How could he be remembering now? What the...?
‘I’ll take it from here,’ Blake told him, looking at him strangely.
‘Thanks, Blake.’
He had work to do. He had to leave—but heaven only knew the effort it cost him to move away.
From...his wife?
CHAPTER THREE
THE SURGERY BLAKE performed was primitive and fast, making incisions to equalise pressure and ensure that blood supply wasn’t compromised before Beth could safely be transported. But Luc wasn’t involved. With Beth in Theatre, with Toby safe, he needed to be back in the plaza.
In a sense they were lucky, Luc thought as he worked on. The injuries stayed within the scope of what he and the team could handle. If there’d been compromised breathing of more than one patient or, as sometimes happened in these appalling situations, the necessity for amputation in order to get people out, Beth’s foot would have dropped on the triage list and Blake would have been needed out here in the plaza. But the efforts of Luc and the rest of the team were enough.
Not enough, though, for the five people pronounced dead at the scene, or the pilot of the plane, but Luc had worked in enough disasters to know how to block tragedy and keep going.
But he couldn’t block the thought of Beth. The thought of what was happening in Theatre. The vision of her trapped and wounded in the rubble. The feel of her hands clutching her child...her child! Had she remarried? Where had she been all these years?
How could he have let her go? There’d seemed no choice—she’d given him no choice—but the rush of memory from that smile was doing his head in. Did some other man have the right to that smile?
He was trying desperately to focus but when he finished treating a teenager with a lacerated arm, he turned and saw Blake and he almost sagged with relief.
‘O-okay?’ Hell, where was his voice? And what was he doing, asking if she was okay? She was suffering from an injured foot, not anything life-threatening.
‘She’ll live,’ Blake said, surveying him cautiously. Luc was known on the team for staying calm in any situation. He needed to get a grip now. Now!
‘I’ve done what I can,’ Blake told him. ‘She has a fractured ankle but seemingly no other significant injury. The main problem is crush syndrome—compartmentalising—but I’ve done what I can to equalise pressure and I’m optimistic. But she needs an orthopod and a decent podiatric surgeon to evaluate muscle injury. We’re evacuating her on the next chopper and I’m sending you back, too.’
‘If I’m needed...’
Once again he got that careful, appraising look. Blake and Luc swapped in and out of the role of chief medic on site. They were both accustomed to checking team members for stress, and maybe—definitely—Blake could see Luc’s stress now.
‘We have enough medics on the ground here,’ he said now, roughly.
And Luc thought, Dammit, he’s worried. About me?
‘I’ve been talking to the local doc. Apparently this town has three doctors. Maryanne Clarkson’s in her fifties, solid, unflappable. She’s working her butt off in Casualty now. There’s been an older doctor called Ron McKenzie, in his seventies, and your Beth. Ron and Beth run a clinic in the plaza, right by the car park. Ron’s one of the casualties. Maryanne tells me your Beth’s a single mum with no family here. Toby, her son, usually stays in childcare in the centre while she works. That’s in the plaza, too. The staff did a magnificent job getting the kids out but they’re all traumatised. Maryanne says that means there’s no obvious person to care for Toby, and no one’s stepped forward to be her accompanying person. So in view of that, I’m electing you. Unless the divorce was so acrimonious...’
‘I... No.’
‘Then you’ll do it? She needs medical care during evacuation. I want blood supply to that foot constantly monitored. And she needs someone she knows.’
‘And the child...’
‘Does he know you?’
‘I... No.’ How could he know him? Until two hours ago Luc hadn’t known he existed.
‘Lucky you’re good with kids, then,’ Blake told him, moving on. ‘I’m sending Beth and a guy with fractured ribs and lacerations. Plus Toby. There’s room on the chopper and he’s breathed in enough concrete dust to warrant twenty-four-hour obs. They’re in your hands, Luc.’
‘Right.’
Of course it was right. How many times had he done this, accompanying injured back to Sydney?
But Beth.
And her son.
She was a single mum? There’d been someone else. Had she walked away from him, too?
There was something inside him that clenched and wouldn’t unclench.
He took a deep breath and struggled to focus. He needed to hand over what he’d done.
‘Leave it, Luc,’ Blake said roughly. ‘Sam’ll fill me in on what you’ve been doing. Your head’s with Beth. Sorry, mate, but from now on I need to treat you as compromised. Are you sure you can manage on the plane?’
‘Of course.’
‘There’s no of course about it. Where family’s concerned...’
‘Beth’s not my family.’
‘No? Well, maybe for now she has to be because, as far as I understand, she doesn’t have anyone else. If it was Sam injured...’
Where had that come from? Blake and Sam—Samantha, SDR’s newest recruit—had become an item and were now engaged to be married. They were a couple. There was no comparison.
Or maybe there was.
Until death do us part?
He and Beth had signed the divorce papers but those long-ago vows still whispered in his head. Telling him Blake was right.
Beth was injured. She wasn’t family—how could she be? But somehow there were ties that meant that, yes, he’d stay beside her. For as long as he was needed.
* * *
‘Beth?’
She’d been stirring for a while now, struggling to surface from a drug-induced sleep, fighting down fears crowding in from all sides. She’d been vaguely aware of being carried to a helicopter, being lifted aboard. She remembered the surge of fear as she’d thought she was being taken from Toby, but a paramedic had stooped over her stretcher, showing her a warmly wrapped bundle.
‘He’s asleep, Beth, but he’s coming with us.’
‘We even have Robert Rabbit, a bit scruffy but safely tucked in with him.’ And it was Luc, a growly voice in the background. He’d been supervising the loading of another patient onto the chopper. She remembered thinking that was what Luc did. He got people out of trouble. He cared...
That care had been so stifling it had ended their marriage, but as she’d been lifted onto the chopper she’d sunk into it. She hadn’t had a choice. Let Luc care and be grateful for it.
And now... They were in the air and he was saying her name, touching her shoulder. ‘Beth? Stop fighting it, love. You’re safe. But if you’re awake...there’s something you might like to see.’
Love? How long since anyone had called her that? But it was wrong. She should...
She couldn’t. She let the word wash over her and insensibly it made her feel...okay.
‘This is amazing,’ Luc was saying. ‘Can I help you sit up a little?’
‘Wh-what?’
‘This is too stunning to miss,’ Luc was saying. ‘And it might even make you feel better. You’re supposed to be strapped in. Derek’s right here beside you but he’s fast asleep. He’s copped broken ribs and lacerations and the morphine has put him out like a light. Toby’s asleep, too, but I know you’re awake. We have your glasses. As long as we can do this without moving your leg, you’re okay to see. Beth, there’s a thunderstorm. Let me help you.’ And he was right beside her, gently raising her shoulders, cradling her against him, adjusting her glasses on her nose. ‘Look out the window.’
She did—and she gasped in
wonder.
The drugs she’d been given had taken away all pain. Confusion and fear faded. She felt warm and close to sleep. She was being cradled by...by...
Yeah, that was too hard to think about. She tried to block out the feel of him and focussed instead on what lay out the window.
It was indeed a thunderstorm, a massive one, enveloping Sydney in an awe-inspiring display.
Lightning flashed across the sky in a mass of jagged forks, splitting and splitting again. The entire sky was lit. The lightning seemed all around them. In the distance she could see the lights of Sydney. The Harbour Bridge. The amazing Opera House. They were lit themselves, but as each crack of lightning sizzled, their lights mingled with what nature was providing.
The drugs were making her fuzzy, weird, stunned. The sky outside was surreal.
Luc was holding her. Luc...
Focus. Lightning. Toby.
Danger? She should...she should...
‘You’re safe, love,’ Luc said again, as if he guessed her fears. Which of course he always had. ‘It looks stunning but it’s well to the north and moving away. Our heliport’s on the roof of Bondi Bayside Hospital. We’re giving the storm a few minutes to clear before we land but we’ll have you and Toby tucked up and safe in no time.’
So she could relax. She could lie back in his arms and let the wash of what looked like a massive pyrotechnic display stun her into silence. She could look out into the dark, stormy world and know that Luc had her safe.
She mustn’t. Once upon a time she’d fallen for that sweet, all-enveloping trust and it had led to heartache and despair. She had to pull away.
But the drugs wouldn’t let her and neither would her will. She’d been alone for so long. The fear of the time spent trapped was still with her. The terror.
Luc had her safe and she couldn’t fight. For now...once again she had to let him care.
* * *
And then they landed and Luc had to take a step back. Blake had obviously forewarned the admission staff and Luc was greeted with something other than professional efficiency. These people were his friends. A barrage of questions was about to descend on him, but not now. He handed over notes and suddenly he was being treated as a relative. Paediatric staff took over the sleeping Toby’s care. The orthopaedic team moved in and Beth was wheeled away to Theatre.
She’d been lucky, Luc thought. Or sort of lucky. Most of the crises his team attended didn’t have the luxury of an onsite hospital, but Beth had had excellent treatment before transfer. Blake had been able to stabilise pressure, and she was now in the care of one of the best medical teams in Australia.
Bondi Bayside Hospital. The specialists here were world class.
But for now Luc wasn’t one of them. Not that he was one of the permanent staff anyway. His role was that of emergency consultant, but he worked here only between medical crises outside the hospital. He couldn’t imagine working in the same place day after day. Standing still. Ceasing to need the adrenaline of rescue.
Putting the past behind him.
The past was with him now. He stood in the admissions centre and stared out into the night. They’d been lucky to land when they had. The break in the rolling storms was over. Rain was battering the wide glass windows in the entrance foyer.
Midnight. The place was almost deserted. Ghost-like.
It was at times like this that the ghost of his past reappeared.
Ellen. Seven years old. Bright, bubbly, joyous. Naughty.
‘Take your cousin to the playground, Luc.’ Those words were still seared into his head. He’d been nine years old. His mother and his aunt had been having a beer or three with lunch, and Ellen’s chatter had been interfering with their gossip. ‘And take care of her. You know she’s a bit silly. You’re responsible.’
So off they’d gone, the half a block to the playground.
Luc’s best friend, Nick, had been there with his mum. Nick’s mum had been immersed in a book, happily reading. He remembered feeling pleased to see her.
He remembered feeling safe. It was a feeling he didn’t have all that often with his mum. Or his aunt. But Nick’s mum was okay.
So Ellen had raced for the swing, while Luc and Nick had headed for the see-saw, seeing who could bang the other hardest against the ground as they rose and fell.
He could still see Nick’s face laughing up at him.
Then, out of the edge of his eye, he’d seen the swing, suddenly empty, swinging wildly as Ellen jumped off. Then kids on the other side of the road. With a puppy...
‘Hey!’ Ellen’s childish yell was seared into his memory. ‘Candy, wait, it’s me, Ellen. Is that your new puppy?’
He didn’t have time to react. No one did. Ellen was already halfway across the road.
The car had nowhere to go.
And afterwards... The nightmare of adults, screaming, sobbing. ‘Who’s supposed to be caring for her? Of all the stupid, criminal...’
Nick’s mother. ‘She’s not mine. I didn’t even see...’
Then his mother and aunt, haggard, hysterical, dragged from their beer and pleasure to confront a nightmare. His aunt. ‘We told you to take care of her, you stupid, stupid boy.’
His own mother. ‘It’s my fault, Lucy. I thought he was responsible. I thought I could depend on him.’
‘It is his fault.’ His aunt had hissed it at her, hissed it at him. ‘Get him out of my sight.’
What followed was vitriol, recriminations and consequences. His aunt had kicked them out and the cycle of crises and homelessness had resumed.
Until finally... ‘I can’t care for both of us.’ His mother, sober for once, flat and inflexible. ‘You got us into this mess, Luc. You face the cost.’
The cost was foster care. Loneliness. Knowing it was all his fault.
Somehow he’d fought his way through it. He’d had a couple of decent sets of foster parents. He’d been smart, and study had been a way to block out pain.
He’d made it into medicine. He’d almost felt...in control?
And then he’d met Beth and taken her camping. The virus. Her blindness.
And now this.
He hadn’t even been able to protect Beth. His own wife...
He felt like smashing something. Anything.
He was going nuts here. He had to do something.
He still had Beth’s holdall, with her day-to-day stuff. Her phone. Toddler gear. A briefcase of patients’ notes shoved on top. Her glasses.
She’d need her glasses.
Thankful for a specific task he headed for the admission desk. The receptionist greeted him cautiously. She knew him—of course she did. Gossip would have reached her as fast as the hospital grapevine would allow, which in Luc’s experience was pretty much faster than the speed of light.
‘You’ve admitted Beth...’
‘Carmichael? You know she’s in Theatre?’ She paused while she thought about where to take it, and came down on the side of forgetting about the Doctor before his name and treating him as a relative. ‘You know, you might like to pop home and take a shower,’ she told him, and for the first time Luc realised he was still liberally encrusted with concrete dust. ‘We’ll ring you the moment she’s out.’
‘Right,’ he growled. ‘What ward’s she going to?’
‘Orthopaedic,’ she said, sounding surprised, and then realised what he really wanted. ‘Whoops, sorry.’ She checked a list on her screen. ‘Oh. We’re almost full so we’ve had to pop her into a double. She’s in with Harriet. Harriet’s going to Rehab in the morning so your Beth will have a great room for the rest of her stay.’
Your Beth?
He didn’t want to go there.
Focus on the room. Harriet’s room was spacious and the admission staff had tried hard to keep it occupied only by Harriet. It would have been one of the l
ast beds left.
‘But she’ll go to Recovery first,’ the receptionist said helpfully. She gave him her best reassuring smile. ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll take her bag up and leave it for her,’ he growled, and the receptionist looked surprised. As if she was questioning why Luc was bothering to tell her.
It was no big deal, he thought. He and Beth hadn’t been married for eight years now. She was just another patient.
Except she wasn’t.
* * *
The nurses had been in and prepared Beth’s space. All was in readiness. The room was dark, silent. Waiting. Harriet was asleep.
How often during the last few weeks had he popped in to see Harriet during the night? She wasn’t coping well with the new norm of a leg that’d always be problematic. The rock fall had almost been lethal. Lightning reflexes had saved her but she’d been left with a comminuted fracture of her tibula and fibula, and there’d been significant soft tissue and nerve damage. She’d come close to losing her leg. Compared to Harriet’s injury, Beth’s was minor and he knew Harriet spent hours staring at the ceiling, trying to figure where to take life from here.
So he often came in here and sat, but this night...it was very, very different.
He should go home and have his shower, he thought, but instead he left the bag, then headed for the sluice room, stripped off his filthy outer gear, washed and then returned to Beth’s ward.
Harriet’s ward, he reminded himself. After all, Harriet was his friend. Beth was... Beth was...
He wasn’t sure what Beth was. He sat in the darkened room and waited and tried to settle.
Ha.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he headed out into the corridor to answer.
‘Dr Braxton?’
‘Yes.’ It was an internal call and his breath caught. Beth was in Theatre. What was happening?
‘It’s Recovery,’ the nurse on the other end of the line told him. ‘You’re on her form as contact person.’
‘Yes. Are things...?’ Strange how his mouth was suddenly dry. This was only a fractured leg, he told himself, but still... ‘Is everything okay?’
Finding His Wife, Finding a Son Page 4
