Just Right: The Bradfords, Book 1 Page 19

  Jessica hoped so. She’d been on hold for nearly ten minutes with someone from United who was checking passenger records for her. She could only imagine how long that might take and if, in the end, the answer was that the woman wasn’t even flying United, Jessica was going to cry.

  But she was the master of the impossible. At least that’s what her co-workers believed. She would do anything she could. The worst was the waiting. Like now. Every minute that ticked by was one less that man in there had to spend telling his wife enough to last her for all the time she had ahead of her without him.

  Shifting to put her other hip against the counter, Jessica tried to concentrate on positive thoughts and prayers. Once, she’d had a nurse from another floor pretend to be someone’s sister when the real sister proved impossible to find in time. The patient had died peacefully, having said all the things she wanted to say, and the nurse was later able to repeat for the sister word for word what the woman had wanted to say. It wasn’t perfect, but Jessica had to do whatever she could for the patients on the tables in St. Anthony’s ER. That was why she was there. If the patient found some peace, then Jessica could sleep at night.

  Jessica hunched over, putting an elbow on the counter top and her index finger’s nail between her teeth. She watched through the window to trauma room four, willing the woman with United to come back on the line.

  She could see that they were examining the fracture of the man’s lower leg now and she took that to mean that his heart and oxygen had stabilized at least to the point where examination of a broken bone was important. If his heart stopped and couldn’t be re-started, it wouldn’t matter if his leg was broken or not.

  Jessica’s stomach clenched at the thought. She hated losing patients. Everyone in that room felt the same way, but she’d never gotten used to the fact that at times she was witness to a person’s last moments on earth.

  She supposed it came from being the one and only witness to her father’s last moments, and not realizing it at the time. Now she was acutely aware of those precious, mysterious seconds at the end.

  As she watched the team run the trauma, Jess prayed silently that the man would have at least a phone connection with someone he loved before those last minutes passed.

  She could barely see the heart monitor from where she stood, but she could tell the line went up and down rather than straight across. As long as that rhythm remained there was hope.

  “Ma’am?”

  Jessica jerked upright at the sudden sound of the voice on the other end of the phone. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry it took so long. Mrs. Abigail Snyder is a passenger of ours. She is on layover in San Jose, California. She goes from San Jose to Denver, Colorado and then on to Omaha. She is to board the plane in San Jose in about fifteen minutes.”

  Jessica felt tears stinging her eyes. “Thank God. Thank you,” she added. The woman sounded tired. Jessica understood. She had explained the situation to her when they’d first been connected and she could tell the woman understood how important haste and efficiency were, but working under that kind of stress could wear a person out quickly. “How can I get a hold of her?” Jessica asked.

  “The sure way would be for me to contact our hub office in San Jose. They could then connect us with the airport, then they could connect us with the gate and then someone there can page Mrs. Snyder.”

  “Wonderful. Will you do that for me?” Jessica asked. “Mr. Snyder is currently stable, but it is tentative at best.”

  “Of course. I’ll have to put you back on hold.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jessica turned to put her low back against the counter now, preparing for another long wait. It would be better if she couldn’t see the heart monitor on Ron Snyder.

  As it was, she wasn’t going to have a fingernail left on the index finger of her right hand.

  Shifting to put her other hip against the counter, Jessica’s eyes swept the waiting room. A boy with a homemade ice pack against one eye, a middle-aged woman with a not-readily-apparent problem, a man in a baseball cap hunched in the corner and a young woman with a crying baby.

  Jessica’s eyes flicked back to the man in the baseball cap. She couldn’t see his face but that T-shirt with the NY Yankee’s emblem on it looked familiar. Not that there weren’t other Yankees fans in Omaha, but the man himself seemed familiar—a fact that her heart or subconscious mind or hormones or something recognized before she truly realized it.

  “Ben?”

  The desk was too far away from where he sat for him to hear her though. She glanced at the phone that she could not leave and then at the brilliant surgeon trying to pass himself off as a regular guy. What was he doing? He didn’t even look hurt or sick.

  She smiled at the little boy with the icepack. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  His mother looked up. Jessica smiled reassuringly at her while shifting to be sure the woman could see her hospital ID badge. “My name is Jessica. I’m a nurse here.”

  “I’m Charlie.”

  “Charlie, do you think your mom would let you do me a favor? I have to stay on this phone, but I need some help.”

  Charlie looked at his mother, who asked, “What is the favor?”

  “I need someone to take a note to that man sitting in the corner,” Jessica said, pointing to Ben. “He’s a friend of mine and I can’t get his attention.”

  The boy’s mother looked back at Ben, then down at her son. “I guess that would be okay.”

  The boy jumped up from his chair, abandoning his icepack. His eye was bruised and swollen, but he seemed to have forgotten about any serious pain.

  Jessica looked around for a piece of paper. They were in a hospital. Paper was plentiful. But none of it was blank. She finally saw a paper towel stuck under the corner of the phone on the opposite counter. She stretched for it, leaning as far as her phone cord would allow but she still couldn’t reach it. She lifted her leg and stretched her foot toward the paper towel, finally getting the toe of her shoe on the corner of it. She managed to wiggle it free and pull it toward the edge of the counter. Once it fluttered to the floor, she was able to stretch far enough to reach it.

  She tore off the bottom half of the towel, leaving the message about somebody named Carolyn getting a CT scan at the top. She quickly scribbled, what are you doing here? on it and handed it to Charlie.

  The boy ran from her to Ben, who he poked in the shoulder before handing him the note. Ben gave the kid a smile and said a few words she couldn’t make out by reading lips, then glanced at the note. He didn’t look at her, but said something else to Charlie, who then came running back to her.

  “He doesn’t have a pen.”

  Well, of course not. And he obviously wasn’t willing to get up and walk across the room to get one—or to just talk to her for that matter.

  She handed Charlie a pen and watched him deliver it to Ben. He wrote something on the back of the note she’d written.

  I love those pink scrub pants. Are you wearing the red thong?

  Her heart pounded at his words even as she was annoyed that he’d basically ignored her question and was sitting there as if he was relaxing in his stupid coffee shop rather than an ER where people were hurt and dying.

  You should feel guilty sitting there thinking about my underwear while people here need you.

  She didn’t think Charlie was old enough to read, especially cursive writing, but she folded the towel over anyway.

  “You’re being really helpful,” she told him as he took the note. “I’ll buy you a juice if your mom says it’s okay.”

  “Okay!” he said enthusiastically, and ran the note to Ben.

  A moment later he returned.

  I guess I’ll have to find out about the thong myself. Trauma one or two?

  “Ma’am?”

  Jessica’s attention was jerked back to the phone call she was supposed to be having.

  “Yes?” She forced herself t
o concentrate on the man in trauma four, the man who needed her, instead of the man in the waiting room who frustrated her beyond reason.

  “I’ve located Mrs. Snyder’s flight. The staff in San Jose is trying to find her now.”

  “She’s checked in though?” Jessica confirmed, turning away from the waiting area and the man who was driving her crazy. If Russ found out Ben was here and was sitting around reading a magazine she would certainly not be seeing any letters glowing about her competence in any situation.

  “She is. They’re paging her now.”

  Jessica prayed as she rose on tiptoe to see the monitor through the window to trauma four. Ben was crazy. They couldn’t have sex in trauma one or two. They all had windows. “Hello?” This woman’s voice was new.

  “Mrs. Snyder?” Jessica guessed.

  “Yes. I’m Abby Snyder.” She sounded scared and Jessica realized the airline staff must have told her this was a call from a hospital, or at least an emergency call about a loved one.

  “This is Jessica Bradford. I’m with St. Anthony’s hospital in Omaha. Your husband, Ron, is here.”

  The woman on the other end of the phone barely made a sound as Jessica explained the accident, her husband’s current condition and the importance of the phone call.

  “You don’t think I’ll make it in time to see him…before…”

  Jessica felt her chest tighten. “I don’t know. Of course you should get here as soon as possible, but this way you’ll have had a chance to say…whatever…in case things take a turn for the worse. He’s in critical condition, Mrs. Snyder.”

  “I understand,” she said softly. “I’m several hours away yet.”

  “We’re doing everything we can,” Jessica said.

  “Thank you.” There was a long pause, then the woman said, “I don’t know what to say to him.”

  Jessica understood that. Words felt inadequate at times. Still, she knew how badly it hurt to not have the chance to say them.

  “Just talking to you, hearing your voice, will be enough,” Jessica said past her scratchy throat. “I know he wanted to talk to you.”

  “You know,” Abby said after a moment. “Maybe it’s more about what he needs to say to me. I guess I’ll be the one still here to remember it.” Her voice broke at the end.

  Jessica couldn’t breathe for a moment.

  “I’m going to connect you to the room where he is, if you’re ready. If he’s able to talk, they’ll take the phone to him.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Jessica punched the sequence of buttons to transfer the call. Stephanie, one of the nurses, picked up and assured Jessica that Ron could talk.

  Jessica wanted to be in there. This was part of why she came to work—to make a difference, somehow. And she needed some real proof right now that the time and effort the ER staff had already invested in Ron Snyder was worthwhile. Maybe it was only to give him enough time to say goodbye. That still mattered. She knew that personally. To Jessica, goodbyes, I’m sorrys and I love yous had been precious to her ever since she’d had hers taken away from her by the boy who shot her father.

  She ignored Ben. For now.

  Twenty minutes later, Ron Snyder was on his way to the OR, his wife was on the plane to Denver and Jessica was satisfied. Ron had the chance to tell Abby where he’d hidden his gift to her for their twenty-fifth anniversary, in case he wasn’t there to give it to her. Abby told him that their oldest daughter was pregnant and due around Christmas. Both were things that needed to be said and both people would have some peace now in case the worst happened.

  Ron had squeezed Jessica’s hand in thanks as they administered the medication that would start to calm him for the surgery. That hand squeeze had been real. It had mattered. All the time on the phone was worth it. The nail she’d chewed to a stub was worth it. Getting to know these people and care about them was worth it. Even if the outcome was painful she was glad she’d gotten involved.

  She stomped to where Ben still sat, now nursing a soda, flipping through yesterday’s newspaper.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

  He glanced at his watch. “You were supposed to be off an hour ago.” He rose from the plastic chair, stretching as he went, bending his trunk from side to side.

  “I was working.”

  “We could have been naked for forty-five minutes by now.”

  Heat spread from her scalp to her toes. The images rushing through her mind made her pause. Why had she stayed in the ER for an extra hour when Ben was waiting to take his clothes off?

  Oh, yeah. Her job. “There is a man in there dying and I needed to find his wife so he could say goodbye.”

  “You’re being dramatic.” Ben tucked his hands into his back pockets.

  “He fell from sixty feet,” she said with wide-eyes.

  “His vitals were stable within minutes,” Ben said. “They caught the colon perforation and Mark Simpson is on it.”

  Mark Simpson was the second-best trauma surgeon in Omaha. The first-best actively working.

  “The fractures aren’t critical. The biggest concern will be the colon repair and monitoring him for spinal shock. It’s amazing, but very positive, that he didn’t have a skull fracture.”

  Jessica was stunned. “How did you know all of that?”

  He shrugged. “I overheard the report from the paramedics when he came in. Right about the time you were supposed to be done with your shift, Dr. Martin did his dictation from the desk. And I happened to see his labs and CT scan.”

  Jessica processed the information, then felt smugness settle over her and knew her face showed it. “Just happened to see them, huh?”

  “I’d been sitting here forever. I needed to have some idea how long it would be until you would be ready to go,” he said smoothly.

  “You were that excited to see me?”

  The look he gave her made her wonder if her panties were fireproof. “Always,” he said, his voice husky.

  She loved that he wanted her as badly as he did. She loved that he was here because she was here. She loved that he’d been unable to keep from helping patients in the ER.

  But she hated that he wouldn’t admit it. She crossed her arms and studied him. “I was the reason that you looked at his chart? Not because of curiosity?” She looked at him closer. “Or concern?”

  Ben continued to meet her eyes directly, but he didn’t deny it.

  “Can we go now?” he asked, feigning boredom.

  “No.” She wanted something more from Ben and she saw no reason not to ask for it. “Not until you admit that our work in there, on that man, giving him those few minutes he needed to talk to his wife, was worth it.”

  “He’d have been able to tell her all of it in the morning when she’s here and he’s awake and recovering from surgery.”

  “No. You don’t know that,” she insisted. “Not for sure. It was important that he have that time. Admit it Ben.” She stepped close and took the front of his shirt in her hand, not to be aggressive, but to be sure she had his full attention and kept it. “Admit that even when the end isn’t exactly what we want it to be, that the effort we give in there is worthwhile.”

  She couldn’t explain why exactly, but she needed to hear him say it.

  He stared down at her for so long she felt despair begin to settle in her stomach.

  Finally, Ben wrapped his hand around her wrist. She released his shirt but didn’t remove her hand. Instead, he pressed her palm flat against his chest. She could feel his heart beating fast.

  “Jessica, I think what you do is amazing.”

  She could see that he was sincere. Was it enough? Maybe. For now.

  “Excuse me?”

  They turned to find a woman dressed in a yellow skirt and a white shirt looking expectantly at Ben.

  “I was wondering…” the woman said. “You look like the man my mother described to me…Did you, um, did you sent Carolyn McDonald upstairs for a CAT scan?”

  Jes
sica looked from Ben to the woman and back. “Ben?”

  The look on his face was of resignation.

  Ah. She smiled. “Did you send someone upstairs?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “With an order?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  The woman looked confused. “Are you a doctor?” She took in his T-shirt and blue jeans. “Mom said the man who helped her was wearing a Yankees T-shirt. I didn’t believe her.”

  “He is a doctor,” Jessica assured her. The last thing Russ needed, and would totally blame her for, was a patient’s daughter accusing the hospital of letting some guy off the street write medical orders for her mother.

  “Oh.” The woman smiled. “Well, they found something. I didn’t understand everything they said, but they said that it was good they found it early. Still, there are some other things they’re looking for. Anyway, mom wanted me to find you. She wanted to know if you agreed with the tests they want to do.”

  Ben didn’t want this. He was sure they wanted to do an MRI, which needed to be done. They had to be sure that Carolyn’s symptoms were coming from little strokes in her brain versus a tumor. It sounded as if there was something that made them suspicious on the CT scan. But this wasn’t his call. She wasn’t his patient. None of this was his deal.

  But he’d stupidly stepped in, helped Carolyn out and now he was her hero.

  He just wanted to make Jessica happy by playing basketball at the center and showing up here to take her on a surprise date.

  Unfortunately, his years with his father, medical school and in Africa had created bad habits like being concerned about a sweet little old lady who had a suspicious CT scan.

  He’d already seen the flicker of expectation in Carolyn’s daughter’s eyes. He’d felt the shiver up his spine, and not the good kind of shiver. It was so easy to get sucked in, so easy to fall into those habits of caring and trying to fix everything. But he didn’t want to care. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t get involved and he wouldn’t feel frustrated, discouraged, or worse…guilty when it all went to hell.

  Right on the heels of that thought was his heart’s insistence that it wouldn’t necessarily go to hell. There was a chance that whatever was causing Carolyn’s headaches and dizziness had nothing to do with whatever was on the CT scan. It could be that she ate some bad fish last night. But his gut didn’t care about all the other things it could be. It reacted to the person in front of him and what they cared about, as always.