by Jaime Maddox
Slipping from between the sheets, Ward located a T-shirt that looked familiar as well as a pair of shorts. After pulling them on, she peed and brushed her teeth, then wandered into the living room. Abby sat on the couch, her laptop perched on her knees as she peeked at the television and the Phillies’ game being broadcast.
“Hi,” Abby said, a smile exploding on her face.
Ward was exhausted. She’d just worked three consecutive night shifts, nearly forty tough hours in the ER. Although she’d slept after the first two shifts, she’d cut this nap short. If she didn’t, she’d have difficulty sleeping tonight, and her body wouldn’t swing back into day shift. So, she’d crawled into bed around ten in the morning, and even though it was only two in the afternoon, she’d forced her eyes open and her body upright. She’d stay that way until the rest of the world went to bed later tonight.
“How was your nap?”
In spite of the lack of sleep, she was invigorated by Abby’s smile. Sleep was totally over-rated. “Wonderful.”
They spent the afternoon on the couch, watching the game and talking, sharing a few kisses. It was perfectly relaxing, and in spite of her lack of sleep, Ward felt good. Great, in fact. Being with Abby felt great.
The ringing of Ward’s cell phone broke their peace. She stood and looked at Abby apologically. “I need to take this call.” She placed the phone to her ear as she eased through the sliding door onto the deck. It had been difficult to pull herself out of the comfortable arms of the couch, but she had to. Michelle was calling, and while Ward touched base with her tenant regularly, it was unusual for Michelle to initiate contact. Ward needed to make sure nothing was amiss.
“Howdy,” she said. Since Michelle had started teasing Ward about her retreat into the rugged terrain of the mountains, Ward had been playing the part of cowgirl when they talked.
“Howdy. Do people really talk like that where you are? Do they have guns? I mean, out in the open, on their trucks? ’Cuz that sort of scares me more than the knife-and-gun club here. At least I know these guys just want my money. Who knows what guys in pickup trucks want?”
Instead of settling into one of the cozy chairs on Abby’s deck, she leaned against the plank railing, looking out at the breathtaking view of the river. It was early evening, and the cloudless sky afforded the sun full access to the deck. It heated her skin as she imagined the cool of the forest and river at the end of her line of vision.
Some people might question Abby’s decision to live close to the water, to tolerate its fits and floods, but Ward wasn’t one of them. She could marvel at this beauty forever. The trees lining the banks at the rear of the property were hundreds of years old, the boulders scattered around the yard and the woods and the water thrown there by the same violent forces that created the heavens and the earth. The ferns and moss along the water’s edge and under the trees were tenacious species that tolerated both the water and lack of light under the great canopy above them.
Gazing back from the path of the water, Ward recognized Abby’s touch. Her hands had laid the pockets of vibrant color between the rocks there, and that knowledge gave Ward much satisfaction. Abby was truly talented. Her yard, her whole house was put together to meld woman and nature, and it amazed Ward that it was so beautiful and technologically advanced at the same time. The colors and designs Abby chose just seemed to flow into each other, peacefully. And that was just what Ward felt when she was here—serene.
A click made her turn, and she was surprised to see Abby walk out onto the deck. More surprised that Abby walked over to her and rested her head against her shoulder, and she couldn’t resist the urge to turn just a fraction and pull Abby against her. Just the touch gave her goose bumps. Michelle hadn’t even revealed the purpose of her call, and Ward wanted to end it so she could take Abby back to bed.
“I know how you feel. The guns take some getting used to. But you kind of caught me at a bad time,” she said, as Abby began flicking her tongue along the muscles of her neck, working her way toward her ear. “What’s up?”
“The dryer stopped working. I’m going to have the guy come out and check it. I’m off tomorrow. Just wanted to let you know.”
Ward swallowed, fighting to focus on the conversation as her body was flooded with the sensations of Abby—her smell, her softness pressed against her, her hot mouth on her skin. “Okay, just let me know what it costs and I’ll reimburse you.”
“No worries. I’ll take care of it.”
Ward disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the chair behind her, then pulled Abby into her arms. She arched her neck, giving Abby more space, and gasped from the electrical shocks those tiny kisses were producing. Her skin tingled, her breath caught, and her heart pounded. The flood of wet heat in her sex made her knees grow weak.
Abby broke the kiss long enough to guide her back to the lounge chair.
*
“So, who was on the phone?” Abby asked as she circled Ward’s nipple with her silky fingertip.
“Hmm?” Ward asked, trying to shake the fog from her brain.
“On the phone. Roommate?”
Blinking a few times, Ward cleared her eyes and tried to look at Abby, but she couldn’t focus. Abby was too close, her head resting on Ward’s chest. “No, umm, not roommate. Housemate, I guess.”
“Housemate? Ex-roommate? Girlfriend? Partner? Wife?”
Abby’s tone was inquisitive, not demanding, and Ward kissed her gently on top of her head.
“Just housemate, Abby.”
Abby pulled back and smiled sadly at Ward. “C’mon, Ward. Beautiful women don’t just appear on my doorstep every day. You must be running from something. Or someone.”
Two weeks earlier, when she’d asked if there was a Mrs. Ward, Ward hadn’t been ready to talk about Jess. Her time with Abby had been healing, though. Abby was like an elixir that had soothed all of Ward’s wounds and breathed life into her again. She wasn’t sure where their relationship was heading, but if it was going anywhere—even to the bedroom from the deck—she needed to be honest. She pulled Abby back to her and wound her fingers into Abby’s. “Not running from someone, Abby. Running to someone.”
Abby looked up and searched Ward’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“Her name is Jess. I followed her here, from Philadelphia. I wanted to be close by, in case she changed her mind about us. But she’s made it very clear that it’s over, and so…” Ward shrugged.
“You’ve moved on?”
Ward nodded and smiled.
“So I’m the famous transition girlfriend?”
Ward looked into Abby’s eyes. She saw no judgment, only concern, and found her courage in their warmth. “Are you my girlfriend? I’m not sure what it is we’re doing here, but I think it’s time we give it a name.”
Abby sat up but looked down. “You’re leaving in a few weeks. We’ll probably never see each other again. We don’t need to give it a name.”
Abby sounded defensive, and Ward found that reaction oddly comforting. Jess hadn’t really cared what Ward did, where she was, or what she’d planned. It seemed that Abby did, though, and Ward had to admit she cared, too. She’d wanted nothing from Abby at the start, nothing except the sex she knew was on Abby’s mind when she’d taken her hand and guided Ward to her bedroom. Unexpectedly, they’d created something wonderful together, and Ward had slipped into this…what was it called, if not a relationship…and it felt as good and as right as anything she’d ever felt.
Ward grabbed Abby’s wrist, a little more tightly than necessary, and Abby looked up. Ward loosened her grip and offered a small smile, then opened her arms. “Come back here, Ms. Rosen.”
When Abby had settled against her once again, with Ward’s face in her hair, Ward spoke. “Abby, a few weeks ago, I couldn’t even think about someone else. And then I met you under that tree and saw fireworks. Literally. I haven’t been able to think of anything—or anyone—but you, since then. You’re beautiful.” Ward turned
Abby’s face toward hers and kissed her softly on the lips. “And funny.” They kissed again. “And smart.” Another kiss, this one longer.
Abby pulled back a hair and whispered into Ward’s mouth.
“And insatiable. God, Ward, I’ve never felt like this before. I really can’t get enough of you. Let’s go back to bed.”
“What’s wrong with out here? It’s certainly private enough.”
Abby looked down at the lounge chair, intended for one. “I’d like to…spread out.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
They made love, not passionately, but slowly and tenderly. When they were face-to-face on Abby’s pillow an hour later, Abby ran her fingers through Ward’s hair and kissed her softly on the nose. “So tell me about Jess.”
“What about her?”
“Everything. She’s officially my competition, and I want to know what I’m up against.”
Ward laughed. “You’re not up against anything, Ab. I told you, it’s over with Jess.”
“And I told you, I’m not that stupid. I want to know everything you’re willing to tell me. Maybe talking to a neutral third party will help you realize she’s an idiot and doesn’t deserve you.”
Ward laughed and pulled Abby closer. “I already know that,” she said, “and I have a feeling you’re not very neutral.” She told Abby her story anyway. Maybe Abby could make sense of it all or offer some insight no one else could. Or maybe she just needed to be honest with Abby, because if she was honest with herself, she was beginning to feel like she wanted the month of July to last forever. She wanted her time with Abby at this little cabin by the river to never end. And in spite of the fact that Abby had never had a serious relationship, Ward suspected she felt the same way.
Chapter Twenty-two
Venous Air Embolus
Meetings had always been one of Ward’s favorite things. From the time she was a Girl Scout, she’d loved the power that filled a room full of people coming together with common goals in mind. She loved the idea of it, anyway. It didn’t take her long to realize little was accomplished at meetings, that most of the negotiating and discussing took place in the high-school cafeteria and on the basketball court. It didn’t matter how far she climbed up the ladder, nothing ever changed. It was now a hospital cafeteria, and a golf course instead of basketball court, but it still worked the same way.
Ward had agreed to review charts and attend the hospital’s Morbidity and Mortality meeting as a favor to both Judi and Abby. She didn’t relish the task, but understanding that it had to be done and that no one at Endless Mountains was qualified to do it, she’d agreed. And so, on her day off, she’d come to work and quickly became engrossed in a game of politics.
She’d arrived early to peruse charts, and as she walked the halls from the ER to the board room, no fewer than three physicians on staff had gone out of their way to speak to her about the patients whose care she was reviewing. All three held professional ties to the patients—two were the primary-care physicians, and the third was a surgeon who’d recently operated on one of the deceased. It quickly became evident that none of the three were as interested in the outcome of her probe as they were in vindicating themselves. All three spoke of non-compliance—missed appointments, failure to adhere to treatment plans, skipped medication doses—all factors that could have contributed to the patient deaths.
Two other physicians had also approached Ward. Both predicted the conclusions she would reach and wondered why the hospital bothered with such matters as peer review. “We all know hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” one of them had said. “At least you’ll get a free dinner out of it,” the other told her.
After four months of rural medicine, Ward was no longer shocked by the comments and coercion. The attitude among medical staff members was still frightening, though. Instead of regarding the process as it was intended—as a way to improve patient care and educate physicians and nurses to help them save lives—they were all threatened by it. Is this what malpractice suits had done to everyone? They’d become afraid to admit their mistakes, even to themselves, and lobbied their colleagues for reassuring pats on the back. Or was it worse than that? Was it all just about fragile egos?
Ward listened to them, all five respected physicians, and thanked them for their help in the matter. And then she promised herself to disregard everything everyone had told her, and all the gossip she’d heard, and to formulate her opinions based on the information contained within the pages of the medical records.
Confidentiality concerns made it necessary for her to do this work within the four walls of the hospital. While she might have taken advantage of Abby’s secure system at home, Ward knew that when she began probing into restricted patient files, an electronic fingerprint would be generated. That could create problems. If she accessed those charts under Abby’s name, would people question Abby’s motives for reading the charts? After all, her background was in business, not in medicine, and she couldn’t add much insight. And if Ward signed in using Abby’s online connections, would people speculate about the nature of their relationship as well as Ward’s motivations in the probe and the integrity of her findings?
Although both scenarios were ridiculous, she’d seen so much petty bullshit during her medical career that nothing surprised her. Therefore, she went into the hospital a few hours early instead of reading the records at Abby’s place. This way, there would be no questions about anything other than the medical care provided to the unfortunate patients who had died in the ER. And in the end, it was still much easier than during the old days. Back when she was a student, chart review meant spending hours in the medical-records department of the hospital, in a tiny cubicle with an uncomfortable chair, flipping through hundreds of pages to find the data she needed. Computers made it so much easier.
Ward’s list contained eleven names, the total of all the patients who’d died in the ER during April, May, and June. After the ER director’s illness, some others had picked up the slack, but apparently, they’d quit when the warm weather rolled around, leaving three months’ worth of charts to review.
First Ward asked Frankie for a list of all the patients who’d died in the department in the preceding year. Since she was only seeing a tiny snapshot, she thought a bigger picture would give valuable information. Since she was so new to the hospital, she wasn’t sure what was normal. Eleven deaths in the ER in Philly in one day wouldn’t have been unusual, but perhaps it was here. Of the eleven, Ward figured ten would have been from heart disease, drug overdose, and trauma. In the mountains, she didn’t think drugs would be a top killer, but nothing surprised her. Not since the bat attack, anyway.
Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, the list Frankie produced was beyond Ward’s expectations. As requested, the inquiry went back a year, and he’d sorted the deaths in the department into every conceivable category: first, by month, and then by cause of death, age, race, religion, time of day, attending physician, attending nurse, mode of arrival (ambulance or personal vehicle), time elapsed between arrival and death, and primary-care doctor. With all of that data, patterns were likely to emerge, patterns that would give her an idea of what was normal at Endless Mountains Medical Center.
Before even looking at the individual patient charts, she studied the data and started making sense of it. Forty deaths had occurred in the ER during the twelve-month period under review, an average of three-and-a-third deaths per month. The previous October had seen the lowest number, one. June had kept the undertakers busiest. Six people had died then. Three seemed to be the norm. Time of death favored dayshift by a two-to-one margin, and Ward didn’t know if that was significant. She’d have to look more closely at the causes of death with regard to day and time. More heart attacks and strokes happen during the morning, but more car accidents happen on the weekends, when more cars are on the road. Sex didn’t seem to be a significant variable—the split was about even, with twenty-two men and eighteen women on the list. Almost al
l were white and Christian, just like everyone else in the mountains. Most of the patients were older, with a variety of medical conditions that explained their deaths. Some, though, were young. Too young. The chart of an eight-year-old caught her eye, and she deliberately pushed it aside. She’d died in June, and if she completed her task in a chronological manner, Ward could avoid that one for at least a little while longer.
Three-quarters of people who died in the ER had taken their last ride in an ambulance rather than a car, and most of them had died within an hour of arrival at the hospital. Their family doctors and the ER docs who cared for them varied: fifteen different family doctors, and seven from the ER. When Ward broke down the numbers for the ER docs, nothing looked out of the ordinary. One doctor had seen eleven of the patients, another ten, one eight, one five, and the remaining docs had split up the others. She assumed the disparity had to do with the number of hours worked. The more patients a doctor sees, the more patients he’s going to pronounce dead. She would expect a full-time physician to have treated the majority of the deaths and a part-timer a smaller number, unless that part-time doc was seeing all the trauma victims on Saturday nights.
Glancing at her watch, she pushed the pile of paperwork aside and stood to stretch. She’d set aside four hours for this task and was beginning to fear she’d grossly underestimated the time she’d need. It was three thirty and she’d already been at it for more than an hour, though, and she hadn’t even touched the actual charts yet. Bending from the waist, she let her shoulders and head fall, feeling the stretch in the muscles of her neck and back. Touching her toes with her fingertips, she tried to force her head to her knees. Not even close. Daily yoga wasn’t enough to make her that flexible. Smiling, she stood, arched her back, and returned to the computer station.
