Emergency: Parents Needed

by Jessica Matthews

  “OK,” she groused, “I dropped by because I was worried, but worry doesn’t imply any special affection.”

  “Says you.”

  “Says me,” she insisted. “I’d hoped everything would run smoothly and was afraid it wouldn’t. And if it didn’t…”

  He fell silent, waiting for her to continue.

  “You said you’d re-evaluate the situation when your test results arrived,” she said. “I didn’t—don’t—want you to give up before then.”

  Pretending her feelings didn’t exist was clearly her defense mechanism to avoid suffering through the same pain as in her previous relationship. He knew because he recognized the strategy and used it himself. However, he was surprised and a little hurt that she doubted his character. “You really thought I’d break my promise?”

  “No!” Her emphatic answer raised his spirits somewhat. “I just didn’t want you to be tempted. The mind can play tricks when a person is exhausted and his guard is down. Who knows what you might have talked yourself into?”

  “You got that right,” he mumbled to himself before he spoke in a normal tone. “Then it would bother you if I decided to pass on being a father?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Of course it would. Breanna needs you.” Impatience laced her tone. “Besides, the Joe Donatelli I know doesn’t run from tough situations. The question is, do you know the same guy?”

  “I met him a time or two,” he answered ruefully, “but I’ll be honest. The thought had crossed my mind several times.” As far as he was concerned, his childhood experiences didn’t make him the best man for the job, even if Breanna was his daughter—a fact that still remained to be seen.

  “And?” she demanded.

  “I won’t give up because I have a rough day or a sleepless night,” he vowed. “The next few weeks are for me to learn if I have what it takes to be the father she needs, provided I am her father, but after encountering sad situations in our line of work, you know as well as I that biology isn’t a guarantee of being a good parent. Which is why I’m counting on you to stick by us, for as long as we need you.”

  “We agreed on—”

  “For as long as we need you,” he repeated. “If the results say she’s mine, I want my safety net to be available for more than thirty days.” He left unsaid what would happen if the report said otherwise—he’d deal with the moral dilemma of his promise to Dee later.

  She bit her lip, then nodded. “All right, but no sudden decisions, no surprises. I don’t want to wake up one day and discover everything’s changed because you made a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

  He was puzzled. “Like what?”

  “You could relocate. Find a girlfriend. Any number of things.”

  “I won’t make a move without discussing it with you first.” He hadn’t realized how important this one detail meant to her until he saw her eyes brighten with unspeakable relief.

  “Thanks, Joe. I…” Her voice broke and she paused for a second. “Thanks.”

  As she fled the room, Joe smiled. For the first time since Breanna had come into his life he felt as if he’d finally done something right.

  You love her. Joe’s statement echoed in Maggie’s mind throughout dinner, during Breanna’s bath, while the little girl demanded her bedtime story and hugged her good-night.

  Maggie simply didn’t want to admit his comment was true—she’d fought so hard against becoming attached. It couldn’t be true, she told herself. She was fond of the toddler, just as she was fond of her nieces and nephews. Her feelings didn’t go any deeper than that.

  It wasn’t until she went home to her quiet house that she reluctantly admitted Joe was right. She did love the little girl.

  She had an equally tough time admitting that she was falling in love with Joe. She didn’t want to develop deeper feelings for him but the more time they spent together, the more difficult it became to think of him as just a friend and colleague who needed her help.

  Perhaps if he wasn’t trying so hard to do the right thing. Perhaps if he would act more selfishly instead of selflessly. Perhaps if he just threw up his hands, gave up and walked away. But he didn’t take any of those paths. And because he didn’t, he’d gained her respect, her admiration, and what she feared was love.

  She couldn’t love him; wouldn’t even consider it because, given the potential for heartache, it wouldn’t be one of the smarter things she could do. Severing personal ties with her partner, whether it happened on her terms or on his, would be far more devastating than when she’d lost Arthur because if she was honest, his two boys had captured more of her heart than their father had. Her feelings for Joe, whether it was love or its precursor, had already grown deeper and more intense than the combined emotions she’d felt for Arthur and his children.

  Even so, she wouldn’t fool herself into thinking that Joe reciprocated her sentiments. Oh, sure, they didn’t have any trouble striking enough sparks off each other to start a forest fire, but she’d mistaken “appreciation” for love before. She wouldn’t do it again, no matter how quickly his lazy grin made her feel as if she were tumbling head first off a cliff.

  And if she couldn’t wait for morning to arrive so she could drive to the station, it was only because she loved her job. Her excitement had nothing to do with the prospect of seeing Joe again…

  “Donatelli. Randall.” Harry barked their names as he approached while they were running through their usual ambulance check after they reported for duty. “Are you two ready for your Boy Scouts tonight?”

  Maggie groaned inwardly at his reminder. “We will be,” she said instead.

  “They’ll be here at seven.”

  As soon as he moved away, Joe eyed her. “Boy Scouts?”

  “Yeah. I forgot all about them. When I worked the other day, a troop leader called and asked the captain if someone could give an hour-long session on basic first aid. I told him we would, but I got caught up in other things and forgot about it.”

  “How old are the boys?”

  “I assume twelve and older.”

  His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “You haven’t dealt with Scouts before, have you?”

  “I’ve shown elementary school kids the ambulance. Does that count?” she asked hopefully.

  He shook his head. “Not unless they only want a tour. If they’re asking us to teach them enough first aid so they earn their merit badges, it’s a whole new situation.”

  “Merit badges? Sounds involved.”

  “It is.”

  “Then you have experience.”

  “I’ve helped a few boys with the requirements,” he admitted, “but covering all the material takes several sessions. Unless they’re only looking for a tour, one night won’t be nearly enough. We should find out what their goals and expectations are before they land on our doorstep.”

  “As I’m clearly the novice, I’ll bow to your judgment. Just tell me what to do and when.”

  By six forty-five that evening, Maggie was amazed by Joe’s preparations. He’d discovered the boys’ leader, who normally taught the first aid segment, had recently undergone a triple bypass operation, which meant the boys needed someone to fill in the gap.

  Joe, however, was undaunted by the task or its short notice. He downloaded the most recent information from the official Boy Scout Web site and proceeded to outline the coursework over the next several weeks, assigning certain topics to Maggie to cover.

  The six boys arrived on time, all wearing their uniforms with pride and appearing both awed and eager to learn first aid from the “pros”, as one teen called them. After watching Joe with Breanna, Maggie couldn’t wait to see how he interacted with adolescents.

  He did fine. Better than fine. He did great. He welcomed them, spoke to them as if their opinions mattered, and in general treated them with respect.

  In turn, she watched the boys’ reactions to Joe’s lecture. None seemed to daydream or fidget, indicating that his unique mix of humor and earnestness had capt
ured their attention.

  “Who knows what the word triage means?” he asked.

  A studious-looking, tall, sandy-haired boy raised his hand. “It has to do with sorting people for treatment so those who are hurt the worst are taken care of first.”

  “Excellent. How many of you have heard of standard precautions?”

  The same youth’s hand shot up. “It’s when you treat everyone’s blood as if it’s infected with something like HIV or hepatitis.”

  “Very good.”

  “Drew knows that ’cause his dad’s a doctor,” another boy volunteered.

  “Now you know what those words mean, too,” Joe answered.

  As he led them into a discussion on blood-borne pathogens, Maggie saw how confidently Joe handled himself. Clearly, he was in his element, as if being a paramedic gave him an identity and a sense of purpose. She simply had to figure out a way to convince him that being Breanna’s father, regardless of her paternity, could be equally fulfilling, if not more so.

  “Who has a first-aid kit in their house?” Joe asked.

  Only Drew’s hand shot up. The other boys groaned good-naturedly.

  “For those of you who don’t have an emergency kit, what do you think should be stocked in it?”

  “Band-Aids.”

  “Cotton balls.”

  “Alcohol.” As all eyes turned onto the youth who’d supplied this answer, his fair skin turned bright red under his blond hair. “Not the stuff you drink,” he defended. “The stuff they use in the doctor’s office before you get a shot.”

  “Rubbing alcohol,” Joe explained. “Excellent. But did you know, in the old days they used whiskey for disinfecting purposes?”

  “I thought they just gave that to the guys to get ’em so drunk they didn’t know they were hurting,” another answered.

  “That was only when they were doing surgery,” a third boy said knowledgeably. “Then they gave ’em a bullet to bite on.”

  The discussion went downhill after that. Joe’s eyes met Maggie’s and she didn’t hide her smile. “Way to go, partner,” she mouthed. “Let’s see you get out of this one.”

  His smile broad, Joe raised his hands to quieten the small group, but the voice over the loudspeaker did the job for him. “Squad two. Report of unidentified male with apparent seizure. Twelve fifteen Fairfield Drive.”

  Maggie immediately recognized the address as the location of a rundown hotel that rented rooms by the week or the hour, depending on the clientele. She grabbed their jackets off the hooks near the ambulance while Joe wrapped up his class.

  “Your assignment is to assemble a first-aid kit using the list of supplies in your manual,” he told the boys. “Bring them next week and we’ll discuss their purposes. See you then.”

  The boys and their leader watched in wide-eyed interest as Joe and Maggie shrugged on their jackets, hopped into the ambulance, and headed down the concrete driveway with the required red lights and siren.

  “You squeaked out of that one,” Maggie teased as Joe drove towards their destination. “Who would have thought their minds would run in the direction of television medicine?”

  “It’s a guy thing. When you’re that age, it’s a lot more manly to think about biting on a bullet than depending on the chemistry of a puny injection.”

  “I’ll take my painkiller any day.”

  “Me, too.” He pointed toward the patrol car that signaled their destination. “We’re here.”

  Inside, the bewhiskered hotel clerk who looked thirty years older than he probably was gave them directions. “Fourth floor. Third room on the left. No elevator.”

  “It figures,” Joe mumbled under his breath. “We can’t use our gurney.”

  “Could be worse.”

  His disgust was obvious. “I’m going back for a stretcher.” He returned a few minutes later with the compact stretcher they used for tight-space situations.

  “Ready?” Without waiting for his reply, she hefted a bag on one shoulder, expecting Joe to take the other, then headed for the stairwell. Joe, however, had other plans.

  He shouldered her aside once they reached the fire door. “Stay behind me.”

  His imperious attitude irked her. “What did you say?”

  “I’m going first.” He pushed his way through and started up the first flight.

  “Says who?” Irritated, she followed.

  “Says me.”

  “It’s my turn,” she reminded him. “We had an agreement. You can’t break it whenever the mood strikes you.”

  “Sue me.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “What is that smell?”

  A breath-taking aroma of rotting food and body waste grew stronger as they climbed onto the third floor landing. “I don’t want to know, but, whatever it is, we’re not opening that door unless we have to.”

  Joe glanced over his shoulder at her. “This is definitely worse than not having an elevator.”

  “To put it mildly,” she agreed, grateful for the sturdy boots she wore. Who knew what she’d encounter in the dark corners of the stairwell? From the scurrying noises, she hoped it had only been mice and not rats.

  On the fourth floor, outside their patient’s room, Officer Derek Pruett stood sentry, then motioned them forward as soon as he noticed them. “In here.”

  She wasn’t surprised Joe continued to lead the way. In any event, she wasn’t going to complain about his highhandedness in public. She’d save that for when this was over. Meanwhile, she understood why Pruett remained in the hallway—the distinct smell of urine permeated the air, along with other breath-taking odors she didn’t want to identify.

  “What do we have?” Joe asked Pruett’s partner, Officer Thomas Krom, who was crouched beside their patient.

  “According to the clerk downstairs, Martin Kazinsky is in his mid-forties and never had seizures before. Apparently Kazinsky drops in when the weather’s cold, stays a few days, then leaves.”

  “Is he alone? Who found him like this?”

  “No one will admit to anything,” Pruett supplied from his place at the doorway. “Probably because the guests at this fine establishment aren’t the most law-abiding citizens in town.”

  “Respirations adequate,” Maggie reported to Joe, breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell.

  “Pulse is strong. Looks malnourished. Whiskey bottles in the corner. Alcoholic, I’d say.”

  Pruett stuck his head through the open doorway. “There’s an altercation on the first floor we need to check out. Are you two OK by yourselves for a little while?”

  “Sure. Go ahead,” Joe said while Maggie nodded and bent as close to their patient’s ear as her nose could tolerate.

  “Mr Kazinsky,” she asked. “Martin? We’re paramedics from the fire department. Can you hear us? We need to talk to you.”

  Immediately, Martin’s body spasmed. “Watch his airway,” Joe instructed.

  By the time his muscle contractions eased, nearly a minute had passed. And when they couldn’t rouse him after the episode, Joe began assembling his IV equipment. “I’ll start normal saline while you get him on O.”

  Maggie immediately affixed a non-rebreathing mask on Martin’s face, which would deliver the highest concentration of oxygen. As she settled the mask to her satisfaction and pulled the elastic band over his skull, she noticed a raised area near the back of his head.

  “Look at this.” She pointed to the spot. “This isn’t a marked knot, so it’s hard to say if this is his normal skull shape or not.” She flashed her penlight on his head. “It’s definitely bruised.”

  “He either fell and hit his head when he had a seizure, or the seizure is a result of his fall,” Joe answered. “The docs will have to sort that out.”

  Maggie wordlessly prepared the injections of thiamine and dextrose per their standing orders while Joe established his IV line. As soon as Joe began to administer the dextrose through the port, Martin stiffened again.

  “He’s going from one convulsion t
o the next. I’m going to give him some help,” she told Joe, mentally defying him to disagree.

  He didn’t. “We don’t have a choice.”

  Maggie reached into the drug kit and prepared another injection of a tranquilizer that contained both muscle-relaxant and anti-convulsant properties. As soon as Joe administered this dose, Martin’s seizure ended, although he remained unresponsive.

  “Let’s get him out of here,” Joe said.

  A few minutes later they had rolled Martin onto a stretcher. While Joe called the dispatcher to learn the status of Pruett and Krom, Maggie strapped down Martin for the trip downstairs.

  “They’re still busy,” Joe told her as he finished his radio conversation. “Who knows how long it will be, so we’ll have to do this on our own.”

  “Naturally,” she said wryly.

  “I’d send you downstairs with our stuff, but it isn’t a good idea to split up. Leaving our supplies and coming back for them later isn’t an option either.”

  “I agree.”

  He eyed her. “Can you carry a bag while we…?”

  As if she’d claim weakness. She didn’t work out to stay in shape for nothing. “Try and stop me.”

  Maggie slung one of their first-responder bags around her neck while Joe took the other. As if on cue, three street toughs wearing leather and chains swaggered in.

  “Well, lookee here, Mo.” The one with purple and green hair studied Maggie with a wicked grin. “Ain’t she sweet?”

  Their cocky attitudes set off alarm bells in her head but these men were the sort who plainly thrived on instilling fear and she wasn’t about to accommodate them. “Step aside,” she ordered, ignoring his leer. “This man needs a doctor.”

  Before she took two steps toward her end of the stretcher, the second fellow, his hair closely cropped and sporting rings in his eyebrows and lower lip, moved close enough for her to smell his fetid breath. His red eyes and runny nose were characteristic of a cocaine user, which made him unpredictable at best. Wariness swept over her.

  “Move along, guys,” Joe commanded. “You’re in our way.”

  “Well, whadya know, boys,” Purple-hair sneered. “We’re in their way.”