The Surgeon's Baby Bombshell

by Deanne Anders

  “Amy had one of those tubes. She showed me. She said it was yucky and it hurt,” Sarah said.

  “Did it look yucky to you?” Frannie asked.

  “It’s a tube sticking out of her tummy. It’s gross. She said they used it to give her nutrition—whatever that is.”

  “It’s what you need to make you strong again. What if I bring one of my dolls in to show you how it works? Would that make you feel better?”

  The child scrunched her eyes, as if concentrating really hard, and then pulled the brush back through the thick brown hair.

  “Maybe, but it’ll still look yucky. And Amy said it hurt when they put it inside her. She didn’t like it and I won’t like it either.”

  “Is that why you told your mommy and daddy that you didn’t want to let Dr. Spencer put the tube inside you?” Frannie asked.

  “Maybe...” the little girl said.

  * * *

  Frannie slid off the bed and turned around, looking back at the beautiful little girl who still held the brush in her hand. She fought back the tears that threatened to spill. This child had been through so much in the last two years. She’d only been in remission for a year before cancer had struck her small body again, and it appeared that this time it might win.

  “Dr. Spencer is a real good surgeon. I can’t tell you it won’t hurt, but I know he will give you some medicine to help.”

  Frannie watched as the little girl chewed on her bottom lip.

  “Will it be that bubble gum medicine? I like the bubble gum one.”

  “I’ll talk to Dr. Spencer and see what I can do, okay?”

  Frannie turned around and gave the little girl a hug, being careful not to get tangled in the IV line running to the child’s chest.

  “Dr. Frannie, I know I’m real sick. I heard Mommy and Daddy talk about it and they were crying.”

  “Yes, Sarah, you are real sick. That’s why the doctors are giving you this medicine that makes you feel so bad. They’re trying to make you better.”

  Frannie released her and stepped back and took the child’s little hands in hers.

  “All the doctors are going to do everything they can to help you get better, but your parents love you so much that it hurts them to see you sick.”

  “I don’t like to see them so sad. I don’t want to make them sad. I’ll try harder not to cry when it hurts. Will that make them feel better?”

  Frannie swallowed as she straightened the bright bandana around the little girl’s head, still working to hold back the tears.

  “I think your parents would be more upset if you tried to hide what you’re feeling, but I bet a bunch of hugs and kisses would make them feel a lot better.”

  Sarah smiled, then picked up the doll whose hair she had been brushing before Frannie had walked into the room. “I can do that,” she said, then returned to the doll.

  Frannie held it together as she said goodbye and promised Sarah that she would be back the next day to see her with her own doll.

  Sarah’s parents had requested that she speak to the little girl after she had become upset at the mention of having a tube placed inside her to help with her nutrition. Now that Frannie knew about her conversation with Amy, she understood why. She’d speak with the little girl’s parents to let them know her concerns.

  She walked out to the hallway and almost ran straight into Ian.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, then looked up into troubled eyes that matched her own. “You heard?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, then took a step back from her.

  “Sarah’s been through so much already, and I just don’t know how the parents keep doing it,” she said.

  “Keep doing what? Watching the doctors trying to save her life?” he asked.

  “I know, but—” she started. She could hear the anger in his voice. What had she said this time? She’d just been going to say that it had to be hard on the parents of the little girl, as every day they had to face making decisions that would impact their child.

  “No, Dr. Wentworth, you don’t know. You know nothing about the pain a parent experiences when losing a child. Nothing. And no matter what your program does it won’t bring back a child to grieving parents. It won’t put them back together. It won’t fix their marriage. They’ll spend the rest of their lives waking up and questioning themselves, wondering if they did everything they could, if they missed some sign and whether that would have made a difference in their child’s life, if things would have been different if they had been there more for their child. You know nothing about how it feels to lose a child,” he said.

  He turned and started to leave.

  “Well, hello there,” said Dr. Guidry. “I have to say it’s a bit of a surprise to see the two of you having another discussion out here in the hallway.”

  Frannie felt as if she was fourteen again, getting caught smoking in the girls’ bathroom by Sister Agnes.

  “We were just...” She looked at Ian, waiting to see if he was going to help her out.

  He lifted an eyebrow and continued to glare.

  “It was just a misunderstanding,” she said. She gave Dr. Guidry a guilty smile, then continued. “We should have been more discreet,” she said, and forced herself to smile at Ian. “It won’t happen again. Will it, Ian?”

  “I apologize, Dr. Guidry.” Ian finally spoke up. “Dr. Wentworth is right. We should have moved out of the hallway.”

  Dr. Guidry studied the two of them with a stern look that had Frannie fighting the need to run. They were in big trouble.

  “What we seem to have here is a communication problem, and I think that’s something the two of y’all could use some help with. So I’ll tell you what we’re going to do about it,” he said as he turned toward her. “My wife has been worried to death about not having enough volunteers to help with the hospital’s Mardi Gras float this year. I think it would be a great idea if the two of you help her out a bit—do some of that team-building the higher-ups are always preaching at me about. Doesn’t that just sound like fun?” he said as he turned toward Ian.

  The look on Ian’s face—a face that was usually so unreadable—showed signs of shock and maybe a little bit of horror. Did the thought of working with her scare him that much?

  Or maybe he was one of those men who didn’t like to get his hands dirty with actual physical work? Though judging by the hard build of his body the man worked at something besides what he did in the operating room. He was probably one of those gym rats, and the only sweating he did was on a machine surrounded by other people.

  Or maybe it was fear of injuring his hands. Her father had always refused to do anything in which he could injure his hands.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Dr....um... Richard,” Ian said. “I’m sure you’re aware how busy the hospital is right now.”

  “The hospital’s always busy. Look at it this way: you’ll be helping an old man out here. Happy wife, happy life and all that. And don’t worry—I’ll be right there with y’all. Like I said, it’ll be fun.”

  The two of them watched the older doctor as he headed back down the hall, calling out hellos to other staff members as he went.

  “Maybe if you talk to him you can get him to change his mind,” Ian said as he turned back to her.

  “Me? It’s your fault. You talk to him,” she said. “But I can tell you you’ll be wasting your time.”

  “None of this is my fault,” he said. He looked down at his watch, then back up to her. “And now I’m running late for a case. Talk to him. Make him see reason. Tell him we’ll play nice together.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at his comment.

  “Hmm... Didn’t you tell me just the other day that you didn’t play with your colleagues?”

  He gave her a look so sharp that it would have drawn blood—except for the fact that sh
e dealt with traumatized teenagers on a daily basis. It would take a lot more than a look to intimidate her.

  “Again, this is not my fault,” she said. “If you want to risk it, talk to him yourself. Dr. Guidry is a teddy bear most times, but break one of his rules and the teddy bear turns into a great big grizzly—and a hard-headed one at that. If I was you I’d just accept your sentence and deal with it. Which is exactly what I intend to do.”

  She watched as the man walked off, muttering something about busybody doctors and nosy psychiatrists. She hadn’t been nosy—though she’d wanted to be after the way he had gone off after her comment concerning Sarah’s parents.

  Did he really think she was judging them? She would never presume to understand what the little girl’s parents were going through, but there had been enough anguish in Ian to know that he did relate to Sarah’s parents. It was the first time in the five months they’d been working together that she had seen any true emotion in the man. But why?

  Had he lost a patient in surgery who haunted him? Or was it someone closer? Had he lost a sister or a brother? She had heard that he was divorced, but she’d never heard anything about him having children.

  Whatever it was that had caused the pain she had heard in Ian’s voice, it had been traumatic and he was still suffering from it. And even after the way he had acted she couldn’t help but be concerned for him. He was hurting and he needed help. She knew he’d never ask for it, but maybe if she could get him to trust her, he would open up to her.

  The idea of working with him on the hospital’s Mardi Gras float was actually sounding good now. It was exactly what the two of them needed so they could begin to work together—and if in doing so she found a way to help Ian, then that would be even better.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IAN WALKED INTO the large warehouse and stopped. Everywhere he looked there were bizarre papier-mâché creations. To his left there was a large Greek goddess holding a red faux flame in her hand that had to be at least fifteen feet tall. Was this Hestia, the goddess of the hearth that this particular krewe was named for? Next to the goddess a group of ten-foot-tall flowers painted in bright colors lay on their sides beside a large alligator with fangs covered in yellow glitter. There were purple and gold jesters, more flowers with big blooms in bright pinks and blues, and a large football player dressed in the black and gold of the city’s famous football team.

  Walking further into the building, he saw several floats that were clearly under construction, but only one that was surrounded by workers. He looked over the group of volunteers but didn’t see Frannie. Would she be a no-show? He didn’t think so. The woman had “do-gooder” written all over her. She’d never dare to skip out—but he could hope that she would.

  The last thing he wanted to do was to spend more time with the psychiatrist. He’d made a fool of himself when he’d gone off at her about her comment concerning Sarah’s parents and he knew there was no way she was going to let it go.

  He walked over to where a crowd stood around their leader—a smartly dressed gray-haired woman whose smile beamed over the plans she held in her hand. He’d only met Mrs. Guidry once, at a women’s foundation dinner when her husband had introduced her to him, but he remembered the warm smile she’d given him as she’d welcomed him to a hospital function that was run by her and the other female volunteers who worked to make money and supplement the different needs of the hospital employees and patients.

  “Thank you for coming, all of you. We have a lot to do, but we’ll have plenty of time if we all work hard, so this won’t have to impact on any of the holidays. Carnival season will be here soon so let’s get to it,” Mrs. Guidry said, and then pinned the large blueprint to a standing board. “This year the parade theme is heroes in our city, so we thought we’d do something for our local medical heroes and have fun dressing the staff like superheroes and have them protecting our hospital.”

  “What if we had some of the patients on the float?” asked a young woman from the back. “I know the kids would love the thrill of riding on a float during the parade—especially if they can dress up.”

  “That is a lovely idea,” Mrs. Guidry said. “We’d have to check into the safety regulations concerned with having children on the float, but what a fun way to show the city how the hospital cares for our kids!”

  “I’ll look into the safety guidelines,” said one of the volunteers. Ian recognized her from the Risk Management department at the hospital.

  “Thank you, Ruby,” said Mrs. Guidry. “That would be so helpful.”

  As a rowdy discussion broke out among the volunteers, concerning the merits of the various superheroes to be included on their float, Ian moved through the crowd looking for... What was he supposed to call the woman? He couldn’t continue calling her Dr. Wentworth—it made him sound like a stodgy old man. He’d heard other staff members call her Frannie, but he knew that was a nickname as she signed all her consultation reports as Dr. Francis Wentworth.

  He turned in a circle taking in all the people in the warehouse. Where was she?

  “Mrs. Guidry is organizing us into task groups. We’re in the dismantling group.”

  The female voice was coming from behind him. Turning around, he found a woman holding a large hammer in both her hands. Large brown eyes full of humor looked up at him—large brown eyes that should be hidden behind thick-framed glasses. She was dressed in a fitted tee shirt plastered across the curves that she’d been hiding beneath those ugly lab coats he always saw her dressed in. A pair of worn jeans hugged the rest of her body, and instead of the moderate practical heels the woman usually wore, a pair of hot-pink sneakers peeked out under the hem.

  “Dismantling?” he asked.

  He stared down at her, trying to fit what he knew about the psychiatrist he’d worked with for the last few months with the woman he saw now, but he couldn’t. They were too dissimilar. And unfortunately this woman would be even harder to ignore than the other one.

  She gave him a questioning look, then started walking over to a float covered with papier-mâché flowers and a crazy assortment of dogs.

  There were polka-dotted dogs, striped dogs and bright neon-colored dogs. He winced as a volunteer climbed up onto the float and ripped the head off a large purple poodle. Chaos reigned as other volunteers followed the man’s lead and began beheading the overgrown dogs, then started on the bodies, while others still on the ground ripped off the faux flowers covering the outside and the base of the float.

  “Welcome to the craziness of carnival season,” Frannie called out as she turned back to him and raised her arms. “Don’t you love it?”

  It hit him then—the look of her, the sound of her laughter. She was vibrant and full of life and so different from the earnest doctor he was used to. At that moment she could still have been wearing those awful shapeless jackets and those ugly oversized glasses and it wouldn’t have changed a thing. With the joy of the moment shining out of her she was beautiful.

  Something inside him lightened as if unbound. It was as if a weight he hadn’t known he carried was suddenly lifted. His shoulders relaxed and the tension eased from his body as he followed her over to the float. He watched her climb up the ladder attached to the bed of the float, then followed her up. He would have had to be blind not to notice how the worn jeans she wore hugged her bottom—and he wasn’t blind.

  “I love this part,” Frannie said as she bent over and began pulling apart a bright orange and yellow flower, removing each petal individually. “He loves me, he loves me not...”

  “What?” he said as he took a step back from her.

  She looked up at him from where she sat on the base of the float and laughed.

  “Relax, Doctor. Did you never pull the petals off one of those yellow weeds in the yard and ask it if some cute little blonde in your English class was in love with you when you were a kid?”

  �
�No, I can definitely say that I have never done that. Why would you think a flower of any sort could tell you if someone cares about you?” he said. “But you’ve done this before, I take it?”

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him down beside her. “My father is a krewe member—not that you’d see him here working on a float, or riding one for that matter. When I got old enough I started helping out with the float. Of course I had to do the debutante thing too.”

  “I can see you as a debutante,” he said. “Dressed in one of those big fancy dresses.”

  “It was fun—the dressing up part at least. But I enjoyed the float-building more. I’ve missed the carnival season,” she said.

  “All this goes, right?” he asked.

  He’d taken the hammer from where she had laid it down and begun to dismantle a large wooden box that had earlier been covered by the flowers.

  “Yes, we need to clear out everything down to the trailer bed,” she said.

  He pulled the top board off what must have been a step for one of the float-riders to stand on and handed it to her.

  “You’re pretty good with that,” she said, indicating the hammer he held with a nod of her head.

  “I’d do better with a pry bar.” He looked over to the group closest to them, who had taken down one of the steps and were working on another. “I didn’t think about bringing my tools.”

  “Sorry, I only own a hammer,” she said.

  “So if your father doesn’t get involved with the Mardi Gras stuff why does he stay a krewe member?” he asked.

  They were working together—him handing her each board he removed and her stacking them to the side. But he felt the change in her immediately as he mentioned her father. She became less animated and the joy of the job seemed to disappear.

  “I’ve heard he and my mother were very involved when they were young...before she passed away. My mother was even crowned Queen one year,” she said.

  “I bet your mother was a beautiful woman,” he said. He’d seen her father a few times and there was no way Frannie looked like him.