Prescription For Love

by Boeshaar, Andrea

  He attempted, once again, to focus on his studying, but Mark’s gaze kept wandering everywhere Ravyn did. He watched, fascinated, as she flitted around the ER. He noticed she did her best to exude a no-nonsense presence around coworkers, but Liz, it appeared, worked just as hard to act like a clown and make her laugh. Each time Liz succeeded, Mark had to smile, deciding, and not for the first time, that he enjoyed the sound of Ravyn’s laughter.

  Little by little, her personality emerged. She seemed dedi-cated to her job, sensitive toward the patients, and possessed a good, although guarded, sense of humor. She put up with her preceptor, after all, and Liz was a woman who thinned Mark’s patience each time she called him George. But tonight he weathered the razzing so he could hang out in the arena area and continue his observation of Ravyn. In a word, he felt enchanted.

  At long last, she plunked herself down in the chair beside him. “Need some help?”

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t mean to be nosy, but I don’t think you’ve turned a single page of that textbook in the last hour.”

  Mark chuckled. “You’re right. I haven’t. I keep getting distracted.” He sent her a meaningful look and she blushed to her hairline.

  Conversation lagged as he regarded Ravyn and she him.

  Finally, Mark scooted his chair closer to hers. He glanced around to make certain any curious nurses were out of earshot. “Hey, Ravyn,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “how about the two of us going out to dinner sometime?”

  She took several long seconds to consider his offer, but soon bobbed out a reply. “That would be nice. I’d enjoy it.”

  She smiled, causing Mark to grin.

  Reaching into the pocket of his white overcoat, he pulled out his leather-bound calendar, containing his schedule. He opened it to the month of May. To his dismay, almost every square representing the days in that month had something scribbled on it.

  Ravyn produced her schedule, too. Its cover was brightly colored and plastic-coated, and it was slightly larger than the size of a checkbook. She, also, opened to May. Doodles and appointment times filled the month. Coordinating an evening when they were both free wasn’t going to be easy.

  “This is going to take some doing.” Mark glanced from her calendar to his.

  Ravyn laughed and sat back in her chair. “I can’t believe I’ve finally met a man whose hectic schedule resembles my own.”

  “Must be destiny.”

  “We’ll see,” she quipped.

  Mark chuckled, but in his heart the word destiny rang out loud and clear.

  ❧

  Mark sat at the desk in the family room, tapping the end of his pencil against his textbook. Next thing he knew, the writing utensil was snatched from his grasp.

  “Will you knock it off, already? You’re driving me crazy.”

  “Sorry, Uncle Chet.” Mark stared up into the older man’s age-lined face. “I’m just deep in thought.”

  “I know, but that tapping is as nerve-racking as a leaky faucet.”

  Mark chuckled.

  Chet tossed the pencil on the desk. “What are you thinking so hard about? Your state boards?”

  “No, but I should be.” He slapped the book shut. His brain had absorbed all it could for one night. Sitting back in the wooden desk chair, Mark allowed his gaze to wander around the familiar, oak-paneled room. “I’m thinking about Ravyn.”

  “What, we got a bird around here?”

  Mark looked up at the ceiling and groaned at the wisecrack.

  His uncle snorted with laughter as he collapsed onto the black leather sofa. “I’ve heard you mention that girl’s name quite a few times in the last week or so. Pretty gal.”

  “I agree.”

  “And she had the warmest fingers out of all the nurses who took care of me in the hospital.”

  “That’s encouraging to hear.” Mark lifted his stocking feet onto the corner of the mammoth oak desk.

  “Being a nurse, she’d be a help to you on the mission field.” Uncle Chet paused. “Of course, I’m being awfully presumptuous here.”

  Mark shrugged. “It’s crossed my mind.”

  “Just don’t let yourself get waylaid this late in the game.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  Mark’s conscience pricked. He wondered if he’d been way-laid already. Unfortunately, he hadn’t told Ravyn about his plans to move overseas. He had a feeling she’d want nothing to do with him if she knew. She didn’t seem to have much regard for people who made serving the Lord their life’s ambition, and Mark guessed that her spiritual walk wasn’t what it ought to be. Apart from being a registered nurse, she truly was the most unlikely candidate for a medical missionary’s helpmeet.

  Nevertheless, Mark felt compelled to pursue her.

  Compelled—or did he just feel challenged?

  He looked over at his uncle, who stared back at him.

  “Am I detecting a slight problem regarding a certain pretty nurse?”

  “Maybe.” Mark put his hands behind his head. “But I’m not ready to discuss it yet.”

  “Okay.” Uncle Chet looked away and picked up the remote off the sturdy coffee table. He pointed it at the wide-screen TV. “In that case, I’m turning on the basketball game.”

  Seven

  Another quiet night in the ER. Ravyn stifled a yawn and flipped through the pages of the Pottery Barn’s most recent catalog. Her shift seemed to drag on forever when nights were slow like this. She noticed that Mark, on the other hand, relished the extra time he could spend studying. He had less than three weeks to go until he finished his residency program.

  Ravyn paused to scrutinize the wood table and four match-ing chairs in the thick, glossy advertisement. She tried to envision Mark sitting there in her kitchen, drinking his morning coffee.

  She gave herself a mental shake, realizing the direction in which her thoughts had strayed. She’d had too much time for pondering lately—and more often than not the topic of her musing was Mark.

  Must be spring fever.

  She stood, then strode across the nursing station and handed off her catalog to a nurse named Betsy who had asked to see it next. Ravyn stifled another yawn and decided that, with the ER still quiet, she’d head for the lower level cafeteria and buy some flavored coffee.

  She made her way through the silent hallways. Reaching the coffee bar, she selected the mocha caramel blend before heading to the cash register. She was just checking out when her pager’s high-pitched, consecutive bleeps gave her a start. Several hospital staff members in line behind her chuckled when she jumped.

  Finishing the exchange with the cashier, Ravyn glanced at the pager. It read: trauma. 16 yom. gsw abd. eta 7 min.

  Adrenalin rushed through her body and filled her limbs. A teenager with a gunshot wound to his abdomen was on his way into the trauma center. Ravyn dropped the pager back into her pocket and, steaming java in hand, ran for the ER.

  She took the steps, two by two, and when she arrived in the arena, she set down her coffee in the back of an unused work area. Next, she dashed for the trauma room—the four-bed unit, separate from the main part of the ER. A flurry of activity ensued. Residents, nurses, the staff MD, lab, and x-ray personnel were suiting up, pulling the protective clothing over their hospital scrubs.

  Ravyn quickly slipped the leaded vest over her scrubs top. The weighty garment would protect her from the x-ray machines’ harmful radiation. Next she pulled on a disposable gown and cap, a mask with its clear plastic eye shield, and, lastly, the latex-free gloves. She took her place at a sterile, linen-covered gurney. This was her first trauma without her preceptor’s help and she wanted to do her best. What’s more, Mark would take the helm under the direction of the ER’s staff physician. Ravyn hoped to prove herself to him and the rest of the team.

  The ambulance arrived and the patient was transported from the vehicle into the trauma room. The paramedics updated the medical team while the patient was loaded onto the
gurney.

  Everyone raced into action. Medical personnel pressed in around the patient, examining his wound and checking his vital signs.

  Mark stood at the head of the bed, calling out orders and talking to the patient. “What’s your name?”

  “Jace.” The name sounded muffled from under the oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth.

  After the initial assessment, Mark called for the radiology staff. Everyone shifted, making room for the portable x-ray machine.

  As Ravyn threaded the IV needle into the teen’s arm, he moaned. Mark continued asking him questions. Where was the pain? Did he have trouble breathing? The young man answered and Ravyn happened to look up just in time to glimpse the fear in his blue eyes.

  “Don’t let me die,” Jace eked out, staring directly at her. “Please. Don’t let me die.”

  “We’re all doing our best. Just relax.” A haunting feeling descended over Ravyn’s being, but she pushed it aside and concentrated on her job.

  More staff pressed in around the bed as the flurry of activity continued. But moments later, the teen’s blood pressure dropped. His heartbeat raced.

  “We’re losing him!” another nurse called out.

  The patient lost consciousness.

  Mark listed off the medications he wanted administered and Ravyn set to task. To assist with Jace’s breathing, the staff intubated him and, finally, his vital signs were stable again. Several members of the trauma team whisked him off to the radiology department for a CAT scan, and the trauma surgeon was called.

  Ravyn stayed behind and helped the other nurses with their portion of the cleanup before the housekeeping personnel came in. She prayed the gunshot wound patient would recover, and his plea not to let him die played over and over inside her head. So young—just sixteen years old. Ravyn’s heart broke, not only for him but for his family. Jace was somebody’s son, somebody’s brother.

  Oh, God, she breathed in prayer, let him be okay.

  ❧

  Back to an all too quiet ER. By now the nursing staff had learned the trauma patient’s full name: Jace Lichton. Ravyn had overheard the social worker say that the young man had been involved in a fight over a girl when his opponent pulled out a gun and shot him.

  As Ravyn busied herself with miscellaneous paperwork, she thought about the senselessness of the tragedy. Still, she continued to hope and pray that Jace would survive. She kept watching the clock but no news came from the surgery team.

  The hours ticked by at an agonizingly slow rate. Finally, she couldn’t stand the waiting anymore and persuaded Liz to tap her resources. But even the veteran nurse couldn’t find out Jace’s fate, other than that he was still in surgery.

  At last, the scuttlebutt that George was on his way to the ER reached Ravyn’s ears. She felt herself tense, praying she’d hear something positive from Mark.

  He reentered the emergency room with two other residents. Ravyn watched from the far side of the nurse’s station as he shook his head—a somber reply to Liz’s query.

  Jace didn’t make it. Tears blurred Ravyn’s vision but she blinked them back. She felt almost alarmed at her show of emotion. It wasn’t like her and it wasn’t professional.

  Drawing in a calming breath, she continued opening plastic-sealed forms and filing them on the appropriate shelves. Busywork. Something to do. But, perhaps, this sort of work was all she was cut out for. The caustic thought ate away at her confidence and soon she wondered if she’d really make an effective emergency room nurse. The surgical wing at the other hospital had been so different. More controlled and less—traumatic. Now she felt unskilled and ill prepared.

  Mark approached Ravyn with the bad news. “Our trauma patient died in the ICU.”

  “I gathered as much.” She cleared her throat to keep her emotions at bay, not daring to envision the sad scene with Jace’s family around his bedside in the intensive care unit. “That’s really a shame.”

  “I’ll say. Only sixteen years old.” Mark sat down on the edge of the desk. “Bullet nicked his aorta and—”

  “Mark, please.” Ravyn felt her throat tightening and held up a hand. “I don’t want to know the details. We did what we could. That’s all that matters.”

  She turned and walked away, leaving the forms spread across the work area. She had a half hour until her shift ended, and since she hadn’t taken an official break, Ravyn decided to wait out her time in the women’s locker room.

  Once she got home she’d have a good, hard cry.

  ❧

  Mark yawned as he braked for a red light at a busy inter-section. He’d been thinking about Ravyn as he drove home, and he sensed something wasn’t right between them. Had he offended her? She’d morphed back into an ice princess and he’d thought they’d long since gotten past those cold shoulder reactions. He’d found out from other nurses that she’d been asking about the trauma patient. Was she upset about his death?

  “You’re home early.” Aunt Edy met him at the back door.

  “I start first shift tomorrow, so I’ve got the rest of the day off.” Mark strode to the refrigerator and opened the door, looking for something to munch on.

  “I made rhubarb pie.”

  The statement captured Mark’s attention. He closed the fridge, turned, and watched Aunt Edy take a plate from the cupboard. Next she sliced a large piece of the tart treat, set it on the plate, and handed it to him. Mark pulled a fork from the silverware drawer and took a big bite of pie.

  “Mmm, good stuff.”

  She smiled, looking pleased. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “A little.”

  “What’s on the agenda for today?”

  “Well. . .” Mark gulped down another forkful of pie. “Uncle Chet asked me to mow the lawn, so I’ll do that.”

  “Good. I’ve been worried he’d try to do it himself.”

  Mark acknowledged the remark with a nod. “But first I want to see if I can get a hold of Ravyn. We had a trauma last night and the patient didn’t make it. I think it upset her. Could be my imagination, though, or maybe Ravyn just had a bad day, but I’d feel better if I could talk to her and make sure. Problem is I don’t have her phone number, although. . .” He paused to form his plan. “I suppose I could call her folks.”

  “You care about this girl, don’t you?”

  Mark attempted a reply but his aunt kept talking.

  “I’ve always liked Ravyn. She’s a sweet little thing.”

  Mark just grinned.

  “Sort of seems natural, doesn’t it? You’re a doctor. She’s a nurse.”

  “We’ll see, Aunt Edy.” He laughed, partly to hide his sudden embarrassment.

  “Tell you what,” she continued, “if you’ll mow the lawn now before Chet gets any big ideas, I’ll call Zann Woods and get Ravyn’s phone number for you.”

  “Okay, but please be discreet. I don’t want to alarm the Woodses, nor do I want them to think there’s more going on between Ravyn and me than there really is.”

  “I’ll be as discreet as a church whisper.”

  “Oh, brother! Now I’m worried.”

  Aunt Edy waved off the teasing with a flick of her small wrist. “Go mow the lawn, would you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He moved away from the counter, but not before he saw the determined gleam enter his great-aunt’s eyes. Mark guessed that she was suddenly a woman on a mission.

  Eight

  Ravyn stared out the kitchen window, over the lush green golf course. Several golf carts with white canopies puttered along the fairway. As she sipped her latte, she could hardly believe she was enjoying breakfast at four o’clock in the afternoon. But after she’d arrived home this morning and indulged in a private sob session, she’d taken a shower, then fallen into bed and slept for the next six hours. Sleeping did wonders for her mind and body, and her perspective seemed brighter, although a niggling doubt about her nursing abilities remained. Never before had she doubted herself and her futur
e. But she kept recalling the teen’s pleas to save his life, and the memory beleaguered her until she began to seriously question whether she had what it took to be an ER nurse. Maybe she didn’t. She couldn’t help save Jace’s life, and the pain caused by that fact didn’t seem worth any sort of financial gain.

  Suddenly Ravyn found her goals slipping from her grasp.

  The doorbell buzzed, startling her from her personal pity party. She traipsed to the door, half expecting her visitor to be Teala, so she was surprised to hear a man’s deep voice resound through the intercom.

  “Ravyn? Ravyn, it’s Mark.”

  Her shock mounted. Mark? How did he get her address?

  She buzzed him up from the secured lower lobby, only to realize she looked like a veritable slob in her oversized sweatshirt, blue jeans, and fuzzy pink slippers.

  She dashed into the bathroom and gave her ebony tresses a good brushing. As she did so, she stared at her reflection. Her dark eyes looked sad and the skin below them was so transparent it almost appeared bruised. Her cheeks seemed paler than usual and, overall, she decided she resembled a drowned kitten.

  Great. Just great.

  The condo’s doorbell chimed and reluctance weighted Ravyn’s every step as she went to answer it. She opened the four-paneled door with the chain still secured and peered through the narrow opening to be sure the visitor was, indeed, Mark. Then in three succinct moves she closed the door, unlocked it, and opened it again.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He gave her a disarming smile. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” Ravyn opened the door wider and bid him entry. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

  He walked in and she shut the door behind him. She watched as he glanced around the living room area.

  “Nice place.”

  “Thanks. I just moved in last month and I’m still getting settled.”

  Mark lowered himself onto the sofa and Ravyn saw his gaze stop at her pink slippers.