“We’ll talk,” she promised. And they would, once this was over....
And now it was.
She felt as if she’d just run the Boston Marathon on her knees through broken glass. God, but she was exhausted. The fluid buildup had been greater than she had anticipated. The bloated dural sheath of the nerve had capriciously shifted when Murphy had bent down for the pieces of the cube. The resulting shift in pressure had rendered him blind. It could have happened at any time.
Thank God it had happened when she was there.
“Nice job.” Dr. Alex Mead nodded at Shawna as he stripped off his green livery and tossed it into a laundry receptacle. “Made me feel rather useless, just standing around there.”
He’d come through for her at what amounted to a moment’s notice, shifting his patients around to accommodate the surgery, and she was extremely grateful. She owed him one. Big time.
“You wouldn’t have been if I’d suddenly had to go running off to throw up.”
Mead stopped rebuttoning his hand-tailored shirt. He’d assisted Shawna during other surgeries and been duly impressed with her technique. “Since when do you get a queasy stomach during surgery?”
She was about to tell Mead that she was pregnant and then stopped, surprised that she’d admit something so casually to someone who wasn’t related to her. She hadn’t even told her mother—Simon had. Maybe more than just Murphy’s sight had been corrected in that operating room. Maybe the way she saw things had, too.
But before she could say anything, Shawna felt a large, comforting hand on her shoulder. “Since she was operating on someone she cared about.”
Shawna turned to see that McGuire was standing beside her. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t as if he had to walk through the locker area to get to another part of the hospital. He had sought her out.
“I came to give you moral support, in case you needed it, which I see you don’t. Word got out.” He nodded toward the operating room. “You caused quite a ripple in hospital politics by bumping that nose job.” He could see by her expression that she hadn’t the faintest idea whose surgery she had had postponed, only that it had been necessary. “Seems the nose belongs to Heather O’Greer, daughter of a well-placed councilman.”
Was that all? “Her nose’ll keep.”
McGuire laughed as Mead left the room. “How’s Murphy doing?”
She realized that she still had her gloves on and began to strip them off. “He’s going to be just fine.”
McGuire had expected nothing less. “I had my suspicions he would be. He has a terrific surgeon.”
Shawna tried not to let the praise matter too much. But it did. She unknotted the tie at the back of her gown, then slipped it from her shoulders. The gown joined Mead’s in the laundry receptacle. “I’d better go and tell his family the news. I had Jeanne call them.”
It had been a complete afterthought. All she could focus on at the time was Murphy and the horrid feeling of urgency that was pounding through her.
McGuire had passed by the surgical waiting room on his way over. “There’s a cluster of people in the lounge who might fit the description of worried family members.”
She nodded her thanks and went through the swinging operating-room doors into the corridor.
Shawna had no sooner crossed the threshold to the lounge than she saw Kelly springing to her feet. Within a moment she was at her side.
Kelly grasped Shawna’s arm. “Is he—?”
It always felt wonderful to be able to give a patient’s family good news. This went far beyond that feeling.
“He’s going to be just fine.”
Shawna’s eyes swept over the collection of faces. She recognized Kimberly and her husband, Adam, and Thomas. The petite white-haired woman holding on to Thomas’s arm was Murphy’s mother. The thought that it must be nice to have a support group echoed in Shawna’s mind.
Within a few months they would become hers, as well.
As succinctly as possible she tried to explain the procedure she had performed on Murphy. “I did what’s called an optic nerve decompression to drain the fluid from behind his eye. The swelling had gotten to be larger than we thought. Murphy’s lucky. We got it in time before there could be any permanent damage.”
“He always was lucky,” Thomas said, holding Kelly to him.
Mrs. Pendleton looked at Shawna, gratitude shining in her gray eyes. “Can we see him?”
Shawna nodded. “When he’s in his room. He’s in recovery now. They’ll be bringing him up to his room in about an hour.” She pointed down the hall to the front of the building. “You can check with Information to find out the number. Until then, relax. It’s over.”
Kelly squeezed Shawna’s hand and spoke for all of them. “Thank you.”
Shawna returned the smile. “Just doing my job. If your brother hadn’t been so stubborn, there would have been no reason for these theatrics.” A whimsical smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “And Heather O’Greer wouldn’t have had to live an hour longer with a nose she hated.”
She didn’t bother explaining, knowing the others were too overjoyed to pay much attention to her last comment.
Nausea notwithstanding, she was feeling pretty overjoyed herself.
* * *
There was a noise buzzing somewhere around him. Murphy felt as if he were swimming up from the depths of a lake, up to the top. To where the noise was.
To where the light was.
He had to find Shawna.
The single thought beat in his brain like the rhythm of the relentless rain as it fell against a window.
He had to find her. Before he lost her. Forever.
With what felt like supreme effort, Murphy swam to the top, urgently calling her name. It felt as if he was swimming for hours. And still he couldn’t reach the top.
“Right here, Murphy. I’m right here.”
Pressure. A hand. There was someone holding his hand. Murphy forced his eyes open. It wasn’t easy. Each eyelid weighed close to a ton, and his view was obstructed by the bandage.
The room was swaddled in cotton. There was a face shimmering above him. A woman’s face, fragmented. He blinked twice before the fragments formed a whole.
“Shawna.”
The idiot was trying to raise his head, she thought in exasperation. She laid a hand on his shoulder, urging him back down. “Shh. Lie still, you’re in recovery.”
It took him a moment to make sense of what she said. “No, I’m not.” His tongue felt thick, too big for his mouth. “I’ve mended. You said yes.”
He took a breath and appeared to have fallen asleep. But when she attempted to move her hand away, his eyes fluttered open again, his fingers tightening on hers. “You did say yes, didn’t you? Or was that a dream, too?”
If he hadn’t just had surgery, she would have hugged him. As it was, she had to restrain herself. At least, for a little while.
“No, it wasn’t a dream, and yes, I did say yes.” Her smile contrasted with the tears that sparkled in her eyes. “But, you know, I might be taking unfair advantage of the situation.”
He struggled to understand. Thoughts moved through his brain like the giant wheel of a steamroller. “Why?”
She felt her heart warm just at the sight of him. She’d been so frightened when she had seen his face pale in the office. “Well, it’s a known fact that a lot of patients fall in love with their surgeons.”
A very weak smile curved Murphy’s lips. At least, he thought it did; he wasn’t completely sure. “I did it before the operation. I wanted to beat the rush.” A wave of need came over him as he felt her drawing her fingers away from his hand. “Stay with me, Shawna.”
She had an afternoon full of patients. “I—” For once, she thought, they could wait, or be rescheduled. Her baby’s father needed her. And she needed him. She hadn’t realized just how much until the past few hours. “Yes, I’ll stay.”
He knew she would, but he wanted to make sure. �
��Forever.”
She laughed softly. Forever had a wonderful ring to it. She looked down at their linked hands. For a man just out of surgery, he had a good grip. “As long as I get bathroom privileges.”
The smile on his lips was fading into his dreams. “You can have anything you want, just stay.”
Before she could answer, the blanket of anesthesia reclaimed him and Murphy drifted off to sleep.
Shawna nodded gratefully at the nurse who scooted a chair over for her beside the bed. Sitting down, she smiled at Murphy as she brushed the hair away from his forehead. As if he could get her to leave. She’d subconsciously sensed almost from the beginning that he possessed all the necessary pieces to make a good husband. He just needed a little work, a little prodding, to get those pieces to assemble themselves into a wonderful whole.
“Yes, I’ll stay, Murphy,” she whispered softly. “Forever.”
* * * * *
A Note from the Author
There wasn’t a time, ever, when I wanted to be a boy. I have always enjoyed “being a girl” (even before Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote the song in Flower Drum Song. When I was a little girl, the only role models I had were Sheena, Queen of the Jungle and Annie Oakley. They were enough. I liked their style and their independence. In some manner, shape or form, all my heroines have had their roots in Sheena and Annie. They’ve all been very independent women.
I felt then, as I do now, that being female automatically means you’re special. We’ve had to be strong, yet feminine—and usually, twice the man any man is. For me, being female meant I had to try harder to prove I was just as good as any guy, in school and in the work world. I think it helped me achieve my goals (marrying the man I set my sights on, having the children I desired, and, finally, becoming a writer, the way I always dreamed).
From the beginning, Shawna Saunders was very special to me. She survived a difficult childhood in which the roles of mother and child were, for the most part, reversed. Rather than feel sorry for herself, Shawna gave her mother emotional support and went on to make something of herself. As an adult, when double tragedy struck, Shawna survived that, as well. Instead of withdrawing from the world, she dedicated herself to helping others. It takes a very special lady to be that selfless. It was that quality, and her independence, that Murphy Pendleton found so appealing. I hope you will, too.
On a final note, I’d like to thank you for making me feel special by reading my stories.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8797-6
Husband: Some Assembly Required
Copyright © 1995 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
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