by Cheryl Wyatt
Something unsettling oozed out of him, like suds from the sponge he squeezed over a dish. She’d said “this week.”
She must not realize his eating with Lem was an every-morning ritual, even when they didn’t have a mile-long chore list. She was liable to go from zero to mad and stay there the second she found out. And she’d find out soon enough.
Days before Lauren told Lem she was coming, Lem had given Mitch the summer to-do list. Much-needed home-improvement projects, knowing Mitch had limited time before the trauma center took off full force in the fall. Mitch wasn’t about to neglect Lem’s requests, because in addition to worrying about Lauren, Lem fretted over things breaking down in and around his house.
Mitch regretted that her warmth would cool and her smile dim when she learned how tightly his life was twined with Lem’s, but it seemed inevitable. Jealousy was the only reasonable explanation why her beautiful eyes radiated anger every time he interacted with Lem.
Didn’t she know she didn’t have to always live like the outsider or waste one more breath believing she didn’t belong? How sad was that?
Mitch studied her as she dried the dishes he set in the drain. Water glistened off her hands as she rescued a spoon he missed in the rinse water before the disposal gobbled it.
She hit a switch and the noise faded. Citrusy clean scents permeated the kitchen. Horses clomped and pistols pop-popped from Lem’s favorite vintage Western show on a TV Mitch had set up in Lem’s living room.
She peered over her shoulder at Lem and smiled. It plied his heart like putty and softened it to clay.
Out of respect for Lem’s care concerning Lauren, how could Mitch reach out and pull her in? Pulling away from Lem wasn’t the answer, even though that’s probably what Lauren would prefer Mitch do. Loneliness plagued Lem enough, and Mitch wasn’t about to abandon him on purpose.
On the spurs of the rowdy Western show came a comedy, as evidenced by Lem’s whooping laughter. The sound made Lauren’s face beam like a thousand moons at midnight. Her iridescent eyes and effervescent expression mirrored happiness he felt inside.
Their gazes connected then darted to the floor.
She poured Lem a fresh cup of coffee. Mitch resisted the urge to tell her Lem preferred the red chipped cup. She’d learn.
Mitch’s penchant for being helpful put him in trouble at times. Lauren obviously knew how particular Lem was about certain things. She stacked plates and organized dishes exactly how Lem liked it, which was “how he had always done it.”
Coffee cups came and went, but the cherished never left.
Lauren would learn that in time. He refused to infringe on the sacred, and she and Lem had shared losses that immortalized them from ever letting the importance of one another go.
She was just insecure right now, was all. Hopefully.
The lower cabinet creaked as she opened it. Haphazardly stacked pans toppled out onto her toes. Mitch hunkered next to her to help restack the storage space.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“Sure.” He lifted heavy pans as she held the cranky-hinged cabinet door. “I’ve been meaning to fix that. Time gets away from me.”
“I know the feeling,” she said softly, surprising him. Vulnerable eyes flitted to his then to where Lem cackled at the TV. Then her gaze lowered to the floor.
She needed to know Mitch wasn’t a threat. He had no intention of stealing her grandfather away from her. He also had no intention of pulling back on the reins of his and Lem’s familylike relationship just because it rubbed her wrong.
The solution was to share Lem. The problem was on her end. She needed to come to the realization of how irrational her ire was. Even still, compassion tried to take up residence next to Mitch’s resolve not to let her anger influence his actions.
Disarmingly quiet, she hung the damp dish towel on a rack affixed to the wall then joined Lem. Mitch found a screwdriver. He grew intent on working the creaks and kinks out of the cabinet. And from this uncomfortably tense and trying situation.
Mitch would be here long after Lauren left. Lem needed stability in his life. Lauren had made it perfectly clear she didn’t intend to stay past summer’s end. That reality made Mitch sad for Lem, who desperately wanted Lauren close. Had she any idea how deeply Lem ached for her and her nearness?
Hopefully Lauren didn’t have the kind of self-absorption that his ex possessed which led her to decimate important relationships in her life.
He shouldn’t liken Lauren to Sheila. But the recent breakup still smarted. Perhaps he should withhold judgment and extend grace, as Lem taught him growing up.
Lauren reentered the kitchen with a funny expression. “Trash runs tomorrow. He asked us to clean out his fridge.”
On the way to it, Mitch caught sight of Lem, sniggering over his coffee cup as he eyed the pair. “I’m sure he did.” Mitch shook his head.
Lauren reached in and started checking dates on goods while Mitch peeled the lids of leftover dishes and looked with fear.
Lauren set about helping him. Only, she popped the tops off, poked her nose inside and smelled the contents.
“You are brave.” He indicated the containers. “No telling how long some of that stuff has been in there.”
“Ew!” Lauren’s nose pinched as she clamped a lid back on a bowl. “I don’t think those beets were supposed to be pickled.”
Mitch laughed and tried not to enjoy her response too much.
She shook her head and surveyed the fridge contents. “I’ve never seen anyone with so many butter containers in one place.”
“He likes using them for storage. Not just food. He has an entire garage wall lined with shelves of butter tubs. Full of batteries, bolts, nuts, nails and everything imaginable.”
Her lovely smile dimmed, making him wish he’d kept quiet. Last thing he wanted to do was cause her to have to contend with more hurt. He was just trying to make conversation.
All these containers and no way to butter her up? Think, Mitch.
“Wanna help me wash?” Mitch lifted a dozen empty tubs.
“Of course.” She also took an armload to the sink and they began doing the dishes. Again. This time the silence between them leaned toward sweet instead of stilted.
What gave him the nerve, Mitch didn’t know, but he rested his elbow against hers as they worked together. Just as in surgery. Like a team. Surprisingly, she didn’t resist.
Joy rose when she squeezed the detergent bottle and giggled. He loved the sound and intended to ensure Lem heard it more. Lem worried himself sick over Lauren.
Not only that, laughter seemed to deter her from the frank jealousy she possessed over his friendship with her grandpa.
Lauren stilled then stiffened. He peered at what she did.
Photos on the fridge. As many of Mitch with Lem fishing and doing other recreational activities as there were of her and Lem.
She narrowed her gaze, turned fiercely on Mitch.
“Yeah, we like to have fun,” he said. “I don’t see the problem.”
“There lies the problem. You don’t see.” She swept her hand toward the fridge surface as though tempted to sweep the photos away, but stopped and eyed Lem. Her hand dropped with defeated finality. “Fishing was our thing. Always. Just me and Grandpa.”
“This isn’t a competition, Lauren.” Mitch touched her arm gently.
She jerked it away—not so gently. “He isn’t your grandpa.”
He was, though. Sort of. Not by blood maybe, but by tears and time invested and years of talks of dreams and fears. “How about next time we go fishing, you go with us?” Mitch offered.
“How about next time we go fishing, you stay home?”
Stunned by the amount of scorch in her words, Mitch formulated his own retort but scaled back the rudeness. “Lem
’s life will go on as normal. Period.”
She’d have to learn to live with it. Lem had reached out like a dad to Mitch growing up, and he wasn’t about to abandon Lem over mismanaged emotions and envy. Hopefully soon she’d see how irrational, abrasive and self-destructive her jealousy was.
Otherwise she was in for a miserable summer. So was he.
And so was Lem. Which is why Mitch needed to cool his jets and try. Attempt to reason with her instead of letting his sympathy wane every time she opened her mouth. Problem was, every third time she opened her mouth, acid spewed out.
He leaned in and softened his tone. “Look, if we don’t nip this tension between us now, Lem will get wind of it and worry.”
That seemed to snap her to her senses. Thankfully the anger didn’t make an ugly encore, and envy managed not to rear its head. Mitch doubled his efforts to listen more than he spoke. It worked. Slowly they began less caustic verbal exchanges, sparring at first then funny and sincere.
It was obvious they were both putting their best foot forward. For Lem’s sake, of course.
They had a second set of dishes done in no time flat, yet Mitch could have stood there talking easily with her all day.
Talking turned to laughing, which turned into total hilarity when Mitch kept pushing the plastic bowls down only to have them pop up again. She giggled every time it happened. He did, too. The shared humor drastically disintegrated the tension.
“Help me hold them down?” Mitch entreated after another bowl bobbed up and flung an airborne glob of soap in his eye.
“Think physics. You have to turn them sideways and fill them at an angle. See? The water and the air stop resisting one another and meet halfway.” As she showed him, their hands touched. Their motions startled then slowed at the pleasant but wholesome sensation. Not only that, her carefully exacted comment about meeting halfway held unmistakable emphasis.
He met her gaze. “Meeting halfway sounds better than fighting constantly.”
The depth of beauty and bravery in her smile plunged all rational thought into disarray. He had not expected it.
Seemed to him they took their time near the end of the butter bowl baptizing marathon.
Afterward Lauren washed the table. “Mitch, are you going to the trauma center today?”
“No. I’m going tomorrow after I come here and clear out Lem’s gutters. I’ve already rounded at the center today.”
“May I come with you tomorrow, to check on Mara?”
“The texting teen?” He hadn’t meant it to come out so abrupt. But seriously, what was Lauren’s draw? The girl killed someone with whatever string of words she’d felt too important to pull over for. Talk about a death sentence.
Mitch’s annoyance regained ground.
“Yes.” A wary expression accompanied Lauren’s answer. Perhaps his ire was a little overdosed. Yet hadn’t his dad’s life been snuffed out by an equally distracted driver?
Mitch scrubbed the opposite end of the table with fervor. “Suit yourself. But just to warn you, Mara’s still on a ventilator, unconscious. There’s also a possibility I’d get held up at the center because the other surgeon who’s been graciously covering for me is on call at Refuge Memorial, his primary hospital.”
Mitch really did not want Lauren getting attached to Mara. Nothing good could come of that. Right?
The stubborn set to her jaw resembled Lem’s when things—like tractors—didn’t go his way. “I’ll take my chances.”
Chapter Six
One hour into their trauma center visit the next day, Mitch guessed Lauren regretted saying that.
She took her chances coming in, all right.
A bus of summer-camp teens overturned shortly after Mitch and Lauren arrived, which filled the center with victims.
“Eighteen and counting,” Ian informed Mitch. “No way to divert.” Ian referred to the fact that the center was diverting low-risk patients to other hospitals until Mitch and Ian secured a second trauma team. Today that wasn’t possible.
Kate handed him a chart. “Want me to call help in?”
Mitch nodded then faced Ian. “I need to get on the ball putting together another full-time trauma crew.”
“Yeah. You’ve been tied up at Lem’s, though.”
“Not enough hours in a day to get everything accomplished that needs to be, this summer.”
“Let me know how I can help.”
“I will.” Yet he knew Ian was already strapped for time with his divorce, court hearings, housing and custody stuff.
“Where’s Lauren?” Mitch asked Kate, passing by with an armload of ice packs.
“Your new director assumed Lauren came to help. She assigned her to triage to treat non-emergent wounds which, thankfully, she did graciously. She’s doing awesome, Mitch.”
Still, he’d better go check. Mitch found Lauren and assessed her for signs of panic. None whatsoever, but he should ask anyway. “Are you okay?”
“Are you absurd?” She looked down the hall of writhing, wailing, wall-to-wall youth and laughed. “I’m not about to abandon you to the fate of all this teen angst. I’m the last person you should be worried about right now, Mitch. Your director, however, is having a total freak-out.”
“So I heard. She’s not used to trauma care.”
Lauren made the funniest face. “Uh, hello? Neither am I.”
Yet he didn’t see her screeching down halls and complaining in front of patients and their families, as he’d received reports of the director doing. His mistake. Some applicants looked good on paper, yet they had no people skills.
“Point well taken, Lauren. I trust you. Unequivocally. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling overwhelmed.”
“I doubt there’s a staff member here who doesn’t feel overwhelmed. Twenty patients hit the floor in two hours’ time.”
He grinned, loving the fire in her eyes. “You’re made for this. You are.”
“What I am is annoyed at the prospect of being babysat over a busload of mostly bumps and bruises. Now shoo!” But she smiled when she said it.
Satisfied she was okay for now, Mitch viewed X-rays. Then casted an ankle, miraculously the only bus-wreck fracture.
Between patients, he went to check on Lauren again.
She waved him toward another incoming gurney. “I’m fine. Check on that one. He looks kind of critical.” She smirked then righted herself before anyone but Mitch could catch it.
When Mitch found nothing but a nosebleed on Gurney Guy, he realized two things: One, Lauren had a gift at triage. Two, she knew when it was okay to use humor to cope. Something he felt crucial to anyone in trauma care. Otherwise stress and burnout would run off the best ones.
After earnestly convincing Gurney Guy he wasn’t bleeding to death, Mitch held an ice pack to the kid’s nose and issued fatherly hugs. Like Lem used to whenever Mitch had some kind of accident.
“Ever had a nosebleed this bad?” Gurney Guy asked him.
“Actually, yes.” He nodded at Lauren, bandaging a wound nearby. “I nearly broke my nose crashing a new bike her grandpa got me. Refuge Community Church had pitched in on it.”
“That’s cool,” the kid said.
“Not really.” Mitch laughed. “Considering I’m probably the only kid in Southern Illinois to have an entire congregation present to cheer me on when I learned to wreck and ride it.”
“You still go there?” The young man looked up to Mitch.
“Yep. That church has prayed me through med school and safely home from two wars. I have to say, though, that we didn’t have the distinct pleasure of experiencing a bus crash.”
That evoked the youth’s laughter and erased tension from his features. Mitch pivoted and caught Lauren, within hearing range, watching them with an adoring
expression.
“She your girlfriend?” the kid asked.
Mitch caught himself before he reacted sharply. “Nope. She’s my nurse.” But he could hope.
“She could also be your girlfriend. Maybe even your wife.”
He could hope that, too. If he was hungry for more heartache. No, thanks. Still, the kid’s words circled around his head, stalked his brain and mocked his steely resolve.
If Mitch were smart, he’d refuse to entertain the innocent suggestion at all. Instead he dwelled on how to get Lauren to join Refuge Community Church this summer, as Lem had requested of him. Refuge lived up to its name and was where Mitch met the PJs who had become his friends.
After releasing the now-calm nosebleed fellow to his mom’s care, Mitch checked on other patients then the rest of his crew, including Lauren. Or maybe he just liked watching her work.
Her efficient yet calm body language revealed she’d picked up on the fact that the bus driver and chaperones had blown this wreck way out of proportion. Yet Mitch didn’t blame them for being scared. He was thankful it wasn’t worse.
It could well have been because they’d had to call Refuge’s pararescue team to help firemen extract teens who were in reality more frozen with fear and panic than physically trapped. Still, God had evidently had His hand over the kids and the bus. Thank You, God.
The bus patrons had non-life-threatening injuries, but Mitch wanted everyone assessed nonetheless. That, along with parental worry and teen drama, made for a long, interesting day. By the time they had finished, dusk’s velvet-purple evening winked at them through the trauma center’s windows.
Lauren approached. “Mitch, some off-duty PJs are here.”
“Probably checking the status of bus teens they helped rescue.”
“They also offered to man the center overnight so your current crew can make like platelets and regroup.”
Mitch laughed. “Is that how they put it?”
Lauren grinned. “Pretty much.”
The group of elite men came down the hall like a formidable force, prepared to strong-arm Mitch’s crew into a much-needed break should anyone protest. He knew those guys well.
