. You’ll make something of yourself and I’m no good for you. I guess this is good-bye.”
Catherine jumped to her feet and started for him but he crossed his arms, warning her off. “It can’t be! Don’t say that. Connor, where is this coming from? Why are you saying these things?”
He refused to meet her eyes. “Let’s just say someone pointed it all out to me. Take care, baby, but don’t call me or come around. If you do, I won’t even wait for graduation.” Watching him turn around and walk out the door. The hurt inside was a real pain she thought could kill her.
It will.
Listening to his feet pound down the wooden staircase, hearing the door slam behind him and then the growl of his old souped up Trans-Am struck her like a blow, each one sharp and painful. Silence roared into her ears when she couldn’t hear his car any longer couldn’t be heard and she lay down on the couch, curled into a ball and cried until she got sick.
Catherine went to his graduation, sat way in the back and watched but she didn’t speak to him or try to reach him. She mourned him as if he died and when she went away to college, she vowed, just like him, never to come back to their hometown, ever.
Catherine didn’t come home during those college years except for a few holiday breaks and once she earned her nursing degree, she searched for a new town to call home. She wanted mundane, she yearned for ordinary and far away so she picked Neosho, a Mayberry like community at the far end of the state.
Six years after becoming a nurse and ten full years since the terrible day when Connor Donavan cut her out of his life, she still thought about him. None of the men she’d dated came close, not in personality or looks or the way they could make her feel. She couldn’t find the same intimacy, the closeness in spirit she’d had with him and Catherine figured she might just be married to her career. She’d never see Connor again, had no idea what happened to him and most of the time, she swore she didn’t want to know. She was the only person who knew it was a lie.
Chapter One
This is now…
A gust of wind blew sleet into her face with enough force it stung and as she ducked, trying to avoid another blast, Catherine stepped into several inches of fresh snow. Winter, once any Christmas magic ended, just created problems. Deep into January, snow was another dirty word. She slipped, almost lost her balance, but she caught herself and hurried inside, shivering. Her soft soled shoes squeaked with moisture all the way to the elevator but the corridor loomed empty. She checked her watch in case she ran late but it was just a few minutes past five thirty, plenty of time to clock in at six for her twelve-hour shift. After stashing her coat, purse, and her microwave dinner, she headed for the nursing desk.
“Where is everyone?” she asked. At this time of evening, the halls should bustle with visitors and rattle with dinner carts. Annette Anderson, charge nurse and her immediate supervisor glanced up from a stack of patient charts with a wry smile.
“I think most of the visitors stayed home because of the weather and I can’t blame them for that. Dietary served supper a little early so they could clean up and get out of here. We’re short-handed tonight – you and I will be the only nurses on shift and we have just two aides. We’ll stay busy, too.”
“What’s our patient count?” Catherine asked.
“ICU’s full and we have eleven more,” Annette said, “Since the snow started falling, there have been a lot of injury accidents. The worst was out on Highway 71, a multi-car pile-up and the injured from it filled up the ICU fast. We h
ave another new one, in room 4229, from a motorcycle crash. If we had the space, he’d be in ICU at least for the night so you’ll want to keep a close eye on him.”
She nodded. “Sure. Where’s Linda? I thought we’d do shift change briefings about the patients.”
Annette made a face. “She went home too. I’ll take you around and we’ll go over each patient’s status in just a few minutes. In the meantime, can you go see what Mrs. Smith wants? She’s buzzing us again.”
“Sure.” Catherine padded down the hall, almost silent in her nurse’s shoes now dried enough they no longer squeaked. She enjoyed her job in the small town, country hospital most of the time and with just twenty-five beds, they remained close to capacity most of the time. Many of the patients, like Mrs. Smith, were elderly and when she reached the room, she stuck her head in the door.
“Hi, what do you need?”
“I can’t find the program I want to watch,” the old woman said. Recovering from a routine gall bladder removal, Mrs. Smith could be difficult and as petulant as a spoiled child.
“I can help you find it,” Catherine promised and did.
Most of the patients were familiar from her previous shift and little changed in their status. On a normal shift, Linda, the day charge nurse, would do this but since she’d gone for the day, Annette covered their status with speed. They walked into Room 4229 and stood at the foot of the bed. In the dim light, Catherine could see his dark hair, shoulder length spilling over the pillow, his face bruised on one cheek with a small butterfly bandage on one temple.
“This is Connor Donavan,” Annette told her. “He came in about an hour and a half ago after a motorcycle accident. He lost control on a slick spot, skidded about twenty feet and then hit the pavement.”
Catherine heard the familiar name, thought it couldn’t be the same one, and her heart hammered into high gear. She stared down at the patient, scrutinizing him, and through a decade’s maturity, she recognized him. It was Connor, her first love, the man who shattered her heart into a thousand fragile pieces. She took a deep breath and asked, “Where did it happen?”
“The accident was about four miles north of town on Business 71,” Annette said, “His right leg is badly sprained, his skin is scraped off from his waist to his ankle on his right side, he has contusions and bruises all over his body, two cracked ribs, and a concussion. His right thigh suffered a major gash and he bled a lot from it. A smaller cut on his forehead bled too.”
Catherine let her professional detachment ask the right questions. “How are his vitals?”
Annette shrugged. “BP’s been good; pulse is a little fast, so far, no temperature, but his breathing seemed shallow so he’s on oxygen. No ventilator but we need to keep an eye on him. He’s still getting a blood transfusion plus electrolytes. When he wakes up, he can have pain meds and he’ll probably need them. The doctor didn’t want any yet because they want him conscious first.”
“He hasn’t been yet?” God knows what would happen when he was. Maybe he’d know her, maybe he wouldn’t. Why was he here? Was he coming to find her? She didn’t even know if he’d want to, now.
“No, not yet and you know the drill, the sooner, the better.”
“Right.” Short answers preserved her sanity.
Annette turned around to leave. “Stay a minute, check his vitals again. The monitors show they’re fine but you might take his pulse to be sure and if he starts coming around, buzz me.”
“Okay, thanks.” Go away I need a few minutes with him alone.
“When you’re finished here, report to the desk,” Annette said as she dashed out into the corridor.
Catherine stepped around to the side of the bed and closer. The patient – her Connor Donavan – reclined against pillows, his face paler than the starched sheets. His dark hair fanned out around his face and even with several days’ worth of beard growth, a scruffy look, he remained drop dead gorgeous. Now she understood why she’d thought Hugh Jackman handsome – Connor resembled him, at least a little.
“Oh, Connor,” she sighed, personal now, not professional. “What am I going to do with you? I’ve wanted so bad to see you again but not like this.”
Catherine took his left wrist in her hand and placed her fingers over the pulse. Catherine smiled when she felt it, slow and steady. She glanced up at the monitor display to confirm she read it correctly. All his other vitals seemed fine, too. On impulse, she lifted his hair away from his face with gentle motions and smoothed it back. For just a second, she thought his lips curled in a tiny smile but if so, it faded away before she could be certain. Although his vitals read normal enough, Catherine put the back of her hand against his cheek, checking for fever the old-fashioned personal way. His half-grown stubble prickled against her hand and she wondered if he wore a beard and moustache or just needed a shave. She liked touching him, familiar even after a decade but she also felt strange about it. He might not want her to caress him now. He might be married and he almost certainly would have a woman, somewhere. Just because he turned up here didn’t mean anything and it wasn’t an indication a reunion might be on the horizon. Hard as it would be, Catherine had to think of him as just another patient and offer the care she’d give anyone. That might be more difficult than it seemed, however.
“I think you’re going to be just fine, Connor.” she said, “Your vitals are stable and I’ll be checking on you all through the night.”
She tucked the call button within easy reach of his hand should he rouse and then, reluctant to leave him, slipped through the door and back to the nurses’ station. Over the next several hours, she followed the routines, dispensing medication, checking vitals, helping patients. Through it all, she remained cognizant of Connor and when she could, she stopped by his room, more often than the normal rotation allowed, to check on him. Each time, his vitals remained good but nothing changed. Catherine tried to focus on work but her mind tempted her to stray into the past and she struggled to keep old memories away.
Near three a.m. when the halls loomed empty and still, Catherine returned to room 4229 to check on Connor. His pulse beat steady beneath her fingers and satisfied he was doing well, she wandered over to the window to look out into the frigid night. Snow fell in slow motion but with speed so it stacked up inches more on the ground and other surfaces. In the pinkish glow of the vapor lights illuminating the parking lot of the funeral home behind the hospital, she gazed at a world turned white. Although the hospital room was warm, she felt the chill through the window glass as wind buffeted against it. It was, as her grandfather used to say, a night not fit for man or beast.
Catherine let her thoughts drift for a few moments, remembering her grandfather. Although he’d been dead for five years, she still missed him. Her parents raised her with a lot of love, a healthy measure of discipline and a strong sense of independence. But the spoiling, almost all of it, came from Grandpa. Catherine’s nursing career had been Grandpa’s suggestion and she liked her occupation. Most of her co-workers ranked her as a damn good nurse but her personal life loomed as empty as the silent snow-filled night. Twelve hour shifts didn’t allow much time for relationships or anything else, she reflected. None of the men she’d dated ever lived up to the memory of Connor. Her last relationship faltered when her day shift boyfriend couldn’t understand why she’d be asleep by five p.m. when he got off work. Coordinating their schedules had fast become a struggle and neither of them thought it worth the hassle. That left her free, unattached with the first love of her life prone and injured and possibilities she’d left untouched for years.
I wonder if he has someone waiting for him. She’d asked Annette at the desk earlier but she shook her head.
“No one’s been contacted yet because there’s no clue who to call,” she answered, “His cell phone shattered into pieces when it hit the pavement and as far as the cops could tell, he lives alone so his driver’s license didn’t help. Neither did anything else in his wallet. He had a business card for some k
ind of bar or club called ‘For My Sins’ but the name on it is his. They called the phone number on it downstairs and left a message but no one’s called back yet.”
Catherine left the window and pulled the curtain shut to keep out any drafts. She lingered at Connor’s bedside again, stroked his cheek one more time and then started for the door. Other patients required her attention too but if she could, she’d just sit in here so he wouldn’t wake up alone.
“Catherine? Is that you, Cat?”
Spoken so low she almost didn’t hear it, her name caught her attention. If he’d said anything else in a rough whisper, she probably wouldn’t have caught it. She turned around and rushed back to the bed where Connor Donavan looked up at her with brown eyes resonating pain. He knows it’s me, she thought, with amazement and something bordering on fear. Like it or not, she’d face the reality of whatever he might feel about her now.
“Hi,” she said, with surprising calm. “You’re conscious, that’s very good.”
“Where am I?” he managed, “What happened?”
“You’re in the hospital, Connor, here in Neosho, Missouri. I’m a nurse here. You took a spill on your motorcycle on the old highway north of town. You’ve got a few injuries but nothing life threatening and you’re going to be just fine.”
She heard her prattle and hoped she didn’t sound too sappy, like some nurse from a television soap opera or an old movie. Connor stared up at her and frowned.
“How long?”
Catherine understood the question. “You’ve just been here a few hours. It’s the middle of the night and they brought you here around four o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
“But you’re Catherine, right?” He sounded worried, like he feared he’d hit his head or suffered delusions. “I’m not wrong, am I?”
“No, Connor,” she said, her voice softer than the crushed gold velvet on the old couch in the rec room above the garage. He sounded surprised and debunked her crazy notion he’d been coming to find her. “It’s me. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
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