NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile

by Lynne Marshall

  “Anyone need a bedpan or help to the bathroom? I’ve got some free time.”

  The woman’s honey-colored eyes brightened. She pushed a few strands of black hair away from her face. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you ask my broken-pelvis patient in 604 if he needs a bedpan?”

  “Sweet,” Polly said, noticing a surprised and perplexed expression in the nurse’s eyes before she dashed toward 604.

  Polly took her lunch-break with two other nurses and a respiratory therapist in the employee lounge. They’d all brought food from home like she had. She’d have to count her pennies to survive living in New York City.

  “Is your hair naturally curly?” One of the other young nurses asked, as they ate.

  Polly slumped her shoulders. “Yes. Drives me nuts most days.”

  “Are you kidding? People pay big money to get waves like that.”

  “And people pay big money to have their hair straightened, too,” the other nurse chimed in.

  “Well, I can’t pay big money for anything but rent,” Polly said. The two nurses and R.T. all grinned and nodded in agreement. “That’s why I stick to my hairband and hope for the best.” She thought about her most uncooperative hair on the planet, and as if that wasn’t curse enough, it was dull blonde. Dishwater blonde as her aunt used to call it. How many times had she wished she could afford flashy apricot highlights, or maybe platinum. Maybe get a high-fashion cut and style to make her look chic. Only in her dreams. The last thing she’d ever be described as was chic, and hair coloring was completely out of the question these days.

  She took another bite of her sandwich and noticed everyone zoning out again. The silence was too reminiscent of her childhood, being shipped from one aunt and uncle to another, and how they’d merely tolerated her presence out of duty. The sad memories drove her to start yet another conversation.

  “Do you guys ever go out for drinks after work? I mean, I know I just said I’m counting my pennies, but seeing that it’s my first day on the ward and all, well, I’d kind of like to get to know everyone a little better. You know, in a more casual setting?”

  She saw the familiar gaze of people once again thinking she’d arrived from another universe. “How expensive could a drink or two at happy hour be?” she said. “And wouldn’t we miss the rush hour on the subway that way, too?”

  “You know, I don’t even remember the last time we went out for drinks,” the first nurse said, forking a bite of enchilada into her mouth.

  “Have we ever gone out for drinks?” the second nurse asked, sipping on a straw in her soft drink can.

  “I think once in a while we organize potlucks, but …” The respiratory therapist with a hard-to-pronounce surname on his badge said, scratching his head. “I wouldn’t mind a beer after work. What about you guys?”

  “That’s a great idea,” Polly said, making it seem like the R.T. had thought up the plan. “Count me in.”

  “Where’re we going?” Another nurse wandered into the lounge.

  “To O’Malley’s Pub, a block down the street,” the first nurse said. “I hear they’ve got great chicken hot wings on Monday nights, too. Spread the word.”

  Well, what do you know, she’d pulled it off. One moment the room had been dead, now somehow she’d managed to infuse some excitement into her co-workers as they made plans to do something different. They smiled and chatted about their favorite beer and mixed drinks, and laughed with each other.

  It always felt good to please people. It had been how she’d survived, growing up. She had a long history of perfecting her talent, too. A set of narrowing brown eyes and a raspy voice came to mind. “So who’s going to invite Dr. Griffin?”

  All went silent again. Polly glanced from face to face to face as they stared at her with varying expressions, all of which implied she’d lost her mind.

  “What? You don’t invite your department head for drinks?”

  The first nurse cleared her throat. “Maybe one of the residents but, uh, he doesn’t socialize with us.”

  “Yeah. He merely tolerates us, and only because he knows he needs us to take care of his patients,” the second nurse said.

  “But isn’t he the guy who approves your raises?”

  Three sets of lips pressed into straight lines as they all nodded.

  “I dare you to ask him to come along,” the nurse who’d just joined them said, as she finished heating her soup in the microwave. She laughed with the others at the ridiculous dare.

  “Double-dog dare?” Polly had never heard that expression before Dr. Griffin had said it that morning, but figured now was the right time to use it.

  “Triple-dog dare,” the last nurse said, taking her place at the table and leaning forward with a clear challenge in her eyes.

  Polly knew a set-up when she saw one. Let the new girl hang herself with the boss. Well, she’d seen a different side of him that morning and couldn’t believe they’d never seen it too. “How bad can a person be who makes balloon animals for his little patients?”

  The four other people in the room looked at each other rather than answer the question. That meant one thing. Polly, the diehard, would have to find out on her own.

  As the afternoon stretched on, Polly was surprised by how energized the staff seemed since they’d made plans for after-work drinks.

  Even Brooke approved. “This is just the injection of fun we’ve needed around here. I may have to nickname you Pollyanna.”

  Polly made her goofy face and shook her head. “Please, don’t.” Even though that was better by far than being called Poor Polly.

  At four o’clock, the first shift of the day had ended and had handed over to the next team. Word had spread about everyone going for drinks at O’Malley’s for happy hour, and more than half of the staff had signed on. Some of the evening shift wished they could go, too. Not bad for her first day.

  Polly tied her sweater around her waist and licked her lips. “I’ll see you all down there in a few minutes.”

  She’d promised to invite Dr. John Griffin, and she always kept her promises. She walked to the far side of the sixth-floor hospital wing. Staring down the hall at his closed office door, she took a deep breath and strode onward.

  Someone knocked at the door. John made a face because it interrupted his train of thought, thoughts he’d been avoiding all day. Just one day. That’s all he asked. One day not to remember images from twelve years ago. One day without memories sweeping over him, wrenching his gut. Was it too much to ask for? There was a second knock. “Who is it?”

  All he could hear was some whispery childlike sound, but he couldn’t make out a single word. Irritated, he raised his voice. “Come in. It’s not locked.” He tossed his pen across the desk blotter and leaned back in his chair.

  Peering around the opening door were big blue eyes. Those big blue eyes. Son of a gun, it was dumpling, the young woman he’d mistaken for a teenage patient that morning. Damned if he was going to be the first to speak, he sat watching her enter his office. First her head and shoulders came round the door. Next one foot. Then the other foot cautiously followed suit. There she was, as large than life, except in her case that equaled a petite picture of youth and enthusiasm—the last thing on earth, and especially today, that he needed. When the hell had been the last time he’d actually felt enthusiastic about anything?

  With one hand behind her back, she cleared her throat. “Hi, Dr. Griffin.”

  He sat as still as a boulder. Sure, he’d heard the rumblings about everyone going out for drinks after work that night, and little miss bright eyes being the instigator. Well, he wanted nothing to do with it. He didn’t believe in fraternizing with his staff. It didn’t set a good example. And even if he changed his mind, today would be the last day of any year he’d choose to break his hard and fast rule.

  “Um …” Polly edged closer one tiny step at a time as he stared her down. “A bunch of us are going to O’Malley’s for some hot wings and beer, and …” She scratche
d her nose, her eyes darting around the room to avoid meeting his stare. “Well, I was, um, I mean, we were hoping you’d join us.”

  “And why would I do that?” Even for him it came out gruffer than he’d meant.

  She studied her feet. “To help raise your staff’s morale?”

  “Morale? What’s that?”

  “When people enjoy coming to work, and work better because of it?” She looked all of fifteen standing there, thick wavy dark blonde hair gathering on her shoulders, saucer-sized eyes, chewing her lower lip, hands behind her back, yet somehow seeming courageous.

  Normally, he wasn’t into torture, but she’d been the one to come to him. It might be twisted, but making her squirm also distracted him from those morbid thoughts looping over and over in his mind.

  “Are you their sacrifice?” he said. She glanced up, looking perplexed. “Did they put you up for the fall, being the new girl and all?”

  “No, sir. I wanted to invite you. It was my idea.”

  Her near opaque aqua eyes finally found their mark, and the sight of this young woman staring at him made the hairs on his arms rise. His wife had had eyes exactly like hers. Earlier today, they had been the first feature he’d noticed about the new nurse. Everything else about her physically was completely different from his wife, except those eyes. God, he missed Lisa.

  But all the wishing in the world couldn’t bring her back.

  “Do they need their morale raised?” he said, sounding dead flat even to himself. Who the hell was going to raise his morale? “Don’t they have lives to go home to every day? Doesn’t that raise their spirits enough without me having to babysit them in a bar, too?”

  “They don’t need a babysitter. We’d all like to share a drink together, that’s all.” He saw the pink blush begin on her cheeks and spread rapidly to her neck and ears.

  He wasn’t a monster. He felt bad that he’d made her feel so uncomfortable, but someone should have warned her about trying to involve him in anything social. Brooke had clearly fallen down on her supervisory duties.

  All he wanted to do was go home, hide in a dark room, and bury his sorrow in a glass of perfectly aged Scotch. The world didn’t need to know that today would have been Lisa’s thirty-sixth birthday. How the hell would it look to be chatting in a bar on a day like this?

  “I can’t.” He stood to signal their meeting was over.

  “I double-dog dare you.” She grimaced.

  He folded his arms and one eyebrow quirked. Was she serious?

  With a look of desperation she whipped her arm from behind her back, revealing the silly blue balloon sword he’d made for her earlier. “It’s just that I was hoping to buy a drink for the man who saved my day, today. You and that jar of latex-free balloons on your desk.”

  By the earnest expression on her face he knew it hadn’t been easy for her to come into his office and beg him to meet with his staff at a pub. A staff he kept socially at an arm’s length yet depended on, no, demanded they give his patients the best medical care in New York. He’d always assumed their paychecks were thanks enough. Maybe dumpling had the right idea.

  He didn’t have a clue, neither did he care, what would make her need to include him. But the employees were all probably at the bar having a good laugh at the new nurse’s expense about how they’d managed to set her up for failure. What a dirty trick. Some nurses really did like to eat their young and this Polly was definitely that. Young. Innocent looking. Fresh. Sweet. Ah, hell, be honest—attractive. He gave a tentative smile. She instantly responded with a bright grin and raised brows, and he was a goner. How could he let someone down with a reputation on the line?

  Surely Lisa would understand.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Sweet!”

  “One beer and you’re buying.”

  She nodded, triumph sparkling in her bright blue eyes. “Gladly, sir.” She pointed the way to the door with the balloon sword.

  “That stays here,” he said as he passed her on his way out.

  She stifled her giggle when he impaled her with his dead serious stare.

  One thing she’d already proved to him. This girl … er … woman named Polly was fearless. He liked that.

  John had to admit the tall glass of house draft tasted great and felt smooth going down. His newest nurse, in keeping with her promise, had fronted the money to buy it for him, which made it taste all the better. She really wanted him there. When was the last time he’d been wanted anywhere other than in the orthopedic operating room?

  The look of surprise on the faces of the group of nurses and techs when he’d walked into the bar had been worth the effort. Everyone had gone quiet for an instant before slowly winding back up to their usual pub noise. He could only imagine what they thought about him showing up, and wondered if anyone had taken bets. He and Polly had shared a quiet but victorious glance.

  Chatty Polly had burned his ears on the stroll over, too. She’d practically burst with excitement explaining how much coming to New York and landing a job at such a famous hospital as Angel’s had meant to her.

  Good for her. The world could use more idealistic nurses. Yet he craved the silence of his apartment, where he could sit in the dark and stare out over the neighborhood—remembering the vacancy where the twin towers used to be, nursing his Scotch, which could never fill the bottomless hole in his heart. Shifting his thoughts to the here and now, he took another drink of his beer and gazed at fresh-faced Polly to help banish the image.

  She sat beside him on a barstool, sipping pale ale that left a hint of orange on her breath as she continued to chew his ear. “I wasn’t always interested in orthopedics. I saw myself as an emergency nurse.” Her eyes went wide. Even in the darkened bar they sparkled. “That is, until I worked my first shift on a busy night with a full moon.” She covered her face with long fingers and clear-varnished nails, and shook her head, then quickly peeked up at him. “I thought I was going to die!”

  Was everyone this animated, or had he quit noticing? He’d be dead between the ears if he didn’t admit she was cute, and likeable. She shrugged out of her sweater and he realized she’d changed her nursing scrubs, which had baby koalas patterned over them, for a clingy pink top that dipped just enough to reveal a full-grown woman’s cleavage.

  How had he not noticed that all day?

  He took another drink and tried his damnedest not to stare. She removed her hairband and put it inside her combination backpack-purse, and those light waves curtained her face in an alluring way, coming to rest on her shoulders … which led his eyes back to her breasts.

  He certainly wasn’t dead. Just severely inactive.

  But this wasn’t right, staring down her shirt. He needed to change his focus. “Bartender, the next round for this group is on me.”

  Everyone clapped and cheered, even a few people he’d never seen before in his life, and he took another drink of beer, feeling almost human again.

  Polly wrapped her arm around his and squeezed. “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, tensing, staring straight ahead, knowing his answer had come out clipped. He hadn’t made contact with a woman like this in, well, longer than he cared to admit.

  She must have sensed his tension and unwrapped her arm but moved closer on her stool. “So, Dr. Griffin, I’ve told you all about me, but I don’t know where you come from.”

  The bartender delivered the drinks along the counter, and refilled the bowls with pretzels and mixed nuts.

  “I’m a New York native.”

  “So your whole family is here, too?”

  “My parents retired to Florida a few years back, and my sister lives in Rhode Island now.”

  “Are you married? Do you have any kids?”

  If Lisa hadn’t been killed he would have been a father of an eleven-year-old by now. But his world had officially ended the day he’d spent digging people out of debris as a first responder on 9/11. His always simmering emotions boiled and he
snapped, “Look. I’m here for a drink, like you asked. My personal life is none of your business. You got that?”

  A flash of hurt and humiliation accompanied her crumbling smile. One instant she’d been bubbling with life, the next he’d crushed it right out of her. Good going, Johnny. He had no business being around people.

  She recovered just as quickly, though, straightening her shoulders and sticking out her chest, eyes narrowing, as if this routine was nothing new to her. “Sorry for crossing the line, Doctor.” She slipped off the bar stool and gathered her things and the glass. “Thanks for the beer.” Then she wandered over to a group of nurses a few stools away and joined in with their chatter.

  He chugged down the last of his beer, not touching the second glass. “How much do I owe you?” he asked the bartender.

  He knew he had no business pretending to be like everyone else. He should never have let the pretty little nurse talk him into it. He was only good for one thing, and that was fixing kids with broken bones.

  As for the rest of his life, well, that had officially ended the day his newly pregnant wife had gone to work and died on the twenty-second floor of the twin towers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  POLLY HAD SPENT the entire subway ride home seething over Dr. Griffin’s sour attitude. What had she done to turn him against her? After a little cajoling he’d smiled and agreed to go to the bar with his staff. They’d had a brisk and energizing walk to the pub, enjoying the late afternoon sun and moderate June weather. He’d allowed her to buy him a drink, and he’d even made a grand gesture of buying the next round for everyone else.

  All had seemed to go according to plan in the people-pleasing biz.

  Then she’d asked about his family and the vault door had clanged shut. It hadn’t been mere irritation she’d seen flash in his dark, brooding eyes, it had been fury. Plain and simple.

  As she prepared for bed in her tiny rented room on the Lower East Side, where the shared bathroom and kitchen were considered privileges in the five-story walk-up, she couldn’t stop thinking how she’d messed up that night. Clearly, she’d overstepped her bounds with Dr. Griffin. But how? Didn’t everyone love to talk about themselves and their families? That was, everyone except people like her who had miserable memories of feeling unwanted and unloved, like she’d had since her mother had died when Polly had been only six.