by Fiona Lowe
Katrina hoped so, too. Although there was no scientific evidence to support such a claim, she was at the point of grasping at straws. Her mom’s fever wasn’t abating, and she was sleeping an awful lot. Despite the fact Bonnie had pushed herself up off the pillows to kiss Beau and Shannon, she’d quickly fallen back exhausted. Katrina knew all her energy was being expended just by breathing.
She noticed Cassidy, the nurse on duty, pushing open the door to Bonnie’s room to do the two o’clock observations. Since her quick breakfast with Josh this morning, he’d requested hourly nursing checks. He’d also visited Bonnie twice before lunch after her mom and dad had refused his recommendation that she be transferred to Great Falls. Josh checking in on a patient between round times wasn’t a good sign. It meant he was extremely worried, and that scared her to pieces.
“Let’s take Hunter for ice cream,” Dillon said.
“Good idea.” Megan laughed. “We can practice doing what aunts and uncles do. You coming, Katrina?”
“You know, I think I’ll pass if that’s okay. I want to talk to Cassidy, but you two go.”
Dillon frowned. “We’ll stay if you think we should.”
“No, go. I think it’s a great idea. Important, even, especially as we need to make Hunter feel welcome, and right now with Mom . . .”
Dillon hugged her. “We get it. We won’t be gone longer than a half hour.”
“Bring me back some peanut butter chocolate chip.”
“It’s a hundred degrees out,” Megan said, shaking her head. “We’ll bring you back a milkshake.”
She walked with them to the front of the hospital, feeling a blast of heat as the automatic doors opened. When they closed again, she turned and walked back. As she passed the vending machine, she noticed a side door open up ahead and then Josh appeared, running.
Doctors never ran.
Her heart clogged her throat.
Breathe. It might be someone else. She knew that elderly Mr. Miller in the room next to Bonnie’s had heart problems. He was ninety and forgetful, and she’d helped him back to his room more than once when he’d wandered off and gotten lost.
Please be Mr. Miller.
Josh disappeared inside her mother’s room.
A scream sounded in her head.
She ran.
—
AS Katrina waited in what was officially called the relatives’ room but what every member of the medical staff called the grieving room, she noticed that the paint in the corner was peeling. She’d seen it because she didn’t dare look at the shocked expressions on her siblings’ faces or the devastated emptiness on her father’s. If she did, she’d lose the tenuous grip on her control and fall sobbing to the ground.
“Bonnie’s gone into what we call septic shock,” Josh said, his face haggard. “This means that her blood pressure is extremely low, her kidneys are failing and her heart’s struggling.”
“But you can fix it, right?” Dillon asked, clutching Megan’s hand tightly.
No, he can’t. Katrina kept her gaze fixed on the peeling paint.
Josh ran his hand through his hair. “The infection has taken over her entire body. If we evacuate her to the ICU in Billings and put her on a respirator, that might offer her some time.”
“Surely we should do that, Daddy?” Megan said, reaching for Kirk’s hand.
He shook his head violently. “No, honey.”
“Why not?” Megan’s voice rose, full of bewildered despair.
“Because it means your mom will be in a coma with a tube in her throat and a machine breathing for her,” Kirk said, shooting Josh a glance to check he’d understood correctly.
Josh nodded. “That’s right.”
Kirk visibly trembled. “Your mom and I talked about this very thing when she first got sick, and even though we expected to have a few more months together, she was adamant she didn’t want her life extended with tubes and machines. She sure as heck doesn’t want to die in Billings.”
Megan started to cry softly, and Dillon hugged her as much for her comfort as his own.
“H-h-how much t-time does she have?” Beau stood with Shannon beside him, his arm around her waist, clutching her like a lifeline.
“She’s in heart failure. It could be a couple of days, a few hours.” Josh’s throat worked up and down as if he were fighting for control. “I can’t say exactly, but it’s not very long. If there’s anything you want to say to her that you haven’t said already, now is the time.”
“But she’s unconscious,” Dillon said, struggling to understand.
“She might still hear you. Hearing is one of the last . . .” His voice trailed off at the anguished look on Dillon’s face. “Like I said, if there’s something you really want to say to her, I think you should go say it.”
“I just got to know her and I’m losing her,” Shannon said so quietly that Katrina barely heard her.
She hated knowing exactly what was going to happen. How death was going to slowly and insidiously steal her mother from her, breath by devastating, gurgling breath. Her chest tightened so much it hurt to force air in and out of her lungs, and she reached out her hand, gripping Josh’s arm, her fingers digging into his flesh.
“Promise me you’ll keep her pain-free,” she implored, looking into his shadow-filled eyes. “She can’t suffer. She’s such a good mom, a great person, and I love her so much. You have to promise me . . .” Rising sobs stole her words and then stole her breath.
Josh made a guttural sound and pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. He didn’t say a word but he kissed her hair, he stroked her back and he let her cry. She wanted to hide in his arms forever.
—
JOSH hadn’t slept in over a day and he was running on adrenaline, caffeine and sadness. His day had started out euphorically with a birth, and now, twenty-four hours later, it was ending with a death. He’d have preferred it to be the other way around, but years of working in medicine had taught him that the circle of life never gave you those sorts of choices.
He was alone with Bonnie, having asked the family to step out for just a few minutes to spare them while he examined her. He checked the drainage from her chest tube and increased her pain relief. She’d held on longer than he’d expected, but with a family like hers, surrounding her in love and willing her to stay, he wasn’t surprised. Sometimes people needed permission to pass.
Death was part of his job, and as his emotionally moribund father had always said, if you got upset every time you lost a patient, you’d never get up in the morning. Cut it out, stitch it up and move on.
In emergency medicine, Josh rarely had the time to get to know the patient, which made it easier to keep a professional distance, although he liked to think he’d always been sympathetic to the relatives. But like Katrina had said at breakfast when he’d told her about Jacinta Jane, in Bear Paw, he was part of the community now, whether he wanted to be or not. He’d lost his anonymity.
Hell, he’d lost more than that.
He’d been a guest in Bonnie’s home and eaten food she’d prepared. You’re sleeping with her eldest daughter. A slither of guilt pierced him.
Did she know? Would she have approved? Did it even matter? For a reason he couldn’t fathom, it did.
Despite being certain she was now deeply unconscious and not able to hear, he started talking. “Bonnie, you did an amazing job with your family,” he said, thinking of his dysfunctional one. “Your legacy’s going to live on through them in Katrina’s lovely smile, Dillon’s sense of fun, Beau’s persistence and Megan’s . . .”—he really didn’t know Megan—“. . . enthusiasm.”
He glanced up at the monitors and suddenly felt self-conscious that he was having a one-way conversation with a dying woman, but the words kept coming and he couldn’t stop them. “Thanks for the gifts of food. You didn’t have to do that but I appreciated it.” He squeezed her hand. “But you didn’t just give me food. You taught me that being a good do
ctor is as much listening as clinical skills.”
He made a huffing sound. “I can’t believe I just said that. Truth is, Bonnie, if I’d had my way, you’d be in the hospital at Billings or Great Falls, but you were right. You needed to be here. Half of Bear Paw’s come to the hospital tonight. There’s a candlelight vigil at the church, and I know the ranch house will be filled with casseroles and cakes in the coming weeks. They’ll look after everyone.”
Bonnie gave a rasping, rattling breath.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “I promised Katrina you wouldn’t be in pain, and I hope to God I’ve managed that.”
Placing her hand carefully on the neatly folded bedspread, he walked to the door, pausing for a moment before he opened it. He sucked in a deep and fortifying breath, because facing the McCades’ grief was like being sandblasted. He needed every ounce of professionalism to stay in control.
He opened the door. “You can all come in now.”
Katrina’s pale and tear-streaked face searched his. “Soon?”
He nodded, wishing he could do something to change this situation, but they were all powerless to do a thing. As the others filed into the room he said quietly to Katrina, “I’ll step out for a moment so it’s just Bonnie and the family.”
“Thank you.” She brushed his cheek with her lips before closing the door.
With a steadying sigh, he spun on his heel and pulled out his phone and pressed a name in his contact list. “Dad. It’s Josh.”
“So the phones work in Montana, then?” His father’s supercilious voice rolled down the line.
Josh fought the urge not to grind his teeth. This call was supposed to be about connecting, and he refused to take the antagonistic bait. “How are things?”
“Busy. I’ve been invited to be keynote speaker at the American Surgical Association’s annual conference. You?”
My patient’s dying and her daughter’s grieving and I hate that I’m powerless to change a damn thing. But there was no point saying any of that because he knew what the answer would be.
There also was no point trying to compete with his father on a professional level, either—talking to the Bear Paw seniors about medication compliance was hardly up there with the ASA conference. “I’m learning about small-town life. There are deer in my garden.”
His father sighed and the familiar disappointment Josh always felt came with it. “I was asking about work. I saw a reference in the American Medical Journal to an article about emergency burr holes in remote communities. Good work.”
The praise was pleasantly unexpected. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Of course, if you’d done surgery—”
And we’re back. “Dad, don’t even go there, okay. It is what it is, and besides, I just called to talk.”
Silence echoed down the line, and he had the overwhelming urge to slam his head into the wall. Talk? Why had he said that? His father had no clue how to shoot the breeze. He lived and breathed work.
“Google Maps,” his father said, “shows you’re near Glacier National Park. You’ve got a chance of seeing the aurora borealis from there.”
Josh was tempted to hit himself upside the head to clear his ears out. His father had actually looked up where he was living? “Yes, I’m hoping to see it.”
Katrina’s words floated in his head, and he opened his mouth before thinking. “Would you and Mom be interested in coming out at Thanksgiving?”
“I don’t think so.”
Well now, that was expected.
His father continued, “Next summer, though, on my way to Seattle if the dates work, I might swing by. See the borealis.”
This was unexpected, but he knew from experience it was unlikely to happen. “If it works out, that would be good.” His pager vibrated in his pocket. “Sorry, Dad, I just got paged. I have to go.”
“Understood.”
Before he had a chance to say give my love to Mom, his father had disconnected the call.
He stared at the phone momentarily confounded. As sad as that conversation was, in so many ways it had been the most positive exchange he’d shared with his father in a very long time.
The pink rays of dawn hit the windows, coloring the white walls of the hall yellow and orange and a warm red. He made his way back to Bonnie’s room, opening the door to unfamiliar and now deathly silence.
To a tableau of grief.
Kirk held Bonnie’s hand, his head resting on the bed next to hers. Shannon’s hands cradled Beau’s head on her shoulder, and Dillon and Megan hugged each other.
Katrina stood alone, her hand resting on the monitor switch, having turned off the sound. She raised her gaze to his, her green eyes full of misery and despair. “She’s . . .” Her voice cracked. “She’s left us.”
He walked straight to her, wrapped himself around her and tried hard not to cry.
—
BONNIE’S funeral was a community event, a celebration of a vibrant and sharing life cut short far too early. The church had filled well before the service began, and people had brought outdoor chairs and sat on the lawn. Kirk had insisted that the reception be held at the ranch, and people brought food. So much food, it was as if they hoped that it would fill the empty space inside of everyone now that Bonnie was gone. No matter what Katrina put in her mouth it tasted the same—bland and sad.
Josh had sat next to her at the funeral, and there had been times when she’d needed his quiet, stoic presence next to her. At the reception, he’d offered around food, had poured drinks and had even steered Bethany away from her dad when she’d started telling him all the horror stories she knew about people who’d died from “that terrible chemotherapy.”
When the last of the mourners left Coulee Creek and each member of her family had drifted away, seeking some much-needed solitude, she’d pulled on her yoga pants and a soft T-shirt and started washing dishes. She still expected her mom to come in from the garden with her arms full of vegetables and ask her about her day. How long would it take before that feeling faded?
She raised a sudsy glass out of the sink, holding it aloft. “You always liked a nice, clean kitchen, Mom. This one’s for you.”
The screen door banged shut and she jumped before glancing over her shoulder. Surprise thudded through her as Josh walked in. “I thought you were treating a tourist with a bad burn?”
He walked up to her, his body pressing against hers as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “All done and Randall’s offered to be on call until noon tomorrow.”
His heat flowed into her, and her hands stilled on the dishes as tendrils of desire started to dive deep but were suddenly swamped by the overwhelming feelings of being cared for. “It’s trout season. How did you convince him to do that?”
“I told him you needed a change of scene and he agreed.” He kissed her hair. “I’ve checked the conditions, and according to the Glacier National Park website, there’s a good chance we might see the aurora borealis at Logan Pass. I figured we could take a drive up Going-to-the-Sun Road, stake out a good viewing spot and grill dinner.”
She put a plate on the drainer. “It doesn’t even get dark until around eleven.”
“I’ve got it covered. I’ve also packed chairs, sleeping bags, hot chocolate and snacks. I figure we cuddle up and watch the lights and then head home around five in the morning. I’ll buy you the big breakfast I owe you from any restaurant between the park and home. Then we crawl into bed together and sleep until noon. After that, we face the real world again.”
She turned in his arms, dripping water on him, and tried to speak against a wave of emotion that threatened to reduce her to tears. Very different emotions to the ones that had made her cry over the last week. “You’ve thought of everything, city boy.”
“You betcha,” he said, winking at her as he tried using Montana slang. “We’re going sluffing.”
She laughed. “I hope not.”
He looked gorgeously crestfallen. “Beth
any told me that meant skipping school.”
“Oh, it does, but it’s also means a rockslide, and as we’re going on a steep road, that’s not what we want.”
“No,” he said his face serious. “That might make my car cadywompus.”
“Stop now,” she said, her laughter gaining momentum. A tiny spot of happiness flared in the midst of darkness.
“But I have forty Montana expressions I’ve memorized off the Net that I need to use in a sentence.”
She kissed him to shut him up.
Chapter 20
“Tourist season is killing me, Floyd,” Josh said emphatically as he met with the hospital administrator.
“Only a few more weeks, son,” Floyd said sagely. “Be happy. Tourist season saves our budget every year. In fact, this year it’s been so busy the extra funds are going toward buying that new crash cart for the ER you’ve been yammerin’ about.”
I don’t yammer. Talking with Floyd was a combination of diplomacy and keeping him on task. “That’s good,” he said, appealing to Floyd’s love of the financial bottom line, “but I’m one physician and I can’t be spread this thin. A month ago, I had to call Katrina in to deal with an ER case because Millie and I were delivering a baby. We don’t have enough expert staff. Next summer you’re going to have to employ either another physician, a physician’s assistant or a nurse practitioner.”
Floyd nodded as he often did, but after four months of dealing with him, Josh knew it didn’t mean he agreed with him, just that he was acknowledging the words. “I see your point, son, but the problem lies with getting staff to come to Bear Paw.” He picked up a folder from his desk. “I’ve been putting off telling you this, but Millie handed in her notice today.”
“What? No.” His hand tore through his hair. He did not want to believe the news. “We can’t afford to lose her.”
Floyd shrugged. “She wants exclusively ER work.”
He threw his hands up in the air. “So give it to her. We’re busy enough.”
