Читать книгу His Child Or Hers? - Dawn Stewardson - Страница 12

BEFORE NATALIE HAD LEFT Hank’s he’d apologized a second time for having to cut short her visit with Robbie. Then he’d suggested she come again tomorrow—and promised to call after he got back from taking Audrey to the airport, so they could decide on a time.

But darkness had closed in around the Whispering Winds and she hadn’t heard from him, which was doing absolutely nothing for her peace of mind. The longer she waited, the more worried she was growing that her suspicions were right. That he was merely stringing her along with no real intention of trying to work out a compromise.

Restlessly she wandered across the room and opened the door to the cool night air, thinking again that maybe she’d better phone her lawyer first thing in the morning.

On the other hand, she might be wiser to hold off until she felt absolutely certain that Hank was playing games.

Gazing into the moonlit night, she reminded herself one more time that working things out with him would be a thousand times preferable to starting a legal battle.

When even their lawyers agreed on that, didn’t it make sense not to push too hard? To give him the benefit of the doubt? At least for the moment?

While she was trying to decide if that was actually how she should proceed, the phone finally rang.

“It’s Hank,” he said when she answered. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but it took me a while to get hold of Betty Harmand. The woman who’ll be looking after Robbie.”

“Yes, Audrey mentioned her name.”

“Well, I figured it made sense to talk to her before I set anything up with you. And she wants to spend most of tomorrow at the house—not just come over when I’m leaving for work. She said she’d feel more comfortable if I was here with Robbie for a while.

“But getting to the point, she’s bringing her things over in the morning, so would you mind waiting until later to come?”

Telling herself that was a reasonable request, not an attempt to keep her away from her son every minute he possibly could, she said, “When did you have in mind?”

“Oh…sometime after lunch? She won’t be arriving very early, because the days I start on midnights I sleep in as late as I can. Or as late as Robbie lets me, to be more accurate.”

“Then why don’t I call around one and see how things are going.”

“Great. Talk to you then. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The moment she hung up, her mind returned to the question of whether the man was playing straight or playing games. It made her realize she was well on the way to driving herself crazy. She simply couldn’t spend much more time in this motel room, alone with her thoughts.

Yet Hank started midnights tomorrow. And he’d said that meant she wouldn’t be able to see Robbie until late in the afternoons. Which meant she definitely had to start doing something.

At home, she’d be able to immerse herself in her work, the way she had when she’d first returned to Villa Rosa after the earthquake—her husband dead and her son missing.

She’d thrown all her energy into her practice and into supervising the rebuilding of the clinic, working such long hours that she was always far too exhausted to think.

That was what she needed now. A way of keeping herself occupied. And if she could be useful at the same time, she would. So, come morning, she was going to call that hospital in Madison and offer to volunteer.

THE MADISON PLAINS HOSPITAL, although not imposingly large, was a modern three-story building. Natalie parked in the visitors’ lot, then headed inside and across the front lobby to the elevators.

She had a 10:15 a.m. appointment with the chief of staff, a Dr. Brian Eisenberg, and she was hoping he’d give her suggestion an immediate thumbs-up.

When she’d spoken with his secretary, first thing, she’d both explained why she wanted to see Eisenberg and asked the woman to call and verify her credentials with the AMA.

Hospitals had to check out people they took on as volunteers, but if the medical association had already confirmed she was legit, there shouldn’t be any delay about her getting the go-ahead—assuming Eisenberg was as receptive to the idea as his secretary had implied was likely.

He proved to be a pleasant, chubby man in his midfifties who listened without interrupting while she briefly explained her circumstances.

When she’d finished he shook his head, saying, “What an awful thing for both you and Mr. Ballantyne.”

She nodded. “It is, but hopefully we’ll manage to work something out. In the meantime…Well, as I told your secretary, I’m only licensed to practice in Michigan—and Guatemala, of course. But if I can help somehow…”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that. The only question is where we can make the best use of you. Is there anything in particular you see yourself doing?”

“Not really. Since I don’t know how long I’ll be here, I wouldn’t expect—or want—any responsibility. So, just whatever you think.”

“Well, you seem like a people person.”

She smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“That’s how I meant it. And do you enjoy working with children?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re fluent in Spanish,” he said, glancing once more at the brief C.V. she’d written out and brought along.

“You know, I think we’ve got a place you’d fit perfectly. The psychologist on Pediatrics left recently, and we haven’t managed to replace her yet. So if you basically filled in for her…

“I’m not talking about the paperwork or anything like that, but we need someone who’s accessible to the patients and their families.

“Our staff members often can’t make time to spend with children who are upset about being here. Or sit down and talk to parents who’ve got questions. Does that sound like something you’d be comfortable doing?”

“Sure. There’d be questions I couldn’t answer, though. Hopefully not medical ones, but when it comes to hospital regulations and such…”

“You’ll be able to check things like that. And we’ll put Visiting Consultant on your ID badge, so that when you don’t know something about the system, nobody will find it strange.”

His gaze flickered to her C.V. again before he said, “Your Spanish is going to be a real bonus. We’ve got a situation at the moment that…

“But it makes more sense to have you meet Dr. Koehler, the chief of Pediatrics, and have her tell you the details. I only know the general story.”

Minutes later the two of them were on the second floor, in Cynthia Koehler’s office. She was forty-something, with a warm smile, and seemed pleased at the prospect of having Natalie on her unit.

“And I thought that since Dr. Lawson speaks Spanish,” Eisenberg continued his explanation, “she’d be a particular help with Señora Perez.”

“A help?” Koehler said. “She’ll be more like a godsend.”

“Good. Then why don’t I leave her with you. She’s here for another hour or two today, and…Well, you can discuss what sort of schedule will work.”

He turned to Natalie, adding, “I’m sure you’ll be just fine. But if you have any problems, feel free to bring them to me.”

As he left the office, Cynthia said, “How about we’re Natalie and Cynthia when we’re alone, doctors Lawson and Koehler on the ward?”

“Sounds fine.”

“And you can use the psychologist’s office whenever you need privacy. A lot of parents have concerns that they don’t want to raise in front of their children.

“I’ll have someone get you an office key later, but first let me tell you about Señora Perez. Because she’s always on the unit, and as soon as she discovers you speak her language…”

Cynthia paused and smiled. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I have a bad habit of doing that.”

“So do I.”

“Ah, good, then we should have an easy time understanding each other. But as for Señora Perez, she’s the grandmother of Emma Perez, who’s a patient here. And I think it’ll be easier if I fill you in on the grandmother first, Emma second.”

Natalie nodded.

“Señora Perez spent most of her life on a farm in Puerto Rico, never learned English. And although we have enough Spanish-speaking staff that it wasn’t hard to get her basic background story, we can’t make a habit of dragging people away from their regular jobs to translate.

“Fortunately, Emma’s bilingual, so that’s a big help. But she’s only seven. And…”

Cynthia paused again, as if organizing her thoughts.

“A couple of years ago,” she said after a moment, “Señora Perez came to live with her daughter, Emma’s mother, who’s been in New Jersey for…I’m not sure exactly how long, but she met Emma’s father after she moved here, so it must be at least eight years.