Side Effects

by Bobby Hutchinson

  Martha got to her feet as Alex hurried over and said, "Looks like just some scrapes here. I think the older man over there needs your attention the most."

  Alex, panting a little, hurried over to where Daniel knelt beside an elderly man sprawled like a rag doll on the pavement. Blood oozed through a dressing on his forehead, and one ankle lay twisted at a crazy angle. His head was rolling from side to side, and his eyes were wide open but dazed with pain. He was making a steady moaning noise and clutching at Daniel's arm.

  "What've we got?" Alex lifted the dressing and looked at the gash as Daniel recited the story.

  "Pickup truck broadsided this man's car. He was wearing a shoulder belt, but his head hit the steering wheel. He was unconscious when we got here but he's coming around now. Airways clear, BP's 20 over 40, pulse 45. He's not coherent yet."

  A nasty head wound, but hopefully not life threatening. Alex ran her hands down his body, knowing the ambulance crew would have checked but needing to make her own examination. She searched for traces of broken ribs, tenderness, indications that there might be internal bleeding, and she was relieved when she found none.

  Alex checked the pupils of the man's eyes. They looked normal. "I'm Dr. Ross. Can you tell me your name, sir? What's your name?"

  "Where am I?" The voice was feeble. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Doctor Ross. Can you tell me your name, sir?"

  "Henry Poulin. Please, my leg hurts. Oh, my leg—"

  "We're going to get you to the hospital right away, Henry, and we'll fix your leg." Together, Alex and Daniel stabilized the broken ankle with a pillow splint.

  Martha came hurrying over just as they loaded Mr. Poulin on a stretcher and slid it into the ambulance.

  Alex turned to the paramedic. "Anybody else need looking at here?"

  Martha motioned toward the teens. "The three kids over there were banged up pretty severely. They have cuts and bruises, but no signs of concussion. The girl's hysterical. Sergeant Ross is taking them to the hospital in the police car. He says to tell you he's got a spare set of keys for your car and Constable Townsend'll bring it over for you."

  "Thanks." Alex climbed in beside her patient. Siren blaring, the ambulance drove off.

  At the hospital the nurses were waiting, and Alex was impressed with the way they functioned under minor emergency conditions. As she'd realized the first day, the small hospital was exceptionally well equipped, and the tests she ordered on Poulin were performed quickly and efficiently. The only staff member Alex had any problems with was Shirley Boyd, the nursing director. Shirley made it very obvious that she disapproved of Alex and considered her an interloper.

  "I've called Dr. King. He's just over at the clinic, and he'll be here in a few moments to take over," she announced in an imperious voice.

  Alex stifled an angry retort. "Good," she said as evenly as she could. "As soon as he arrives, we can take Mr. Poulin into the OR, but right now I'd like those X rays as soon as possible, Shirley."

  Just as she'd thought at the scene of the accident, Henry Poulin had no internal bleeding, no life-threatening injuries. Within fifteen minutes, King came bustling in, and because the fracture needed pinning, Alex administered the general and King set the broken ankle.

  The older doctor was both confident and quick, doing a good job on the compound fracture. He whistled tunelessly and pointed out obvious techniques throughout the operation, and Alex felt he was putting on a bit of a show for her sake. She was glad, however, that her first experience at administering anesthesia was for such a minor procedure. She'd feel much more confident after this initial surgery.

  Poulin was soon resting comfortably in the small intensive-care unit. The nurses had called his daughter, and she rushed in, very upset, so Alex spent time reassuring her that her father would be just fine.

  By the time Alex was free, Cameron had left. He'd turned the teens over to Doctor King, and Alex sought the doctor out when she was done with Poulin's daughter. She wanted to know how the three youngsters were, and she felt grateful that at least she and the older physician were on speaking terms today.

  King said, "Boys are fine. I sent them home, but I admitted the young lady. Didn't you realize she was pregnant?"

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WAS OBVIOUS King was enjoying himself.

  "I understand you were right at the scene with the ambulance crew, Doctor. Didn't you question her? It was the first thing / asked her. Or is she telling me the truth when she says you didn't even bother to talk to her before she came in?"

  Alex opened her mouth to explain the circumstances, but he didn't give her a chance.

  "I've always maintained that we doctors aren't infallible. Any one of us can make mistakes, wouldn't you agree, Alexandra?" His deliberate use of her first name was meant to demoralize, to put her in what he considered her place.

  She wanted to slap him. She wanted to wipe the condescension, the smarmy superiority, from his face. Yet, at the same time, she knew that what he said was absolutely correct. Neither she, nor any other doctor alive, was infallible. Anyone, at any time, could make mistakes.

  And she knew, as any conscientious doctor did, that those mistakes could mean the loss of a life.

  She struggled to portray a composure she was far from feeling. "I didn't examine the girl at the accident scene," she admitted, uncomfortably aware that she'd taken the paramedics' word that there were no serious injuries without checking for herself. "She only appeared to be suffering from scrapes and bruises. Mr. Poulin was in far more distress." She stopped, mentally berating herself for her oversight.

  King allowed the charged silence to stretch for an interminable time, and Alex knew he was relishing her agitation. A small, malicious smile came and went on his face before he finally added, "Actually, Doctor, it seems she's miscarrying. Twenty-six-week fetus, or so she tells me. Mind you, it's the best thing that could happen, her losing the baby. She's the daughter of one of our local pastors—hellfire and brimstone and all that. She's scared to death of him." He snorted and added in a malicious tone, "Maybe she should have paid more attention to his sermons."

  "Was the miscarriage a direct result of the accident or had it already begun beforehand?"

  "Doesn't really make much difference, does it?"

  "I suppose not." Rage at King for baiting her mingled with compassion for the unfortunate teen. "Poor little kid," Alex said. "No wonder she was crying so hard at the accident scene. She must have already been in labor. What about the baby's father?"

  King harrumphed. "Young punk. He's the one that was driving. Wanted to stay in here with her, but I sent him on his way. Wild young ne'er-do-well, not a penny to his name. I know his father, too. I've heard him complain that the boy spends everything he has on that idiotic truck of his."

  There wasn't a trace of understanding in his voice. Alex thought of her brother with his motorcycle, of David with his beloved car. Didn't most young men spend their money on some vehicle or other? Wasn't King ever young himself?

  "Do you have any kids, Hollister?" The question was out before she could stop it.

  "Kids? What kind of question is that?" He frowned at her.

  "I just wondered."

  "Well, the answer is no, as a matter of fact. Olinda couldn't have children."

  Alex nodded. It explained a great deal about his attitude.

  "I'm sorry."

  He snorted. "Sorry? Nothing to be sorry for. I never wanted kids. Far as I can see, they're just a pack of trouble. No respect, no ambition." He glanced at his watch. "Enough chitchat, Alexandra. You may have plenty of time, but I'm afraid I don't. My waiting room was already full when I was called over here."

  She didn't point out that they shared a waiting room. His arrogance might have been funny if it wasn't so aggravating.

  Alex followed him the short distance to the building that housed the clinic, expecting another quiet afternoon, but to her surprise, eight of the patients waiting there were booked to see her
that afternoon.

  In spite of Hollister King, business was indeed picking up.

  Or could it be because of him?

  CAMERON AND DAVID had dinner waiting when she got home that night. They'd packaged potatoes and carrots in foil and baked them, and they'd lit the barbecue to grill the fish before they realized that Pavarotti had eaten them. They'd cooked hot dogs instead, but Pavarotti was in disgrace.

  "We considered grilling the damned cat, but we figured you might object," David said with a wink and a grin when Alex came in the back door. He had a tea towel over

  his shoulder and a frilly apron he'd unearthed from God only knew where tied around his waist over his cutoffs.

  "I applied for that job today, Alex, and I've got a real good feeling about it. I should hear early next week."

  "That's great news, David."

  Cameron was washing a pot in the sink. He looked at her over his shoulder, and she could see the muscles in his jaw tense, but all he said was "Hello, Alex."

  She gave him a long, level look. All the pain of their quarrel was there between them, but after the long, tense day, and with David right there, she didn't feel like bringing it up now. Obviously, Cameron felt the same.

  When she stepped out on the porch, however, Cam came out and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her toward him and leaning down to kiss her.

  Unable to stop herself, Alex quickly turned her head so his lips grazed her cheek instead of meeting her mouth, and her anger at him surfaced all over again. How could he even begin to pretend that everything was all right between them?

  He pulled back and dropped his hands. He studied her face for a long moment, his gaze impassive. Then he stepped away from her without a word and went to tend the hot dogs.

  DAVID WATCHED and listened as his brother and sister-in-law talked to each other as if they were strangers forced to make conversation in a difficult social situation. They were scrupulously polite to each other during dinner, and the strain was thick enough to cut with a knife.

  What the hell was going on? It had gradually dawned on him during the time he'd been there that something wasn't quite right with Cameron, but David was damned if he could figure out what was wrong, and Cam certainly wasn't about to unburden himself. David was the first to admit that Cam wasn't easy to talk to.

  Cameron was the original strong and silent type, the best brother a guy could have, but not into sharing any of his feelings. All week, Cam had been unusually eager to do things that David knew from experience weren't particularly popular with women—fishing, watching sports on television, tinkering with the engines of various vehicles. Between that and working ungodly hours, it was pretty obvious Cam wasn't spending much quality time with his wife, and now there was this general freeze-up.

  It worried him. David had always viewed Cameron and Alex as the ideal married couple, and seeing them this way made him sad and scared as well as uncomfortable. Maybe he ought to get out and let them work it through. In his not-so-limited experience, the best way to solve a quarrel was in bed, but with him around, there probably wasn't much chance of that.

  "Think I'll drive into town and check out what's playing at the movies," he said when the meal was finally over.

  "I thought we were gonna watch the baseball game," Cameron said. "Anyhow, the theater in town only has one show a night, and you've missed it."

  David frowned at his brother. Cameron was either getting to be damned slow on the uptake or else he really didn't want to be alone with Alex. As far as David knew, there was nothing wrong with Cam's brain, so the second possibility seemed the only rational one.

  David glanced over at Alex, trying to gauge what was best for him to do. She met his eyes and gave him a phony smile that didn't fool him for a minute. She was miserable, all right.

  "You two go ahead and watch the game," she said in a cheerful voice that wouldn't have fooled a two-year-old.

  "I'll clean up. After that, I'm heading for a long soak in the tub and an early night."

  "We'll clean up. You go ahead and have your bath." Cameron got up and began to scrape plates with a lot more energy than David figured the job required.

  Alex watched her husband for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Well, thanks for dinner, you two," she finally said. "I'll see you in the morning, David. Night, Cameron. I'll probably be asleep before you come up to bed."

  David got that message loud and clear. He waited to hear how his brother would handle it.

  "Night, Alex. Oh, by the way, I have to go in to the office in the morning. There's a stack of files and the computer was down all afternoon."

  She gave him another long look and nodded. "Fine. I'll be out myself for part of the day."

  The two men finished the dishes in silence and made their way into the TV room. Cameron clicked on the game, and settled on the couch.

  David flopped down beside him.

  "So you figure you might enjoy working up at the mine?" Cam was obviously making conversation.

  "Yeah, I think I would. There's the best benefit package I've ever heard of, and the pay's good."

  "Great." Cam's tone was preoccupied, and David didn't think his brother had heard a word he'd said. He decided to pry.

  "So what's going on with you and Alex? You guys have a fight or something?"

  "Yeah, we did." Cameron's curt tone made it plain the conversation wasn't to his liking. He turned up the volume on the television.

  David raised his voice. "Well, don't you think you oughta go talk to her?"

  "Talking doesn't help." Cameron's jaw set in a way that brooked no more discussion. David could think of things besides talking that might do the trick, but who was he to give Cam advice? It had always been the other way around. David was always the one in a jam, with Cameron riding to the rescue.

  So he must know what he was doing with his own wife, right?

  Wrong. Even David could see that Cameron was making some pretty serious mistakes here, and Alex was hurting because of it. Maybe Cameron wasn't as infallible as he'd always seemed. The idea was shocking, but the evidence was right there. Unless Cam smartened up fast, his marriage could get real shaky, in David's opinion.

  He tried to figure out what to do to help, but he came up blank. The very idea of him trying to give Cameron advice would be laughable if it wasn't so pathetic. His brother was the one who gave the lectures and figured out the solutions, David reminded himself.

  He tried to concentrate on the game, but somehow it had lost its appeal.

  ALEX SLEPT LATE the next morning, and when she awoke the bed beside her was empty. She was pretty certain Cameron didn't have to work Saturdays—filing wasn't exactly life or death, in her experience. He was doing so by choice, and it hurt her.

  She lay there for a few minutes, her heart aching as she remembered rare but memorable Saturday mornings in Vancouver when she and Cam had the day off together.

  She'd awaken in his arms, the sound of traffic loud outside their window, and they'd make slow, languorous love. He'd phone and order pizza for breakfast and they'd eat it in bed, getting cheese and bits of topping all over the sheets. They'd shower together and drive to Chinatown, joining the noisy crowds of shoppers on the narrow downtown streets, laughing together, talking nonstop, teasing, arguing, kissing.

  Connecting. They didn't connect that way anymore.

  She lay, terribly alone, in the beautiful sun-filled bedroom, with the peaceful sound of birds calling as they swooped over the lake, and tears burned at the back of her eyeballs.

  When had she lost him, and why?

  AT THREE THAT AFTERNOON, Alex parked in front of the address Becky had given her a short while before on the phone. It was a modest frame house with green-and-white trim, and it was set on a street of other houses identical in design. Sweet peas spilled over the picket fence, and majestic coral gladiolas bloomed along the narrow cobbled walkway.

  Alex breathed in the perfume-laden air as she climbed the steps and knocked on
the screen door.

  "Alex, hi." Becky, barefoot, lavish hair loose around her shoulders and looking about twelve years old in blue jeans and a cropped T-shirt, opened the door and beckoned her in. "As usual, we're in the kitchen. Why is it women spend all their spare time in the kitchen? We could saw off the rest of this house and not really miss it much." She drew Alex past a tidy living room, along a narrow hallway and into a spacious, homey room where Sadie was busy stirring something in a pot on the stove.

  Sadie greeted her with a smile, and Alex knelt to say hello to Emily, sitting on the worn but highly polished lino flooring with a circle of toys surrounding her. She dug in her shoulder bag for the sturdy little music box she'd found in a toy shop in the mall that morning and presented it to Emily, demonstrating how it worked several times before she placed it in the small, chubby hands.

  With dark chocolate eyes, the little girl stared at the toy in wonder and then turned her attention to Alex's face. For several long moments she looked deep into Alex's eyes, and then her square face split in a wide, delighted grin. She dropped the new toy and reached out for a hug, instead.

  Alex obliged, holding the warm, fragrant little body close against her.

  "Come on over and sit down. Tea's ready," Sadie said with an indulgent shake of her head. "She's really got your number, that girl."

  "It's mutual. She's a charmer, aren't you, Miss Emily?" Alex set the child gently back on the floor on her padded bottom, but Emily shoved herself to a standing position and grasped Alex's finger, toddling alongside her as she moved to the table.

  "What a clever girl. I didn't even realize you could walk." Alex lifted Emily into her highchair. "When did she learn?"

  Alex knew that each Down's syndrome child developed differently, although all were retarded on a scale from mild to profound. She guessed that Emily, like the majority of Down's kids, fell somewhere in the moderate range.