by Loree Lough
“What, to your knowledge, is the relationship between your sister and Mr. Baker?”
“I guess I’d have to classify it as . . . friendly associates. I’ve never witnessed anything untoward. And, might I add, I spent a lot of time with them going to and from Hopkins, before and after Gabe’s surgery. Spent a good deal of time with them before the trip. After, too. But like I said, I, uh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so much as hold hands.”
Doug said, “Thank you, Mr. White.”
Pete sent the thumbs-up sign to Emily. “Love you,” he mouthed. “Bunches.”
Until that point, she’d kept a tight rein on her emotions. But Pete’s words and gestures reminded her that, despite crazy things like this hearing, she was blessed to love and be loved by a brother like him.
“Mr. Shaffer. It’s my understanding that you have strong opinions about these charges?”
Mike got up, leaned both fists on the table, and glared at Barbara. “She’s a jealous, vindictive gossip. If, God forbid, I ever end up as a patient in Garrett Regional, I do not want a woman like her assigned to my room! Here’s the gist of things: She developed a crush on me, but I wasn’t interested.”
Barbara pounded her fist onto the table. “That’s only because she had you wrapped around her pinkie!” she shouted.
“Ms. Evans,” Doug warned, “please don’t make me dismiss you from a case you initiated.”
“Ever since then, Barbara has had it in for Dr. White,” Mike concluded.
Now it was Phillip’s turn, and Emily wished she could leave the room. She wouldn’t call him shy, exactly, but he’d never seemed comfortable as the center of attention, either. If he was still speaking to her when this was over, she’d consider herself lucky.
“Were you aware of Ms. Evans’s antipathy for Dr. White, Mr. Baker?”
Mike sat down, and Phillip stood up. “I did notice something. And I once overheard her talking with one of the other nurses about Dr. White. I asked Pete about it and he told me pretty much the same story we’ve just heard from Mike.”
“And what about your relationship with Dr. White? Did you feel targeted by her?”
“No sir, I did not.” He was looking directly at Emily when he said it. Looking . . . and smiling just a little.
“But there was . . . kissing.”
“Yessir. And I initiated it, not Dr. White.” Now he scowled at Barbara. “I’m Amish, that much is true. But I’m neither innocent nor vulnerable.”
“Dr. White? Do you have anything to add?”
“Only that I’d never do anything to jeopardize a patient.”
Doug made another note on his tablet, then looked around the room. “I suggest we take a vote. If you believe we should send today’s notes on to the medical board, write a K on the Post-it in front of you. If not, write a V.”
“K for kiss and V for vindicated?” Myra asked.
Doug didn’t answer, and no one else weighed in, either. And after a moment of paper-rustling and clicking pens, the notes were passed to Myra, who shuffled, then opened each, and read the vote aloud. “Sixteen Vs,” she said, “and one K.”
“Well then, that settles it.” Doug pulled back his sleeve to check his watch. “Sorry to have wasted your time. Thank you for participating, in any case.”
“Wait. You mean to tell me it’s over, just like that?”
“Yes, Ms. Evans, just like that.”
“This is an outrage. She kissed Mr. Baker. Who will she take advantage of next? You have to send the information on, if for no other reason than to make the medical board aware what she’s capable of.”
Emily trembled with rage and burned with shame . . . for Phillip and herself. You should threaten to sue her for defamation! She wouldn’t of course, because she didn’t have time for such foolishness, and neither did Phillip. Plus, it would be unfair to put him through yet another “because of Emily” ordeal.
“Show of hands,” Doug said. “Who’s in favor of sending a notification to the board?”
No one spoke. No one moved, until Barbara huffed, picked up her purse and notebook, and slammed out the door.
“Thanks again, everyone,” Doug said.
“Myra,” Emily said, “I wonder if Barbara would mind if you shared all these delicious leftover pastries with the staff? It seems a shame to let them go to waste.”
“I’m surprised a big-hearted gal like her didn’t suggest it, herself.” Myra’s sarcastic joke inspired quite a ripple of chuckles from other board members.
The room emptied quickly, and on his way toward the elevators, Mike high-fived Emily. “I’m glad things ended the way they did. Maybe she’ll quit Garrett, see if she can find work at a shrink’s office.” He laughed.
“I’m glad it’s over, too. And I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”
“I wasn’t dragged. I volunteered.” Walking backward, he tacked on, “Think I’ll take the stairs. Winning energizes me!”
“Have a good day, Mike.”
“I will.” Then, “Hey! Now you two can do the whole full disclosure thing. Be happy, guys!”
The door to the stairwell drifted shut as Pete hugged her from behind. “I’m proud of you, Em. You handled yourself like a champ in there. In your shoes, I probably would’ve said some things I’d pay for later. But you?” He moved to her side. “You’re strong and brave, and I hope when I grow up, I’ll be just like you.”
“Stop it, you goofball. You’re making me blush.”
He looked at Phillip. “Tell her how cute she looks, all pink-cheeked.”
Phillip nodded. “She’s cute, even when she isn’t blushing.”
“Know what? I’m taking the stairs, too. ’Cause Mike’s right. Winning is energizing.” Pete jogged toward the stairs. “Gotta pick up a few things at the grocery store before I head to work. ‘The hurrier I go, the behinder I get,’” he said, quoting Alice’s rabbit.
“Just be careful, you speed demon. I owe you a dinner, remember?”
“Don’t worry, I remember. And hey, you two should listen to Mike. Do some disclosing!” he said as the door drifted shut behind him.
“He can be a little nutty sometimes, but I love him to pieces,” she told Phillip. “He’s a best friend and brother, all rolled into one, and I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“He’s a good man. And gave us some good advice.”
“What advice?”
“The whole full disclosure thing.”
But Phillip, she wanted to say, we can’t disclose what doesn’t exist. She loved him—or thought she did, anyway—but admitting it was a far cry from making a “we’re a couple!” announcement.
Emily said, “We have a lot to discuss, that’s for sure.”
“When?”
“When what?”
His quiet laughter almost soothed her rattled nerves.
Almost.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are.” He caressed her cheek, let his fingers linger, and as his thumb drew lazy circles on her jaw, the elevator opened. They waited for several doctors in scrubs and a nurse or two to exit, and when the doors closed again, he hit the Close Door button. “I never would have pegged you for a ’fraidy cat.”
“A . . . a what?”
He backed her into the corner and effectively trapped her there by pressing his palms to the wall to the right and left of her head. “We haven’t known each other very long, but Emily, we know each other. People don’t go through what we just went through without seeing deep into each other’s souls. I learned a lot about you, watching and listening as you took care of Gabe. And I’d like to think you learned a lot about me, too.”
She started to tell him that their experience wasn’t unlike every other that families endure, every hour of every day, in hospitals all around the globe, but he silenced her with a kiss. A lengthy, loving kiss that left her feeling breathless and rubbery-legged.
“Do you think there are cameras in this elevator?”
He glance
d around. “Good question. But it’s okay. A gathering of your peers just cleared you of any wrongdoing. And who knows? Maybe when the pictures are circulated, it’ll save us the trouble of making our . . .”
“. . . public disclosure,” they said together.
Their moment of laughter ended with another slow kiss, and a line from a verse by Walt Whitman flashed in her mind. “There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word . . .” She hadn’t truly understood the words during that English Literature class, because poetry had never been her forte. Too many abstracts. Not enough clarity. But she understood the words now. If only she could continue living them.
Now, Phillip backed up, just enough to meet her eyes. “I know you have questions. I do, too. And naturally, we both have some personal things to sort out, logistical things to figure out. Big stuff. Small stuff. But we’ll get it done. We have to get it done, because Emily—although I tried hard not to—I’ve fallen—”
Her cell phone rang, interrupting him, and providing her with the perfect excuse to break the intense eye contact.
“Sorry,” she said, hitting the Accept icon. “I have to take this.”
He pressed the Open Door button. “I know, I know. You’re a doctor. I need to get used to the fact that other people need you, too.”
“Em . . . it’s me . . .”
“Pete? What’s wrong? Why do you sound so—”
“Accident,” he choked out. “Bad one. Ambo . . . T-boned me.”
“Omigoodness! Where are you?”
“Out front. They’re . . .”
Something cut off his sentence, and she looked at the phone, hoping the call hadn’t dropped.
“. . . taking me into ER now.”
“I’ll be down in five minutes.”
She hung up, dropped the phone back into her bag. Phillip read her face, then pulled her into a sideways hug. “You’re trembling. What happened? Is Pete all right?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t sound good. He’s in the ER.” This time, it was Emily who pressed Close Door, holding the G button at the same time.
“What’re you doing?”
“Making sure the elevator won’t stop until it reaches the ground floor. Pete showed me this. . . .”
He’d taught her how to control the elevator, saying people like them—doctors and EMTs—never knew when a trick like that might come in handy. That day, he’d put it into action because an extra-large, extra-toppings pizza was waiting for them at Tominetti’s. Tears filled her eyes as she leaned into Phillip.
“Aw, lieverd, het komt wel goed.”
He must have seen that she hadn’t understood a word, for he quickly said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, he’s tough and strong. He’ll be all right.”
“He has to be. . . .”
The instant the doors opened, she ran full out toward the ER, and Phillip ran right beside her.
He has to be all right, she thought, racing into the trauma center. Because if he isn’t, I’ll never be all right again.
Chapter Eighteen
Phillip was standing beside Emily when she found Pete’s cubicle, where a team of gloved, green-garbed doctors and nurses had surrounded the gurney. There was blood. A lot of it. On the gurney. On the floor. On the gloved hands and scrubs and shoes of every team member. It wasn’t Phillip’s first experience with this much blood. Cows and horses routinely sustained deep gashes, brushing against barbed wire, giving birth . . . and when they were slaughtered for market. But this, this was different. It didn’t matter to him that as a doctor, Emily was familiar with the blindingly bright lights, the flurry of activity, the urgent shouts. He wanted to protect her from it, because the guy on the table was Pete, her beloved brother.
“Get her outta here!” a burly doctor bellowed.
“That’s Emily White,” someone said. “She’s one of us.”
“Why are you here?” the loud man demanded.
“That’s her brother. Pete. He’s an EMT.”
“Paramedic,” Pete wheezed. “There’s a difference.”
“But this isn’t the time to talk about it,” the loud man said. Aiming a scowl their way, he said, “Get out. Both of you. Right now, or I’ll call security.”
Emily seemed rooted to the spot, and it took considerable effort to move her. “They’ll come find us just as soon as they stabilize him. Meanwhile, how about some coffee?” Phillip suggested in a quiet voice.
“I’m already shaky enough.” She plopped onto the barely cushioned faux-leather seat of a waiting room chair. “You must have a dozen chores waiting for you. I’ll be all right. You don’t have to stay.”
“I know that. I want to stay.”
“But . . . Gabe. And your mother . . .”
“I’ll call Hannah, let her know I’ll be home just as soon as someone brings us good news.”
They’d only stood in Pete’s cubicle for a few minutes, more than long enough to imprint the ghastly image on Phillip’s brain. The sight reminded him of the day a tourist had brought a gaggle of rowdy youngsters into Hannah’s shop. The youngest grabbed an Amish doll, screamed, “She doesn’t have a face!” and ripped the toy limb from limb, spewing its sawdust innards across the rough-hewn floor. It took Hannah several hours to repair it—longer, she said, than it had taken to sew the doll in the first place—but when she finished, it looked good as new. Phillip hoped the doctors and nurses could work the same miracle on Pete’s broken, battered body.
Emily, shuddering beside him, said, “I’d go to the chapel, but I’m afraid the doctors will want to talk to me while I’m gone.”
“God can hear you just as well, right where you sit.”
“Yes, that’s true, isn’t it?”
He told her what he’d learned about the colossal Jesus statue that stood beneath the domed ceiling of Hopkins’s administration building. Told her about the elderly woman he’d met, and her story of the way people rubbed its toes, and begged God for a miracle.
“Too bad there isn’t something like it here,” she said, her voice cracking.
“Close your eyes,” he said, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder, “and picture it, arms extended and hands open to accept prayers.”
“I remember it well.” Eyes closed, she spoke the words carved into its base. “‘Kommer til mig,’ Danish for ‘Come to me.’”
“‘Come to me,’” Phillip continued, “‘all you who are weary and heavy burdened, and I will give you rest.’”
During those dark days after Rebecca’s funeral, how many times had members of the community pummeled him with Matthew 11:28? Too many. But here, with Emily so close, seeking his strength, Phillip finally found comfort in the verse.
A quiet voice said, “Emily?”
In the time it takes for a shooting star to vanish into the inky sky, Emily was standing in front of a middle-aged woman.
The nurse said, “He’s asking for you.”
Like an obedient child, Emily followed. “I should gown up, put on a mask.”
The woman shook her head. “Honey, I think he’d rather see your pretty face.”
Phillip read between the lines: Germs can’t hurt Pete now. More than ever, he wanted to be nearby, in case Emily needed him. So he walked a few steps behind them, hoping to discourage any attempts to shoo him away.
He saw right away that the team had done a fair job of cleaning Pete up. They’d raised the top half of the gurney slightly, no doubt to ease his ragged breathing.
“Shouldn’t he be on a respirator?” Emily asked.
“He refused it,” said the nurse.
“He refused? But . . . but why?”
The change in her expression, from hopeful to stony, told Phillip that after one look at Pete, at the monitors that beeped and hummed all around him, Emily knew exactly why. A breathing machine, like protective garb, was pointless now. At times like this, he supposed, what she’d learned during years of doctoring delivered more grief than comfort.
“Stand closer,” Pete rasped, and held out one hand.
She took care not to put too much pressure on the needle that penetrated the big vein on the back of his hand.
“Thought I told you to be careful,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Looked both ways,” he gasped, holding up his right hand. “I swear.” He took a moment to inhale. Exhale. “Ambo came outta nowhere.”
She looked across the gurney and into the worried eyes of the woman who’d brought her here. “Where is the ambulance crew?”
“They’re down the hall. We’re working on them, too.”
“Does anyone know what happened?”
“Only Pete, here. He’s been saying the same thing over and over since he got here: The ambo came out of nowhere.”
“Em,” Pete said, waving her closer, “you . . . will you . . .”
“Anything, Pete. Just name it.”
“Clinger . . .”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of her until you’re able to do it yourself.”
“No. This is . . . it’s bad, Em.” He wheezed again. “I’m not gonna . . .”
“Shh,” she said, a finger over his lips. “Stop talking nonsense. You’ll be fine.”
Emily met the woman’s eyes again. “How soon before they take him up to surgery?”
Phillip’s heart ached when, in place of an answer, she shook her head, slowly.
“But you took X-rays, right? A blood panel?”
“Yes.”
“I want to see the films. The lab reports.”
She made a move, as if to walk toward the computer against the wall, but Pete winced and held on tight.
“Now who’s . . . talking nonsense?” One side of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. “You’re a doctor.” He grimaced. “I’m a parame—”
“Yes, we know. You’re a paramedic.” It was a feeble attempt at humor, but Phillip gave her points for trying.
“So . . . Em, we both know . . .”
“Peter Edward White, stop talking that way. Stop it, right now.”
He closed his eyes, and the weak smile vanished. Yet again, he waved her near. She dropped the side rail and leaned in close. “That’s right. Be quiet, so your poor beat-up body can start healing.”
