“I get that. I do. And I respect you, Eli. You know that. I feel for your situation. But my hands are tied.” Mike shook his head. “I think it’s best that you step away now. I’ll do everything I can to get your brother stabilized and up to the ICU.”
Eli glanced toward Drew; his brother’s face was now covered by a BiPAP mask. “Give me a minute?”
“Of course.”
Eli walked to the head of the gurney and rested his hand on Drew’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “I’m here, Champ.” A deep ache replaced his anger. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering his brother’s laugh. Hoping against the odds that he’d hear it again.
As he turned away, Lauren Barclay’s eyes met his for an unexpected instant. Her expression was a cloudy mix of concern and . . . judgment? He didn’t need that now.
Eli sought Mike’s gaze. “If you try to tube him again, call me. Let me at least talk him through it. It helps if he hears my voice.” His heart gave a dull thud. “We’re a team that way. The first time we did it, I was eleven years old.”
Eli walked from the room, aware of the whispers and covert glances. He didn’t care. This was about his brother. He couldn’t let Drew suffer. Wouldn’t. And if it came down to a battle with their father . . . Well, that storm had been brewing for a long time.
“ANOTHER SPECK OF HUMIDITY and I swear I’m going to shave my head.” Lauren peered across the hospital picnic table at ER tech Varina Viette—Vee for short—while trying to lift her heavy hair away from her neck. There wasn’t a merciful wisp of a breeze, and more clouds were gathering. Combined with the incessant honk, screech, whoosh of multilevel freeways, the atmosphere felt nearly as unsettling as that squall in the code room.
Lauren frowned, then drew in a breath scented by damp asphalt. “You were right,” she told Vee. “Even with these trees we’d be better off having our sandwiches down in the cafeteria. Or maybe inside the blood bank fridge. It’s forty-six degrees in there.”
“Blood bank?” Vee shook her head, sending a mane of micro braids swinging against her mocha skin. “Now I know you’re more interested in escape than trying my muffulettas.” Her delicate lisp disappeared into a paper napkin as she dabbed her lips. “Thanks bunches, Barclay. I thought my cooking and general awesomeness were the big draws that made you finally agree to take a break from that madhouse.”
“The food was great.” Lauren glanced appreciatively at the last remaining olive-and-salami morsels of the Cajun sandwich. “And you are awesome.” She smiled. It was true. Vee was a big positive in Lauren’s mixed bag of feelings about returning home. She’d never met anyone quite like her. Wise far beyond her twenty-one years, she had a quiet strength and an aura of peace that, frankly, Lauren envied. It seemed so unlikely, since Vee’s childhood had included major upheaval.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to escape.” Vee’s eyes lost their teasing gleam. “It was rough in there with Eli and his brother. I’ve seen Drew before. First at Kingwood Medical Center about two years ago, when I was doing my tech training. He was still living at home then, using private duty nurses; they moved him into the first care home after that long hospitalization last December.” She sighed. “He was here in the ER during Easter week, right before you were hired. I could tell then that he’d deteriorated. So sad.”
“Yes,” Lauren agreed. She’d seen the medical record. Andrew Landry had spent the majority of his time in bed during the last six months but apparently could still speak limited words. The brain injury had left him with a child’s cognitive ability, but subsequent infections and cardiorespiratory events continued to rob him of even that small blessing. Lauren thought of the moment before Eli swept out of the code room. When their eyes met briefly, what had she seen there? He was so hard to read. Lauren wouldn’t let herself imagine the pain she’d feel if it were Jessica on that gurney.
She tamped down a prickle of anxiety—she hadn’t talked with her sister today. Jess was scheduled to start her night shift as a registration clerk in a few hours.
“He keeps things so private,” Lauren said finally. “Eli, I mean.”
“He tries.” Vee touched the small silver cross at the hollow of her throat. “That Easter visit turned into a circus. The ER doc questioned Drew’s full code status, and Judge Landry started shouting about doctors playing God, then about the sanctity of life itself. Eli tried to settle him down and his father unleashed on him, too. He actually accused Eli of wishing his brother harm. Can you imagine?”
Lauren thought of what she’d overheard in the code room about a restraining order. Obviously there were still problems.
Vee sighed. “Poor Mrs. Landry ended up on a gurney with a panic attack. I felt so sorry for her. I think I patted her hand about two hundred times.”
“Awful.” Lauren clucked her tongue, knowing her own mother would rather die than create a public scene. Even worse if it were her daughters causing embarrassment to the family. She glanced toward the doors to the ER, glad to see no ambulances in the parking area. And no crowd of incoming patients, only a young boy using a cell phone near the doors. “You’d think a federal judge would be more discreet.”
Vee was quiet for a moment, sliding one of her braids between her fingers. “I suppose he thought he was protecting Drew, saving him even. You don’t stop to think about something like that. You react.” She let go of the braid, met Lauren’s gaze. “It’s more like instinct. Right?”
“I guess.” Protecting Jess had been a priority for as long as Lauren could remember. From that first moment she stood on tiptoe, in her I’m the Big Sister T-shirt, peering through the nursery window at her tiny, premature sister. Lauren wasn’t sure if her role was an instinct born of that moment or something assigned by her parents. But it had stuck, and during the past year or so, the protection duty had required running interference between her sister and Eli Landry—a friendship her parents blamed for Jess’s bouts of reckless behavior.
In truth, it was far from the first time Jess had been irresponsible and moody. And not unusual for their parents to blame it on the dubious influence of friends, it turned into a dizzying cycle since Jess tended to treat relationships the way their dad handled the TV remote. For whatever reason, Eli Landry seemed currently offscreen in the friend queue. Lauren was grateful to have him at a distance. The man never failed to rattle her. Eating Cajun sandwiches in the blood bank was far more palatable.
“So . . .” Lauren found a mustard-free spot on her napkin and patted her perspiring forehead. As if signaled, the dense and darkening sky rumbled with thunder, then belched a sticky breeze. “My mother—” she made her voice impressively dramatic—“the official Houston weather center volunteer, is convinced those tropical storms aren’t a problem. She and Dad would never have flown off to Colorado otherwise—regardless of my aunt’s gallbladder surgery.” She glanced at the sky. “What do you think?”
“‘Get a kit. Make a plan. Be informed.’” Vee recited the familiar disaster mantra.
“You sound like Mom. I’m surprised she doesn’t have that slogan embroidered on a pillow. Along with her decorative wall of radar maps and forty framed photos of my great-great-grandmother, the hurricane hero.”
“Hero?”
“Jess calls her that; she was named after her. Our great-great-grandmother was living in Galveston during the hurricane of 1900. We’ve heard the stories since we were babies. Folks launching mattresses from second-story windows, Grandmother Jessica tying her children to a tree with ropes . . . It was horrific, of course. Anyone who survived that disaster was heroic. But Jess likes to push Mom’s buttons, tells her she ought to spend less time conducting tours through the weather museum and more time practicing knots.” Lauren fanned herself with the crumpled napkin. “But then I’ll bet no one can top the Barclay stash of D batteries, peanut butter, dry shampoo, and—” She stopped. “Oh, Vee, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
Lauren winced. “You lived throu
gh a cat-5—lost everything—and I sit here making jokes about my parents’ overkill storm tactics. I should snag some of that cache of duct tape for my big mouth.” She didn’t deserve Vee’s gracious smile.
“First of all, I didn’t lose everything. Not the most important things. And maybe your mother is kind of overkill sometimes, but being prepared is a good thing. We can’t know what’s coming.” Vee’s fingers found the cross again. “You just made me think of something my auntie Odette would say.”
Lauren smiled. Vee’s oft-quoted great-aunt had passed away in January at age ninety-three. She’d gone peacefully in her sleep after preparing a gigantic feast of red beans, dirty rice, and crab cakes. The meal had been a treat for staff, patients, and families of Mimaw’s Nest, the residential care home run by several members of the Viette family—all evacuees from Hurricane Katrina. Located west of Houston, near Katy, Mimaw’s cared for about fourteen residents, most of them long-term and very happy to be there. The home had recently undergone some staffing challenges, and Lauren was helping out when she could. “What would Odette say?”
Vee tipped her head as she tried to recall. “Talking about storms, she’d say something like, ‘You’re either in one, fixin’ to go into one, comin’ out the other side a one, or you’re causin’ one.’” Vee clucked her tongue. “Then she’d point that crooked finger and ask, ‘Which are you?’”
Me?
“Ah . . .” Lauren realized she’d shredded her napkin. She dropped it onto the waxed paper from her sandwich. There was no valid reason a folksy Odette-ism should make her uncomfortable. There was no storm here, weather or otherwise.
“I’m due back inside.” Vee tapped her watch. “You still have ten minutes.” She glanced at the young boy walking past them, still talking on his cell phone. “Let me help you with the trash.”
“No thanks. It’s the least I can do. You made the sandwich.” Lauren smiled, pulling her lip gloss from her purse. “And you kept me from going into seclusion in the blood closet.”
Vee rolled her eyes. “You’re right. You owe me.”
As Vee left, Lauren checked her own watch. She did have a few more minutes, and she’d take them. Maybe send Jessica a quick text. Thankfully, this day seemed to be moving away from chaos; every sign pointed in that direction. Andrew Landry had stabilized and wasn’t going to need that hotly contested advance directive—at least not on Lauren’s watch. In fact, his mother had called to say that since the judge was a little “under the weather” and things had improved significantly with Drew, they’d visit tomorrow instead. The ER staff had high-fived each other.
Lauren pulled out her cell phone. In a short while, Drew would be in the ICU, and Eli would put on his white coat and disappear into the adjacent department to start seeing his own patients. That alone would make things considerably better. Then Jess would arrive for her assigned shift, and Lauren would have a chance to make sure everything was okay before heading home herself. The fickle weather would clear. No hurricanes; no need for dry shampoo, stockpiled batteries, or lashing anyone to a tree. No more Landry drama or—
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
“Oh . . . hi.” Lauren glanced up, surprised to see the youngster appear out of nowhere. Maybe eight years old, wearing an oversize Texans football jersey and a frayed ball cap pulled low over raisin-dark eyes. The boy who’d walked by with the cell phone. “Did you need something?”
“I didn’t ask the door code to get back inside the ER.”
“The doors aren’t locked.” Lauren glanced toward the main entrance. “They’re automatic. Push the button next to them.”
“Not those doors.” The boy turned to point toward the employee entrance, and Lauren was surprised to see a rainbow painted on his cheek. Festive neon colors, heart-shaped clouds—totally at odds with everything else about him. “There. That door,” he explained. “That’s the one we went in. I didn’t think I could use my phone in there. So I came outside.”
“But . . .” Thunder rumbled as if to underscore Lauren’s confusion. It was compounded by the strangest sense that she recognized this kid. “That door is for employees only.”
“My dad works here—I’m with him.”
And I’m stupid. The features were so obvious. Lauren’s neck prickled.
“No problem,” the child said with a shrug. “If you don’t know the code, I can probably get someone to let me in from the lobby or—”
“I know the door code. I’ll take you inside.” Lauren managed a smile. “I’m Lauren. And you’re . . . ?”
“Emma Marie Landry.”
Eli’s daughter.
He’d managed to rattle Lauren again.
HOW COULD LAUREN HAVE MISSED that they were father and child? She’d paused near the door to the code room, helpless to stop herself from taking a peek inside. A trio of Landrys . . .
Emma had pulled off her cap, revealing hair the same rich loamy shade as her dad’s and uncle’s. It was short, worn in careless thatches like it had been styled by a leaf blower. Her smile was a picket fence of baby and adult teeth, but her chin and features were decidedly feminine. Her brown eyes were fringed with lashes so lush that Lauren wondered how she could have ever mistaken the child for a boy. Regardless, she and Eli were so alike right this moment, even in their posture as they stood beside Drew’s gurney. Hips cocked a bit to one side, shoulders rounded—the much larger set now in a starched white coat, the girl’s in that faded team jersey. Both had their hands clasped behind their backs. The gurney’s safety rail had been lowered so that—
Oh . . . Lauren’s breath snagged as Eli lifted his daughter to reach her unconscious uncle. Emma hesitated for a brief second as if figuring out how to deal with the oxygen mask, tubing, and web of electrical wires. Then she stretched forward and pressed a kiss on Drew’s pale cheek. One little arm snaked across his hospital gown to hug him as she burrowed her pixie face closer, whispering in earnest. Lauren’s throat tightened. In this child’s entire life, she couldn’t have known her uncle to be much more than what he was right now. Yet her love for him was so beautifully apparent.
“No fairy-tale ending there.” Gayle Garner, the department’s ever-bustling nurse manager, made a rare stop beside Lauren. She hoisted a coffee mug in both hands, her prominent eyes sweeping the code room scene. “Tough thing to learn when you’re only eight. Or even forty-eight.”
“Yes,” Lauren agreed. She didn’t know Gayle’s exact age but suspected the manager was thinking of her own situation: a husband out of work for more than a year due to injury, no disability insurance or compensation. But plenty of medical bills. Gayle never complained, but the extra shifts had to be taking a toll; she looked tired, thinner, and there was an increasingly anxious look in her eyes. Nevertheless, she was probably the best team leader Lauren had ever worked with. Professional, hands-on, firm but fair. And kind. She’d been especially understanding regarding Jess.
“Well then . . .” Gayle switched her coffee cup to one hand in order to check her watch. Her fingers trembled slightly, reminding Lauren to be mindful of her own caffeine intake. “Your sister’s coming on shift at seven?”
“Right.” Lauren felt that frisson of anxiety again. Besides the administration, only two other people in the hospital knew Jess had tested positive on a random drug test last fall. Gayle was one of them; she’d gone to bat for Jess and had been instrumental in keeping Jess from being suspended. It was a blessing Lauren would never forget. “I’m leaving; she’s coming—like ships passing in the night,” she added, hoping her smile looked casual. Why wasn’t Jess returning calls? “We’re both staying at our parents’ place right now. But working opposite shifts, we sometimes miss each other. She’ll be here.”
“Good. There was a sick call, so ER registration will be short-staffed tonight. Friday night and a full moon—you know we’ll be swamped. I’ll count on Jessica to take up some slack.” Gayle smiled warmly. “When she stays on task, she works like two people. A lot like her big sis
ter.”
“Nnnurse!” An alcohol-slurred shout rose from behind a curtained gurney. “I’m gonna need that bedpan again. And this yellow IV bag looks like it’s runnin’ low. . . . Yooo-hoo, Nurse!”
“That’s me.” Lauren smiled. “And that other me, too. Good thing I have four hands.”
“Careful,” Gayle teased, already on her way back toward the desk. “I’ll clone you.”
Lauren glanced at the scene in the code room one last time. “No fairy-tale . . .” Not even close. On all counts. Eli was the other person who knew about Jess’s drug test. Jess had begged him to speak up for her. Lauren had too, asking him to at least vouch for her sister’s character. But unlike Gayle Garner, he’d done nothing whatsoever to help. Far from it—he’d even suggested that Jess’s emotional instability put her at risk for substance abuse. Their parents had been furious. Lauren still was. Who needed enemies with friends like that?
- + -
“Look.” Emma’s lips curved into that innocent and incredulous smile that never failed to make Eli’s heart turn to mush. “Do you see it? A rainbow. Right there on Uncle Drew’s cheek.”
Eli’s gaze moved reluctantly to where she was pointing. Emma was right. Her enthusiastic “uncle snunkle”—a silly variation on the word snuggle she’d invented at age two—had left a faint imprint of a rainbow on his brother’s cheek. Like one of those admission hand stamps. As if Drew had taken his only niece to the circus or Disney World. Among the innumerable things he’d never do.
The low-oxygen alarm sounded briefly to prove that painful truth. Eli adjusted the finger sensor, glanced at the cardiac monitor. Mike had made good on that promise: though catastrophically brain-injured, Eli’s brother was basically stable. The irony was cruel.
Life Support Page 2
