by Susan Wiggs
Reese felt something she didn’t recognize. Surprise, maybe, and a funny warm sense of compassion. He was absolutely striking. He had a face she knew she would never forget, as perfectly made as a sculptor’s masterpiece, with square jaw, high cheekbones, piercing eyes.
He caught her staring, and she felt a flush rise in her cheeks. “My colleague told me you’re Amish.”
“That’s right.”
Amish. What did she know about the Amish? Quilts and bonnets, the Plain people. “Where do you live? Over in Lancaster County?” The area was known for its Amish population. People from the city took weekend trips to poke around the markets and craft shows there, to sample the homemade goods and stay in cozy inns. Reese had never visited. Her spare time was mostly devoted to studying or networking with people her parents thought she should meet. Every once in a blue moon, she found time to go on a date.
She’d read somewhere that a blue moon occurred twice a year.
That was about right.
He shook his head. “Not Lancaster. We live north of here and a little west, in a place called Middle Grove.”
“So, um, the flight nurse said you came in the helicopter,” she ventured. “Was that your first time to fly?”
“It was. The Amish have rules against flying in the air,” he said. “I understand that. But I have rules against a little boy bleeding to death.”
Reese winced at the anguish she heard in his voice. “I’m sure everyone would agree you made the best choice for Jonah.”
“I’m not sure of that at all,” he said, sending her a dour look.
The conversation was going brilliantly, thought Reese. Well, she had better things to do than make small talk with this guy. When the elevator whispered to a stop at the fourth floor, she led him past the nursing station and to the waiting lounge, furnished with green sofas, low tables, hopelessly dog-eared magazines and books. A large monitor displayed coded updates of the ongoing procedures.
“You can have a seat here,” she said. “I’ll let them know at the nursing station that you’re here for Jonah.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He made no move to sit down.
“Well,” she said, backing awkwardly away. “I know they will take excellent care of Jonah. The surgeons here are the best in the country.”
He sent her a curt nod. She couldn’t blame him for being skeptical of such a common platitude. Ask anyone at any hospital, and the likely answer was that this was the best in the country, and the patient was in good hands.
She hurried to the nursing station. The three nurses present were lined up at the counter, all staring drop-jawed at Caleb Stoltz. Under different circumstances, Reese would have laughed at their transparent lust.
“That man is—”
“—grade-A eye candy,” said one of the nurses.
“Mr. Stoltz,” she said, lowering her voice. “Caleb. He’s the uncle and legal guardian of Jonah Stoltz.”
One nurse, whose name tag read alice, glanced at a monitor. “The boy is in OR seven.” She gave Reese a dismissive glance. Med students were distinguished by their short white coats and afforded no special privileges.
“So somebody keep him filled in, okay? I found him still waiting around in the ER, lost. Show him how to track his nephew on the big monitor board.”
“Will do.”
She turned quickly to head back to the elevator and nearly collided with Caleb Stoltz. He was so close that she caught his scent of sweat and blood and sunshine, and the intensity of it flustered her.
“Um, the staff here can answer any—”
“I want to give blood,” he said quietly. “For Jonah, in case he needs it.”
They had already given him many units in trauma. The attending had declared him stable, but anything could happen in surgery. She glanced at the nurses, each of whom sent her an I’m busy look.
“I can show you to the blood bank,” she offered.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’d appreciate that.”
On the way back to the elevator, she hesitated. “Wait here a moment. I’ll get you some clean clothes to put on.”
She went to a supply room and found a set of scrubs, size extra large.
“You can wear these for now,” she said, gesturing toward the men’s room. “Put your clothes in this bag.”
He hesitated. Then he stared down at the hopelessly soiled shirt and pants. “I reckon I look like I just slaughtered a pig.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, but you’ll be more comfortable in these.”
While he was changing, she checked her messages. A reminder about dinner tonight with her parents. Study group at nine—Step Two of the medical licensing exam was right around the corner, a test of her medical knowledge and diagnostic and clinical skills. If the ER stayed quiet, she might be able to grab a quick nap in the on-call room.
Caleb emerged from the men’s room. In the borrowed scrubs, he looked only slightly less like a fish out of water. She took the plastic bag marked Patient Belongings, which contained his bloodstained clothes. “I’ll have these cleaned for you.” The offer just popped out of her, as if she were his valet. It would be a kindness, though, she told herself. Given what was happening to his nephew, he had more important things to deal with.
So do you, said an inner voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother.
She led the way through the winding hallways to the blood bank and introduced him to the technician there. “This is Mr. Stoltz,” she said. “His nephew is in surgery and he wants to give blood.”
“As much as you’re allowed,” Caleb said. “My blood type is O negative.”
She was surprised he knew. Most people didn’t know their blood type.
“You’re a universal donor. Excellent,” said the technician, a laid-back type named Klaus with a ponytail and a small hoop earring. “Right this way, Mr. Stoltz.”
He was calm and compliant as he took a seat in a one-armed lounge chair.
Klaus handed him a clipboard. “Some standard screening questions.”
Reese’s phone vibrated with a message from Mel: Get yr ass back down here and detox this drunk pls.
Lovely. “I have to go,” she said. “Can you find your way back to the surgical waiting area?”
“I can, yes.”
She wished she could stay with him. Or at least say something comforting. He looked so lost and confused and scared. “Uh, okay. I wish you and Jonah the best.” Lame. So fricking lame. The best what? The best outcome of an amputation? The best way to deal with a little boy who now had to go through life with one arm? She tried to think of something more to say, but nothing came to mind, no words of comfort or reassurance.
He didn’t reply, simply nodded and started filling out the screening form.
And with that, their association ended. It was the way things worked in the emergency department—once the emergency had been passed on to the next team, the patient and his family were history. The residents and attendings who worked in the department liked that aspect of the job. Sometimes Reese wasn’t so sure. Sometimes she wanted the story to continue.
As she stood in the elevator, she looked down at her hand and realized she was holding the bag with Caleb’s soiled clothes. And she’d never been so pleased to be stuck with someone else’s dirty laundry.
4
“C’mon with me, baby. I’ll drive you all the way to heaven,” roared the drunk, clinging to Reese’s hand. “You’re one red-hot babe, that’s just what you are.”
Reese breathed in the scent of Mastisol. She’d popped an ampule and put a few drops on her surgical mask as an odor blocker, a trick she’d learned from a helpful floor nurse. “You’ll be fine, Mr. James. Get some rest. Here are your discharge instructions. The program we talked about can work, but you have to show up. I’ll make sure you have a ride later.”
He serenaded her with “Ride Sally Ride” while she washed at the sink.
“You’re good with him,” commented the nurse who ha
d assisted her. “He’s not everyone’s fave.”
“And his vomit looks so attractive on me.” Reese peeled off the mask, gloves, and disposable paper gown and added them to the waste bin. Actually, she didn’t hate the ER, even in moments like this. She didn’t even hate treating patients like Mr. James—frequent fliers who had a way of drawing compassion from her even as they destroyed themselves. Perversely, she found herself nurturing the hope that a guy like that might actually get clean one day. There were things she loved about primary care, and sometimes she couldn’t help comparing those moments to tedious hours in surgery—a rotation she secretly did not love.
She hurried away to the staff room and went to her locker. Inside was a jumble of textbooks, binders and clipboards crammed with notes, a tangle of charging cords, a makeup bag, and a change of clothes. She glanced at herself in the small mirror on the back of the door. Her dark, short hair lay in random wisps around her face, and the ever-present bruised circles under her eyes marked her as someone who had been on call for too many hours. Shit. She wished she had time to go home and shower before dinner—her parents were meeting her at Urban Farmer, one of the city’s best restaurants. But as usual, she was running late and would have to make do with a quick once-over in the ladies’ room.
There, she fluffed out her hair and applied makeup so old she couldn’t even remember buying it. She wadded up her lab coat, now soiled from her encounter with Mr. James, and added it to the bag with Caleb’s clothing. Something pinged on the tile floor—the coin she’d found in the trauma room.
With a quick motion, she stuck it in her pocket, smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt, then faced the mirror and took a deep breath. She wondered if other people got nervous at the prospect of having dinner with their parents. She wondered if others felt the burden of family expectations pressing like a weight on their chests. It’s just dinner, she told herself.
Except with Hector and Joanna Powell, it was never just dinner. Tonight’s elegant meal at the trendy spot was more than that. They wanted to discuss her prospects for several elite residency program matches. The stakes were sky high, and her parents wanted to make sure she landed right where they were aiming her. She couldn’t remember if they’d ever asked her whether she was on board with the plan.
On her way out, she encountered Mel and his young son greeting each other in the foyer. With a grin of delight, Mel offered the kid a high five, their hands slapping together in friendly fashion.
“Look who got sprung from day care,” Reese said. “How was your day, Frankie?”
“Good,” said the little boy. He was four years old and adorable in his Phillies T-shirt—as if there was any other way for a four-year-old to be. “I fed the hamster. It was my turn.”
“Cool. What do hamsters eat?”
“Carrots and alfalfa kibbles.”
“Yum. And I’m impressed that you know the word ‘alfalfa.’” They walked outside together. The air was gritty from the heat of the day, and redolent of exhaust from the traffic surging along the boulevard between the hospital and the river.
“Big plans for the night?” she asked.
“The biggest,” said Mel. “Backyard wiener roast.”
“Yay!” Frankie danced a little jig.
Reese said goodbye and went into the laundry service she always used. She dropped off her lab coat along with Caleb Stoltz’s clothes, asking for a rush job. Outside again, she hesitated. Stuck her hand into her skirt pocket. Her fingers brushed the little token she’d picked up in the trauma room. She took it out, turned it over in her hand. Blakeslee Sawmill. It probably belonged to Jonah Stoltz. The image of a precision saw popped into her mind. She’d never observed an amputation. Christ, that poor little kid.
On impulse, she went back into the hospital and pressed the elevator button.
Compared to the mayhem of the ER, the surgical intensive care unit was an oasis of ominous quiet, punctuated by the artificial hiss and thump of ventilators, monitoring equipment, and life support gear. The waiting area was empty. She approached the nursing station and asked about Jonah Stoltz.
He’d made it through surgery and was recovering in the SICU. She found him in a high-tech suite there, his small form looking even smaller in the steel cocoon of the hospital bed. A nurse stood at a computer terminal on a rolling cart, keeping track of all the monitors; she glanced up and Reese acknowledged her with a nod. Beside the bed, on a wheeled stool, sat Caleb Stoltz.
The big man had his head bowed and his eyes closed. Reese wondered if he was praying, or sleeping. A bandage held a cotton ball in the crook of his arm.
“Mr. Stoltz?” she asked softly.
He looked up at her and blinked, then instantly turned his gaze to the boy.
“I came to see how he was doing,” Reese explained, a little awkwardly.
“He woke up once, but he wasn’t really all there, know what I mean?”
“That’s normal under the circumstances,” she said with more authority than she felt. From the corner of her eye, she saw the nurse nod again in agreement. “He’s been through a major trauma, and the deep sleep is part of his recovery.”
“That’s what the other doctors said too.”
“I, um, found something.” She handed him the flattened souvenir coin. “I thought it might belong to Jonah.”
Caleb Stoltz took the coin in his big workman’s hand. “His lucky charm. Guess it didn’t bring him any luck today.” His hand hovered between the side bars of the hospital bed. He seemed unsure of what to do; then he let his fingers rest on Jonah’s knee.
The gesture made her heart ache. There was something so piercing about the two of them, strangers ripped away from their quiet existence and thrust into this frightening, sterile world. Her throat felt tight with compassion. “Mr. Stoltz, has anyone spoken to you about accommodations while you’re in the city?”
“No.” He kept his eyes on Jonah. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
A now familiar twinge of annoyance flared up in Reese. “I’ll see if I can find someone to help you out with that.” She took a step toward the door, and something else occurred to her. “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten a thing all day.”
“Hadn’t thought about that, either.”
“Let me show you where the cafeteria is.”
His long, sun-browned fingers curled around the boy’s knee. “I’d best stay here.”
“He’s going to be asleep for a while, I estimate. You won’t do him much good sitting here.” He shot her a look, and she added, “The cafeteria is close. We won’t be gone long.”
He stood up, his long body unfolding from the small stool. “All right,” he said simply.
In the elevator, Reese couldn’t help herself. She glanced at her watch.
“You late for something?” he asked.
Her cheeks heated a little. “No, it’s fine,” she lied.
The cafeteria of Mercy Heights was a linoleum and Formica emporium of instant gratification. Rows of salads, floating in a sea of chipped ice, led to long steamer tables of casseroles and overcooked meats in salty sauces. The desserts ranged from thick banana pudding surrounded by bland vanilla wafers to pies crowned with six inches of meringue.
Seeing his hesitation, Reese guessed that he didn’t have much practice eating at a cafeteria. She took the lead by selecting a brown plastic tray and gliding it along in front of the salad bar. Though she had no intention of eating, she selected a random salad, an entrée, and a dinner roll and helped herself to a tall, syrupy Coke from the beverage dispenser. Following her lead, he chose exactly what she did. Except on his tray, for a man of his size who hadn’t eaten all day, the food looked woefully meager.
“You need to eat more than that,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll be back here hungry again in just a couple of hours.”
With quiet compliance, he loaded up his tray with main dishes, a macaroni salad, and banana pudding, then followed her to the checkout line. Reese paid with h
er staff debit card. Briefly she considered picking up his tab but decided against it. She knew next to nothing about Caleb Stoltz, but she already sensed that he had his pride.
He took out a worn billfold and counted out the amount in cash. She led him to a table and sat down, resisting the urge to check her watch once again. Having dinner with a patient’s family member wasn’t exactly a breach of policy, but neither was it standard procedure. Certainly Reese had never done anything like this before.
But then again, she’d never met anyone like Caleb Stoltz before.
Just to have something to do with her hands, she took a napkin from the napkin holder and spread it over her lap. “So I guess—” She broke off, noticing that he had fallen silent and still, his head bowed as he perused his dinner tray.
A moment later, he looked up. “What’s that?”
“I guess it’s been a rough day for you. Please, go ahead and eat.” She toyed with her salad, swirling her fork in the wilted leaves.
He dived in, eating mechanically but probably not tasting the meat and potatoes, the green beans, the dinner roll shiny with butter. Reese kept trying to figure out what it was about him. An otherness. He seemed to be surrounded by some sort of invisible bubble or cocoon. Though he sat across the table from her, he inhabited a world she couldn’t touch.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Amish community, Mr. Stoltz,” she said, feeling somewhat abashed by her own ignorance. She’d taken a seminar in the cultural competency of physicians, meant to help a doctor understand the patient’s perspective. In the class, they’d covered far-flung cultures like Samburu tribes and Tibetan nomads, yet they hadn’t touched on a group right next door. “My impressions are based on things I’ve seen in National Geographic and on PBS.”
“That’s pretty much all most folks know.” He took a few more bites of food. “If you don’t mind, I go by my given name, Caleb.”
She vaguely remembered hearing that it was an Amish custom to use people’s first names rather than titles. Simplicity ruled their way of life, that much she knew. I wish I knew what you were thinking, she silently told him. He seemed so placid and calm, yet she sensed something more going on.
