by Robin Gianna
Conor dialed in the number Noah gave him, then handed the boy the phone. After many rings Jill was about to give up hope when someone apparently answered.
“Mom, I hurt my arm. You need to say it’s okay for me to get treated by an urgent care department, or something.”
Her words in reply weren’t decipherable, but the loud and angry tone was more than clear.
Conor reached for the phone. “Let me talk to her.”
“Ma’am, this is Dr. Conor McCarthy. Your son Noah needs medical attention. I’d like permission to send him by taxi to an urgent care facility, and to call ahead to let them know to expect him.”
Jill looked up at his grim face, not catching everything the woman said except the fact that she wasn’t about to pay any urgent care fees and wanted Noah to just go home.
“All I need is your permission to treat him. I will take care of him here at my orthopedic center with no charge, but I need you to give your consent, which I will record.”
There was more brief conversation, then Jill got the distinct impression the woman had hung up on Conor. “Did you get her permission?”
“Yes.”
She could see him work to relax his expression into a smile before he looked at Noah.
“I’m an orthopedic surgeon, which means I specialize in bones. Since I can take care of you here, without charging your mom, I guess we’ll go ahead and do that. Okay with you?”
“Yes! That would be awesome.”
For the first time since they’d run into him the boy’s expression lightened and he even almost smiled.
“All right.” Conor punched a code into the keypad to unlock the door, and turned to look at Jill as the three of them and the dogs piled into the elevator. “I think Hudson and Yorkie will do okay in the storage room. You think they’ll be tired enough to sleep a little after all that running?”
“Definitely. They’ll rest while you and I find out what’s going on with Noah’s arm.”
“What did you do to yours?” Noah asked, staring at her splint as he clutched his own arm to his belly.
“I fell and broke my wrist. Hopefully your arm isn’t broken, but we’ll find out. Dr. McCarthy is a really good orthopedic surgeon, so you’re in good hands.”
“It hurts superbad and it looks awful. It has to be broken. Doesn’t it?”
“Nope,” Conor said. “Could be a dislocated elbow—that’s a real possibility. Could be something else. We’ll find out with an X-ray, then go from there.”
They both quickly got the dogs settled, with more bowls of water, then moved to the X-ray room. “Sit down there, Noah, and put your arm on the pad just like that.”
Jill stood behind the wall and watched Conor gently and expertly place Noah’s arm in several different positions before stepping next to her and pushing the button to take the pictures.
“All done. Let’s go take a look and see what they show, hmm?”
They moved to an office off the main hallway that held computer equipment and Conor pulled up the images.
“Take a look, Noah. See how the ball of your elbow has shifted out of the socket? That’s called a posterior dislocation. And that’s good news.”
“It is?”
“Yep. It means it’s not broken. I have to reduce it, which means put it back into place. It’ll hurt, and we’ll have to put it in a splint and a sling for a few days. Then check on it again. But it’s much better news than if it was broken.”
Conor sent him a warm smile that would have reassured even the most frightened patient.
Noah smiled back at him, and her heart pinched at how sweet Conor was with the boy. She’d seen him many times, meeting with a patient in the therapy room after surgery, but had rarely had the chance to see him talking with people prior to surgery—especially a child.
Conor patted the boy’s back. “I’m going to give you something to make you feel sleepy when I reduce it, because it does hurt. But the medicine, which is called conscious sedation, will help you not really be aware of what I’m doing. Then, afterward, you’ll wake up again in no time.”
“Okay.”
Noah looked up at Conor with a look of utter trust on his face and Jill drew a deep breath. Conor might have been incapable of being emotionally available the way she’d wanted and needed during their marriage, and unable to make her a priority ahead of his work, but in his own way he was still a good man.
She turned away. “I’ll get the sedative.”
When she returned Conor was carefully examining Noah’s arm and hand, speaking calmly to him and telling him what to expect.
“Your circulation seems fine, which is more good news. No veins pinched in there, causing poor blood flow. Should be a simple procedure. Are you ready for me to give you the shot that will make you sleepy? It’ll sting a little.”
“Ready.”
Cursing her one useless hand, Jill helped Noah get comfortable on the clinic bed before Conor injected the conscious sedation into the boy’s thigh, and in moments his lids slid closed.
“All right,” Conor said, looking at Jill. “I’m going to reduce the elbow. Are you able to hold on to his bicep with one hand while I manipulate it back into place? If not, I’ll do it solo.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Jill gripped the boy’s arm as strongly as she could with her good hand, and watched in fascination as Conor grasped the wrist and forearm, slowly pulling and twisting. She’d never actually seen this procedure done in person, just in videos at therapy school. It obviously took skill to know exactly what to do, but in less than thirty seconds a loud popping sound came as the joint slipped back into place.
“Impressive, Dr. McCarthy,” she said. “That was amazing to watch.”
“Well, I am pretty amazing. Glad we were able to be here for him.” He sent her a pleased grin and she smiled back.
“I think it was meant to be. I mean, we got to the door right as he was banging on it. I wonder what he would have done if we hadn’t shown up?”
All amusement left Conor’s face. “Struggled. Gone home to a mother who’s only half there and barely able to take care of herself, probably, let alone a kid.”
Something about his tone, which was not just grim but sad, too, had her wondering if there was something about his own childhood he hadn’t shared with her. She knew his father had left when he’d been only five or six years old, and that his mother died when he was barely eighteen. He hadn’t told her much more than that, other than saying she’d been ill for a long time.
Should she ask, or let it be, since they weren’t a part of each other’s lives anymore?
She opened her mouth, not exactly sure what she was going to say, but stopped as he turned to Noah and gently shook him.
“Hey, Noah. All done. You can wake up now.”
The boy blinked up at him. “Huh?”
“Your elbow’s back in place. Jillian here is an occupational therapist, and an expert at making splints for people. When you’re feeling alert again we’re going to make one for you. I want you to come back in two days. Let me know when you’re feeling up to walking.”
Noah nodded and Conor turned to Jill, his expression impassive. “Will you keep an eye on him as he wakes up? I’m going to find that fax I need. Be back soon.”
By the time Conor returned Noah was feeling well enough to go to the therapy room with both of them.
“Sit right here, Noah. I’m going to fashion a splint for you out of this cool thermoplastic stuff,” she said, holding up the sheet of hard material. “When I put it in hot water it softens, so I can form it to your arm. What color do you want?”
“I like that green.”
“Green it is.”
She dipped the sheet into the hot water bath, wondering how she’d manage with one hand. But with Conor holding one end as she placed
it over Noah’s arm she found she was able to form it to fit.
“Hey, I’m not as handicapped as I thought I was!” she said triumphantly. “My first success post-surgery!”
“I’m glad—but try not to be impatient and push it. You need time to heal just like Noah does,” Conor said, smiling at both of them. “I’ll cut the Velcro straps. I’m sure you can do it, but having two hands will make it a little easier.”
“True. Not to mention that it’s probably good for a high-and-mighty surgeon to do some therapy work once in a while.”
“High-and-mighty? Is that how you think I come across?”
“No...”
And she didn’t. He’d always treated everyone in the surgical center with respect, whether they were cleaning staff or a nurse or a worker in the office. Something not true of every surgeon—especially one who owned the whole place, like Conor did.
“Except when there’s just one cup of coffee left in the clinic kitchen and you call dibs because you’re heading into surgery.”
“Well, I admit that’s true. Wouldn’t be good to fall asleep in the middle of cutting and drilling bones, right?”
His amused eyes met hers and they shared a long smile before he turned back to Noah and attached the Velcro straps.
“No skateboarding while you’re wearing this,” he said. “Your arm is going to feel sore and you don’t want to be falling again while it’s healing.”
“I never fall.”
Conor laughed. “You and Jillian. Both of you claim you don’t fall, and yet both of you did. Stubborn and more stubborn.”
“Not stubborn,” she said, having to laugh a little, too. “Haven’t I been good? Watching my step and walking slowly?”
“Yeah. You’ve been good.”
His blue gaze met hers for another long, connected moment that made her heart race and her breath feel short until he broke the contact.
“You need to be good, too, Noah. I’m going to send you home in one of those ride-sharing vehicles. Then I want you to come back here after school in two days—and walk if you don’t have somebody to drive you.”
“I don’t have any money for a ride-share,” he muttered. “I’ll walk and take the subway. I won’t ride my skateboard.”
“I have the ride-share app on my phone. So you don’t have to worry about that.” Conor reached to pat the boy’s shoulder again, then gave it a squeeze before handing him a card. “Here’s my cell phone number and the office number. If you’re in a lot of pain or worried about your arm, call me.”
As Jill finished adjusting the Velcro on the finished splint the boy stared down at the card in his hand before lifting serious eyes to Conor’s. “Thanks. I... Thanks a lot for doing all this. Fixing me up and everything.” He turned to Jill. “You, too.”
She gave him a smile and small hug. “I’m glad we were here to help. You can take the splint off to have a shower, but otherwise I want you to leave it on until you come back to see Dr. McCarthy.”
“All set?” Conor looked at her, his eyes still serious, and at her nod gave another quick pat to Noah’s shoulder. “Okay, tell me your address and we’ll call for a car. Jillian can wait outside with you while I get the dogs. And I’ll see you here in two days after you get out of school. What time is that?”
“Three-thirty.”
“I’ll expect you here at four, then. Will that work?”
“Yes. Okay.”
The boy shared his address and Conor typed it into his phone, then headed for the storage room.
Jillian and Noah took the elevator down and went outside, where the evening sky was now fully dark. He fidgeted a little awkwardly, and she made some small talk to relax him, talking to him a little more about the splint and how to be careful with his arm.
In mere minutes the car arrived and she opened the door for the child.
“Hang in there. I think you’ll be fine until you see Dr. McCarthy again—but, like he said, if you have any worries, call.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
She waved, and as he waved back she could feel Conor’s warmth behind her, the dogs on each side.
“That was your good deed for the day. Actually, maybe for the whole year,” she said, smiling up at him.
To her surprise, he didn’t smile back. “I hate that his home life is so bad. Did you hear what part of town he lives in? I wonder why he was so far from home to begin with? Probably doesn’t want to be there with nobody else around.”
“I didn’t hear. But it is terrible that his mother didn’t come for him. Didn’t even want to send him to urgent care.”
“Yeah... Maybe I’ll talk with him a little about that when he comes back.” His gaze seemed to focus on something in the distance for long seconds before he turned his attention back to her. “You’ve walked a lot, and it’s dark now. I think we should take a ride-share of our own. Request a driver with a big enough car for the dogs.”
“I admit I do feel a little tired now, but it’s only a few blocks. I’ll be fine.” She pressed her hand to his arm and squeezed. “I want to say I think you’re pretty wonderful, doing what you did for Noah.”
He shook his head. “You of all people know work is the one thing I am wonderful at—which includes fixing up Noah. In another couple days you’ll be rid of me for good.”
She nearly protested, because there were so many things he was wonderful at, even if wanting to be with her during their marriage hadn’t been one of them. In the end, though, she stayed silent, deciding there was no point in going there. As for being glad to be rid of him again...? The way her heart clutched and her stomach squeezed told her that a part of her didn’t feel glad about that at all.
Early the next morning Jillian peeked out through her bedroom door, her heart bumping around in a ridiculous pitter-patter. Expelling a relieved breath that Conor wasn’t visible, she shut the door and moved to the spacious bathroom.
Being in his apartment with him had sent all kinds of mixed feelings swirling around her chest as they’d watched mindless TV last night, sitting a respectable distance apart as he did his usual reading emails and texting, until she’d excused herself to go to bed, hyperaware that he was just down the hall.
The discomfort of her wrist had made it hard to sleep, and the emotions swirling in her chest had added to her insomnia. Sorrow. Relief. A longing for the delicious past that she’d thought they’d have forever, until her insecurities and her inability to fit in with his wealthy cronies, combined with his workaholism, had proved that impossible.
His sweetness with Noah, the way he’d obviously been moved by and even upset about the boy’s sadly less than optimal home life, had both tugged at her heartstrings and made her wonder about what Conor’s own childhood had been like. Since he’d said so little she hadn’t thought much about how had it might have affected him.
After last night she saw that she should have wondered. Should have asked. Their relationship was over, but maybe she should reach out anyway. Try to be his friend, as he’d suggested.
Was that possible?
And was it something she even wanted?
Confusion and uncertainty about all those questions gnawed at her, and she heaved a sigh as she undid the splint from her arm to step into the shower.
She held her wrist close to her body to protect it from getting bumped as she tried to make herself presentable for her therapy appointment this morning. Dumping shampoo directly on her head did not work well. Just like yesterday, even when she tried to distribute it at least a little evenly on her head, before rubbing it through her hair with the fingers of her good hand, there were serious globs in some places, and absolutely no shampoo in others.
She tipped her head back beneath the shower, trying to rinse out the soap. Apparently simple things like washing her hair weren’t going to be simple for a while, and she just had to
accept that.
Same with washing her body. Laying the washcloth open on the seat at one side of the shower, squirting body wash on it, then picking it up again, seemed incredibly inefficient, and all of it made her shower take about ten full minutes instead of the usual five.
Conor had asked if she wanted help getting ready. The thought of him walking in to see her naked in the shower made her feel both horrified and tingly and warm all over, which she knew had nothing to do with the water temperature. Proving that being close to him was making her crazy.
Flashbacks to them showering together popped into her head. Back when they’d been briefly happy, living in his old apartment. Where they’d laughed and made love and where they had seemed, for a very short and delusional time, to be perfect for one another.
Squeezing her eyes shut against the memories and the soap, she hurried to get the stupid shampoo fully out of her hair so she could dry off, get dressed, and stop thinking about how near Conor was and how much the part of her that kept forgetting their sad past wanted to drag him into the shower with her.
Yep. Crazy and crazier were good descriptions of her current headspace.
She twisted the knob so that colder water would rain on her head, which put a chill on that very wrong thought and motivated her to get out of the shower fast. One-handed toweling off was a different kind of challenge, and it took long minutes to blot her hair and get most of the moisture off her skin.
Finally giving up on being able to get it much drier than semi-sodden, she ran a hairbrush through the wet strands, put her splint back on and looked through her clothes options.
She’d already learned that getting a bra on and hooked was impossible, so it was a good thing her breasts were modest and she could get away without wearing one if the shirt fabric was thick enough. Pants were a different problem. She had tried to pull tight-fitting leggings on with only one hand yesterday... After wriggling and tugging and not even getting them past her thighs, she’d huffed out an aggravated breath and accepted that it was impossible. Zipping up and buttoning jeans? No way. Dress pants? Possible, but not easy.
She chose an oversized sweatshirt and managed to wriggle it on, which made her feel slightly better. Then she held up two pairs of sweatpants. Both had dog hair on them, with yesterday’s nicely adorned with dirt from the dog park as well. Feeling bothered by the thought of not looking presentable around Conor, then annoyed that she should care about that, she flipped through the few other options, trying to find something that would work.
