by Caro Carson
She pushed the button to call the nurses’ station. Again.
“What is it this time, Kendry?” The voice over the speaker was clearly irritated.
“I’d like a nurse to check on Myrna Quinones for me, please.” If she kept her voice cool and factual, the way the doctors and nurses spoke, then she would be taken more seriously. Unfortunately, her nose was stuffy, and she barely grabbed a tissue in time for a sneeze.
“We’ve checked on her every hour. She’s fine. She’ll be going home when her mother gets off work today.” And then, with the most sarcastic version of sugary sweetness the nurse could muster, her tinny voice came over the speaker. “And you’re officially off work now, so go on home, darlin’. Take something for that cold, or you’ll get all the children sick.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Kendry said through clenched teeth. “It’s just allergies.”
She was the only adult in the pediatric ward’s playroom, making it impossible for her to leave, but she resisted the urge to point that out to the nurse. Instead, she released the intercom’s talk button and went to the sink to wash her hands for the fiftieth time of the day.
Every young patient who was able spent a good part of his or her waking hours in the ward’s colorful playroom. There were hard plastic chairs and tables that could be sprayed down with bleach, plenty of floor space for children to play while they tugged along their wheeled poles with their hanging IV bags. A few of the children were not patients, but were the children of staff members. As long as the child wasn’t contagious, staff members could pay a small fee to have their child spend the day in the playroom when their regular childcare fell through—a benefit that made West Central Texas Hospital one of Austin’s top-rated employers.
For doctors, the policy was even more lenient. If it meant doctors would show up for every shift, the hospital was happy to provide childcare. These kids Kendry got to know well. One of them, a little charmer named Sammy, was demanding her attention now, as he often did.
Kendry scooped him off the floor and settled him on her hip. “That’s right, Sammy. It doesn’t matter if I’m off the clock, I’m not going home and leaving Myrna here in this condition, now am I?”
Sammy didn’t get a chance to coo or babble an answer to her, because the person scheduled to replace Kendry had arrived and was listening in.
“Which one’s Myrna?” she asked.
Kendry thought her replacement was kidding. For a second. One look at the woman’s face—Paula, she remembered—revealed that she wasn’t.
“Myrna is the little girl whose hand I’m holding. She was technically discharged because we were short beds, but her mother has to work, so admin said she could stay here.” The little girl’s belongings were packed in a plastic bag and her IV lines had been removed upon discharge, but her crib had been wheeled into the playroom until her mother could come to pick her up. Her room had already been filled by another patient.
“What time is her mother supposed to arrive?”
“Not for another hour. I don’t want to leave Myrna like this.”
Paula frowned at the baby in the stainless-steel hospital crib. “Like what? Calm and peaceful? Lord help me, I hope they all get like that and stay like that.”
Kendry couldn’t force herself to chuckle along with Paula’s joke, although she knew that was what was expected of her. “Myrna’s been here all week. Don’t you realize this isn’t her normal disposition?”
Paula shot Kendry a look. “Well, excuse me, Miss Know-It-All. There’s a lot of kids in here, and they change every day.”
Dang it. Now Kendry had taken the attention off the little girl and unwittingly put it on herself. Paula, unlike Kendry, was a certified medical assistant, a CMA. There was always a CMA on duty overnight. Paula was higher up on the hospital ladder, and Kendry had offended her.
“You’re so right. The ward has been at full occupancy all week.” Kendry could swallow her pride with the best of them when it came to helping a child. Heck, when it came to nearly every aspect of her life. “Myrna Quinones is acting like she’s fighting an infection, maybe. Something is making her listless.”
Paula pressed the call button for the nurses’ station, announcing herself as she did so. “Hey, it’s Paula here. Have you gotten a temperature on this Quinones child?”
The tinny response sounded exasperated. “Of course we have. Her vitals have been normal every single time we’ve checked them. Tell that orderly to go home. There’s no budget for overtime around here. She should have clocked out five minutes ago.”
Paula wasn’t here five minutes ago, so I couldn’t have clocked out.
Kendry spoke to Sammy, who sat on her hip as he chewed his fingers. “Let’s go for a walk, little guy. We’ll clock me out, then come back to say bye-bye to Myrna.”
The lively little boy on her hip cheerfully called, “Da-da!”
Sammy’s dad was here. Kendry knew what Da-da’s voice would sound like. She braced herself for that educated, masculine timbre, that voice with just a hint of native Texas drawl.
“Hey, little buddy. How was your day?”
It didn’t matter how many times she heard it, it still made her melt a little. Sammy kicked Kendry vigorously in happy response as she turned around to find Sammy’s father, all six-feet-something of him, standing close enough to take his son out of her arms.
“Hi, Dr. MacDowell. Sammy’s doing well today. He drank every ounce of formula. He seems to have an easier time taking his bottle when I have him sitting almost straight up. It makes me wonder if—”
“Good evening, Dr. MacDowell.” Paula’s voice had a different tone to it now. All peaches and cream.
Kendry stifled her frustration. She wanted to discuss Sam’s ability to eat, but Paula wanted to...to...
Flirt. There wasn’t a woman in the hospital who didn’t know Dr. MacDowell was single. Never had been married, apparently. He’d returned from military service in Afghanistan with Sammy, so the rumor mill said, and had turned in his camouflage for a civilian career in order to spend more time with his son. Because no mother was in the picture, some people speculated that the baby was an orphan whom Dr. MacDowell had adopted. This only made women sigh with even more approval.
Sammy grabbed the tubing of Dr. MacDowell’s stethoscope and tried to get it—and his fist—in his mouth. The doctor calmly pried the baby’s fingers open, removed the stethoscope from around his neck and tucked it into the pocket of his white lab coat, all in one smooth move. Then he dropped a kiss on top of Sammy’s head.
He was Sammy’s father, all right. Who cared if the baby’s hair was a darker black than his father’s deep brown? Who cared if the child seemed petite compared to his strapping American father? This baby was loved. Kendry wished all the children that came through West Central were so lucky.
“You can go home now, Kendry,” Paula said.
“What were you saying about Sam’s bottles?” Dr. MacDowell asked.
“I’m wondering if—”
“I’ve got his daily sheet right here, with all his feedings listed,” Paula interrupted. “Kendry, you need to go clock out. There’s no overtime in the budget, and you don’t want to tick off the supervisor.”
Kendry wished her Irish heritage didn’t make it so easy for her pale skin to blush. She hated being put in her place, but even more, she hated being so firmly reminded she was an hourly-wage orderly in front of Dr. MacDowell.
“I’ll walk with you, Miss Harrison,” Dr. MacDowell said. “I want to hear what you have to say.”
Miss Harrison. He addressed everyone in the hospital by their proper names and titles. Still, she couldn’t help but appreciate the respect he showed her. He wanted to hear what she had to say. He always did. He was the kind of doctor who would patiently listen to family members who anxiously brought someone to t
he E.R. He would listen...
Her gaze returned to Myrna, who was lying as she’d been for the past hour. She hadn’t responded to Paula or Dr. MacDowell’s appearance by her crib.
Dr. MacDowell would listen.
“Could you look at this patient for me? Her name is Myrna Quinones, she’s nine months old, and she’s due to be discharged today. She had surgery three days ago, and I’m wondering if she might have an infection or something. She’s grown increasingly listless today, and I haven’t been able to interest her in taking more than a couple of ounces from her bottle, but she’s been off IV fluids since this morning. Maybe she’s dehydrated?”
“Kendry, please.” Paula sounded shocked. “You don’t bother physicians with cases that aren’t theirs. Dr. MacDowell, I assure you, the nurses on the floor have been checking on Myrna every hour. I’ve requested an update myself, and she isn’t running a fever or showing any signs of infection.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cook.”
Kendry bit her lower lip. Dr. MacDowell had said thank you in that dismissive tone doctors seemed to master, the one that said when I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Kendry saw Paula call for the floor nurse with a press of a button. Once the nurses realized a doctor was checking the patient, they’d show up. Doctors were at the opposite end of the food chain from orderlies.
“Could you hold Sammy for me, please?” Dr. MacDowell asked.
Kendry held out her arms for the little boy, who dove right into them. Dr. MacDowell took his stethoscope out of his pocket and slung it around his neck. As he walked the few steps to the hand sanitizer station, he asked Kendry questions briskly, impersonally. Normal fluid intake? Number of wet diapers today? Normal activity level?
Then he was bending over the crib, opening Myrna’s hospital gown, listening to her chest, running strong hands over the baby’s limbs, feeling for pulse points. Thank you, Kendry wanted to say. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
The baby seemed fine, if unnaturally calm. The doctor didn’t seem to be finding anything out of the ordinary. Kendry started to feel absurd.
“Is it possible to have an infection without running a fever?” she asked.
“No,” Paula answered.
“Yes,” Dr. MacDowell said. “Which procedure did this child have?”
Kendry waited a beat for Paula to answer, but Paula obviously didn’t know and gestured toward Kendry with one hand.
“It was a kidney repair of some kind. I believe they opened a blocked tube, but whether it was going into the kidney or leading out, I’m not sure.”
Dr. MacDowell opened the baby’s diaper and palpated her pelvis and bladder. “Did you recently change her diaper?”
“It’s been hours. I keep checking, but it’s dry.”
“Her bladder’s distended. Mrs. Cook, I want this patient transported to the E.R. Get Dr. Gregory on the phone for me.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Dr. MacDowell gently flipped the baby over and removed her incision bandages. Some unhealthy pus oozed from the tiny incision site. Kendry had never been so sorry to be proved so right.
Dr. MacDowell did not look happy. At all.
“I’m sorry,” Kendry said. “I’m an orderly. I’m not allowed to remove a patient’s bandage.”
“No, but the nurses are,” he said, and she didn’t think she was imagining the quiet anger in his voice. “They should have, given your report.”
For the first time in her memory, Kendry was suddenly glad she wasn’t a nurse. No doubt Paula felt the same as she handed the phone to Dr. MacDowell. “Dr. Gregory on the line for you.”
Kendry busied herself by packing up Sam’s diaper bag with one hand as she held him on her hip with the other. Then she quieted another fussy baby, feeling soothed herself as she listened to Dr. MacDowell updating Dr. Gregory on the patient he was sending his way. One of her fellow orderlies arrived to wheel Myrna downstairs to the E.R.
Paula hissed in Kendry’s ear as the crib was being rolled away. “Get off the clock before you get in trouble for going over.”
“Here, hold Sammy then.”
But Sammy wouldn’t go to Paula. He clung to Kendry’s neck as fiercely as any nine-month-old could, which was pretty darned hard.
Paula tried, anyway, pitching her voice to a falsetto coo. “Come on, Sam, let Miss Paula hold you.” She started prying Sammy’s small fingers off Kendry’s neck, which only served to make the child more desperate to cling to the adult of his choice.
Dr. MacDowell hung up the house phone and came over to intercede. “Hey, buddy, come see Daddy.”
Sam was in full-pitch tantrum mode now. He wanted to cling to Kendry’s neck, and by God, that’s what he was gonna do.
“He usually comes to me,” Dr. MacDowell said, frowning.
Kendry patted the baby’s back and fought her urge to back away from Paula and Dr. MacDowell. She interjected a deliberate note of cheerfulness into her voice. “That’s okay—it’s okay. Shh, Sammy.” She gave Paula’s arm a pat to get her to stop clawing at the child’s fingers, then started bouncing Sammy gently. “Just let him catch his breath. He’ll be fine. He needs a second to decide what to do next.”
Paula dropped her hand.
Dr. MacDowell spread his large hand over his son’s back and stayed that way. “Okay, buddy,” he said to Sammy. “Okay.”
“I think he picked up on the tension. He knew I was worried about Myrna. Thank you again for taking a look at her.”
“That was a good catch on your part. You were going to tell me something about Sam’s bottles?”
From the corner of her eye, Kendry saw Paula turn away and start the closing routine for the playroom, although it would be a couple of hours before she’d bring the last children back to their regular beds for the night.
“It takes Sam a lot longer to finish a bottle than the other kids.”
“It does?” His hand stilled on Sammy’s back.
Kendry nodded. “I don’t think he’s just a slow eater. I think he has a hard time swallowing. I tried feeding him almost sitting up today, and he got that bottle down so much faster. You might want to try it yourself and see if that works for you.”
“I will. Thanks.” The man was really frowning now. Kendry could tell he was mentally recalling feeding sessions with his son, reviewing them for anomalies.
Such a doctor.
“I had no idea he was slower than the other kids,” he said, sounding less like a doctor, more like an apologetic, perhaps a little bit defensive, father.
“I guess if you’d never fed another baby, you wouldn’t.” Kendry smiled at him, not wanting him to feel badly about himself. Sammy helped her out by choosing that moment to decide to turn his face toward his father. The steady, adult conversation had given Sam the chance to calm down enough to realize that he did, indeed, want Daddy.
“Da-da,” he said, and twisted his whole little body away from Kendry to grab his father’s lapel.
Dr. MacDowell easily took the child’s weight from Kendry. “Hey, son. Let’s go home. Can you say ‘bye-bye’ to Miss Harrison?”
But as Dr. MacDowell shifted a step back from Kendry, Sammy reached his hand out for her. “Me,” he said. His little fist opened and closed, stretched out toward her. “Me.”
“Bye-bye, Sammy. I’ll see you again real soon.” Kendry wished she could drop a kiss on his soft hair, but she wasn’t supposed to kiss the children. It was against hospital policy, for health-related reasons. Besides, she’d end up with her face way too close to the doctor’s face. She imagined the sensation of brushing cheeks with him—
That was best saved for another time.
No, that was best saved for never. It would never be a good time to imagine the feel of Dr. MacDowell’s skin.
It would be warm.
Stop it.
Kendry settled for a smile, then bent to pick up her bag. When she straightened, Dr. MacDowell hadn’t left, but looked like he was waiting on her. For a second, for one insane second, Kendry thought that the handsome man with that adorable child was waiting to spend more time with her.
“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked.
Kendry wanted to melt on the spot. He was such a gentleman. Too bad she didn’t have a car for him to walk her to.
No, she was Kendry Ann Harrison, minimum-wage-earning hourly employee, the girl who rode the city bus because she’d once been too stupid to go to college when she’d had the chance. She didn’t belong with the guy who’d devoted a decade of his life to learning all the medical know-how that allowed him to save people’s lives.
“Thanks, but I have to go clock out. Have a good night.”
She slung her tote bag over her shoulder and headed out of the room with what she hoped was a cheerful, unembarrassed, jaunty attitude.
“Me,” Sammy said, drawing out the syllable in a high-pitched voice of distress.
Kendry almost stopped. She knew that when Sammy wanted something, he said “me” instead of “mine.” But since she was Kendry, and his father was Dr. MacDowell...well, she wasn’t his mother, and he wasn’t her baby.
Still, she turned to blow her favorite baby a kiss over her shoulder.
* * *
The juggling routine never varied.
Jamie thought he ought to be getting better at it by now, but he still felt like a caricature of a single parent, the kind on TV commercials who dropped briefcases and seemed incapable of balancing babies and bottles. If only there were a solution at the end of thirty seconds of failure, like on TV. If only Jamie could press a door-opening button on the key to a certain car, or spot some golden arches that would magically make his day easier.
