Читать книгу Letting Go With Dr Rodriguez - Fiona Lowe, Fiona Lowe - Страница 8

‘PAPÁ?’

Marco lay on his son’s bed as part of their ‘goodnight’ ritual. ‘Yes.’

‘No boys …” Ignacio spoke slowly, each word an effort to form perfectly. He breathed in ‘… have crutches.’

Marco tried to keep the tension out of his voice. ‘Lots of boys use crutches.’

‘Not at school. Not in town. I looked.’

Marco swallowed a familiar sigh. ‘You are right. No other boys in Bulla Creek use crutches, but you’re special.’

‘No. I’m not.’ Ignacio’s voice rose and his small body spasmed, making it even more rigid than its usual state. ‘I’m different. I don’t like it.’

Each word pierced Marco’s heart. A part of him knew that one day his wonderful son would make the connection that he didn’t have the same free and easy control of his body as most other boys his age. Marco had hoped however that the realisation would come much later than at a mere five years of age. The irony of it all was that inside a body that failed Ignacio daily on so many levels was a mind that was sharp and fiercely intelligent.

‘Querido, your crutches are your friend when your legs are tired. Now you must sleep so your legs are rested in the morning.’

He slid the soft-toy koala, the one Ignacio had chosen on their arrival at Sydney airport, into his arms and then tucked in the sheet and light blanket around him. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, he whispered, ‘I love you. Sleep well.’

‘I love you, too, Papá.’

Marco closed the door behind him and walked directly to the kitchen. Heather had prepared a plate of cold chicken and salad for him and as he poured himself a glass of wine to accompany the food, he wished he was eating a thick steak straight off the barbecue instead of yet another cold meal. Of course, he could fire up the grill and cook one, but he lacked the energy. Bulla Creek, the place he’d come to as a sanctuary and for a new start, was wearing him out.

As he ate, he glanced at the calendar, mentally calculating how long William had been out of action. It felt disloyal to wish his colleague and mentor back at his desk when he clearly didn’t feel up to it and yet if William could give just two hours a day to see the straightforward cases it would ease Marco’s load considerably.

Lucy Patterson is a doctor. You could ask her to help.

No. He pushed his plate away and took a long gulp of his wine as the combined image of wild, grey eyes and pale cheeks stained with pink hit him. It was instantly followed up with the backhander of a lush-red, pouting and highly kissable mouth. His blood pounded more than a fraction faster.

He quickly stood up and stowed his plate in the dishwasher as if movement would empty his mind of her. It galled him that his body had decided to come alive in the presence of a woman who looked like a fragile porcelain doll, but in personality was the exact opposite. Plus, she came with questionable professional ethics. A lesser man would have melted under the incensed fire blazing from those eyes, which had flared when he’d denied her access to the computer.

His palms suddenly glowed hot, reliving the soft warmth of her skin where he’d touched her arms. Skin that covered surprisingly taut muscles that had hinted at some weight-work. That he’d lifted her out of the way still shocked him, but he’d acted out of loyalty to William. William was his patient and he knew nothing of Lucy.

William didn’t speak of her and Sue had sighed when she’d reluctantly handed over the email address saying, ‘He won’t be happy about this and she should know better.’ At the time, he’d been intent on getting some help for William and by default for himself so Marco hadn’t given Sue’s statement much thought. However, now he’d met Lucy Patterson, he wondered if it was her conduct as a doctor that was the issue that lay between her and her father. William was one of the most principled and professional doctors Marco had ever worked with and he couldn’t imagine him condoning any behaviour that went against his code of practice.

No, it was enough that William would resent his intrusion in summoning his daughter without Marco adding to it by asking her to work in the clinic. He couldn’t in all conscience have someone in the practice who ignored protocol. No, Lucy Patterson wasn’t the answer to his problems.

Decision made, he took his wine out onto the back deck which overlooked the surrounding rocky hills and breathed in the sweet, cool evening air that slid in over the fading heat. Out here, he could usually shed some of the pressures that plagued him, but not tonight. As he watched the night star rise in the darkening sky, his thoughts spun out to Argentina and to his parents who were anxious to join him in Bulla Creek the moment he was granted permanent residency and he could legally sponsor them. They missed their grandson. His thoughts bounced back to Ignacio’s heartbreak. He let his head fall back on that grief, feeling it moving through him again, just like it had years before, and then suddenly, without any bidding, an image of Lucy Patterson’s curvaceous behind swooped in sending all other thoughts scattering.

Swearing in Spanish, he stood up and walked inside.

Lucy repaired her makeup in the car using the tiny mirror on the visor and then ran a brush through her hair. The yellow light gave her a jaundiced look and she pinched her cheeks trying to infuse some colour. She should have checked into the motel, but she really didn’t want to meet anyone she knew until she’d spoken to William. She stared at her pale face. ‘Lucy Jane whoever-you-are, it’s time.’

Stepping out onto the sweeping, circular driveway outside Haven, the gravel crunched under her feet and she stared up at the house. The stone and iron cottage with its whitewashed window sills and decorative wooden veranda rails stood as it had for the last one hundred and thirty years. It had been her home from the age of one when her parents had moved with her to Bulla Creek, and right up until she’d left for university. After that it had been her haven when life in Perth pressed in on her, and she’d run home for some rest, relaxation and general cosseting.

All that had changed and now it was a house associated with heartache. Part of her wanted to knock on the front door to emphasise her visitor status, but it was a long walk from the back of the house and no matter how furious she was with William, he would be on crutches. She didn’t want him to walk further than necessary so she walked around the side of the house, opened the squeaky gate and entered the cottage garden. The scent of lavender hit her nostrils and she breathed in deeply, trying to use its calming properties. To her left, an enormous grapevine grew over a frame, providing shade to what William had always called ‘their outdoor living room’.

Her gaze extended beyond the deck, through the large, glass doors and into the kitchen. She saw William sitting at the long, Baltic pine table, with crutches resting on one end as well as a cane. A book lay in front of him, and he held a glass in his hand. Her heart rolled over despite itself. When had he got old? The last time she’d seen him his hair had had flecks of silver streaking through the black. Now all his hair was silver grey.

Go in, talk to him, and make sure he’s okay.

She tossed her head as she grumbled quietly to herself. ‘Yes, I’m going inside but after that, I’m checking into the motel.’

Blowing out a breath, she tried to capture a semblance of composure because everything to do with William always generated a mass of contradictory feelings. She rolled her shoulders back, raised her hand, knocked and walked in.

‘Hello, William.’

The man she’d called her father for twenty-six years looked up from his book, shock draining his face of colour. ‘Lucy.’ He stared at her and blinked, as if he didn’t believe his eyes, and then slowly his mouth curved up into a wide and familiar smile. ‘What a wonderful surprise.’

She bit her lip, not knowing what to say because ‘Just passing through, thought I’d drop in’ didn’t allow for the seven hundred kilometre journey from Perth. She tilted her head toward the crutches. ‘You’ve been in the wars.’

He raised his leg, the cast white against the dark material of his trousers, and gave a self-deprecating grimace. ‘Came off my bike dodging a kangaroo. Big red hopped away and now I’m hopping too.’

His humour circled her like it always had—warm and loving—but she refused to give in to it because being a doctor was so much easier than the minefield of being his daughter. ‘So I see. Any other damage besides a fractured tibia?’

His smile faded slightly. ‘How do you know I have a fractured tibia? I haven’t mentioned what bones I broke.’

Busted. But she had no qualms telling him the truth because she had no need to protect the source, especially given what had happened. ‘Your Spanish doctor emailed me.’

For some reason her face felt suddenly hot, which was crazy because she hadn’t even said the man’s name. However, since she’d stormed out of the clinic, each time she’d thought about the raven-haired, accented doctor, this heat-fest flared inside her. She wanted it to stop.

‘He’s not Spanish. He’s from Argentina.’ William’s face sagged, making him look more haggard than ever. ‘So, the only reason you’re in Bulla Creek is because Marco asked you to come?’

She shrugged trying not to let his palpable hurt touch her. She was hurting too, only her reason was much bigger and more life-altering than his. ‘I’m here to make sure you’re getting the right medical care.’

This time William shrugged and when he spoke his voice held the well-modulated tone of a country GP giving a report to a colleague. ‘You can set your mind at ease immediately. Marco is more than competent and the break wasn’t complicated, but even so he insisted on me going to Geraldton to see Jeremy Lucas, the orthopod. As you can see, I’m doing well and I’ve graduated to a walking stick.’

She wanted to believe him, but evidence to the contrary was in front of them. ‘So why the crutches?’

‘I was tired tonight after more walking more than usual so I’ve been using crutches. If you don’t believe me about the break, you can look at the X-rays if you wish.’

‘Dr Rodriguez wouldn’t let me look at anything.’

He frowned again. ‘You’ve been to the clinic?’

She shifted on her feet realising there was absolutely nothing wrong with her father’s lightning-quick brain. It was a good thing except when it pertained to her. ‘I had to drive past the clinic to get here so it made sense to call in first.’

You’re big on self-delusion today.

She kept talking to silence her conscience. ‘But like I said, he wouldn’t give me any information and he told me in no uncertain terms …” she found herself gently stroking the tops of her arms and dropped her hands away fast ‘… that I had to talk to you.’

‘As it should be.’ His lips twitched. ‘Still, I imagine that would have been very frustrating for you.’ The words held the type of understanding that only came from knowing someone for a very long time, and they held a slight hint of censure.

‘It was.’ She braced herself, expecting him to say something about the fact she hadn’t spoken to him in months.

He cleared his throat. ‘As you can see I’m doing fine and the cast comes off in a few days. Sharon comes in each day to cook and clean just as she has all year, and Sue calls in as well. There’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about.’

William rose to his feet and ignoring the crutches used his cane to rest against. ‘Cup of tea?’

She hesitated, rationalising that he sounded fine and he seemed to have everything organised without her help so she didn’t have to stay.

He doesn’t look fine. He looks tired, old and sad.

She didn’t want to think about that because it tempted her to question the decision she’d made months ago. ‘Um … thanks, but it’s been a long day and … um … I still need to check into the motel.’

‘The motel?’ William’s movement stalled and his face paled. ‘Lucy, you know you always have a room here if you want or need it.’ He stared at her silently, not asking her to stay in words but with his hazel eyes which filled with quiet hope.

She swallowed, trying to hold herself together as the long drive, her horrible last two days and the fracas in the clinic slammed into the comforting scent of bergamot, fresh mint and leather-bound books—some of the many fragrances that defined her childhood. Despite the catastrophic disclosure that had changed everything, despite her anger and confusion regarding William and Bulla Creek, the aromas of yesteryear pulled at her strongly, upending her plan of a quick, clinical visit.

Fatigue clawed at her like sticky mud on boots and the thought of having to deal with the questioning looks of Loretta, the gossipy motel owner, was more than she could bear. She was a grown-up, not a child, and surely she could get through one night in this house with all its ghosts. One night of duty to really make sure William was doing as well as he said.

She sank into the comforting depths of the chesterfield before she could talk herself out of it and said, ‘Tea would be lovely, thank you.’

Lucy squinted against the bright sunlight which poured into her bedroom through the now thin and faded pink curtains. She flipped onto her side, pulling the pillow over her head, but then the raucous screech of the white cockatoos greeting the dawn shocked her fully awake. As her heart rate slowed, she remembered she was lying in her childhood bed in Haven, back at Bulla Creek.

This time her heart rate stayed normal, but her stomach squirted acid. At this rate, her stress levels were going to seriously injure her. She threw back the covers. Shower first and then food.

Twenty minutes later she padded into the kitchen, totally starving and on the search for breakfast.

She found a note on the pantry door scrawled in William’s trademark black ink and squinted, trying to decipher it. No nib, however fine, had ever improved his doctor’s handwriting. Seeing it drew her back in time to when she’d been a fourteen-year-old girl watching the man she hero-worshipped writing at the old oak desk in the study and telling her that the fountain pen, which had been his father’s, would belong to her one day.

Just think, Lucy, there could be three generations of doctors in the family writing prescriptions with the same pen. Wouldn’t that be special?

At the time she’d thought it would be amazingly special because it meant the need to care and heal ran so strongly in the Pattersons’ veins it couldn’t be denied, and she was part of that destiny.

Lucy gave herself a shake and centred her thoughts on the prosaic present. William no longer wrote prescriptions with the fountain pen because they were computer generated and printed, and she wasn’t certain the pen represented anything any more other than being part of the elaborate fake facade of her life.

She read the note.

I hope you’ll stay for lunch. My treat at the Shearer’s Arms at noon? Either way, please don’t go without a goodbye. Dad x

Last time she’d left Haven she’d run through a veil of tears propelled by anger and the devastating cost of a lifelong lie. Ironically, she was back here not only to check up on William, but because of another lie. Only the loss of Daniel didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as the loss of Jess.

She ran her hands through her hair, missing her friend who she’d always turned to for advice, especially after the death of Ruth when everything had gone so pear-shaped. Now she had no one to talk to.

I give good advice. Not that you listen much.

She ignored her own unsolicited advice and glanced at the huge station-style clock in the kitchen, its black hands showing that it wasn’t even seven. Five long hours until lunch.

Facing William alone over lunch.

She knew he would have booked the alcove table, the one tucked away from prying eyes and flapping ears so they could ‘talk’. She pressed her temples with her fingers. She didn’t want to do that, but then again she really didn’t want to leave abruptly again either. Putting the invitation into the ‘too hard basket’, she filled the kettle and set it to boil before opening the pantry door. She stepped inside its cool walls. The usually groaning shelves were understocked and as she reached for a box of breakfast cereal, her gaze landed on a blister pack of tablets that were slid in next to the breakfast condiments. She picked them up, turned them over and read the name. Anti-hypertensive tablets. She frowned. How long had William been taking blood pressure medication?

The doctor in her wanted to ask him right now, but waking him up to do that wasn’t the best idea. She picked up the cereal and noticed the box was almost empty. She checked the fridge, which had no yoghurt and only a small amount of milk. She pulled open the freezer and apart from a sports pack and a bag of peas and one casserole, it was predominantly filled with ice. Grabbing a pen, she wrote a shopping list, and then she pulled six grocery bags from the pantry and picked up her keys. Before she left Bulla Creek, she’d make sure William had a full pantry and a few more frozen meals.

The supermarket manager was just opening the doors when Lucy arrived in town. She didn’t know him, but she gave him a nod as she passed through and wrestled with a trolley which didn’t want to leave its pack. Welcoming the chance to focus on groceries, which were delightfully simple compared with everything else in her life, she started collecting the ingredients for a variety of casseroles. The radio blared loudly and she sang along with the music right up to when she presented her load to the checkout. She’d just started placing her items on the black conveyer belt when she jumped at the blast of an air horn and dropped a can of tomatoes.

‘Loud, eh?’ The heavily made-up teenager grinned. ‘That’s Jason saying “G’day”. He always does that when he’s taking a load of sheep to Perth. He does it when he comes back too so Kylie knows he’s safe.’

‘And no one’s ever asked him not to?’ Lucy’s adrenaline surge was fading, leaving her jittery and slightly on edge.

The girl looked at her as if she had two heads. ‘No. You get used to it when you—’

The gut-wrenching sound of the long screech of rubber against asphalt deafened all other noise, followed immediately by the chilling crunch of metal against metal.

Lucy ran. As her feet hit the pavement she looked left, but could only see heat haze shimmering on the road. Then she looked right and gagged. A jack-knifed truck lay on its side along with a four-deck trailer full of sheep. Sheep were everywhere—some standing, some bloodied and bleeding, but Lucy’s eyes passed over them as she saw the driver climbing out of the cabin. She ran to her car, picked up her medical bag and kept running.

When she reached the driver, he was walking in circles, his hands pulling at his hair and blood pouring down his face. ‘Jason? You need to sit down.’ Lucy took his arm and shepherded him toward the kerb, wanting to check his pupils for a concussion.

His unfocused gaze settled on her face. ‘She came from nowhere.’

Lucy didn’t know what he meant. ‘Who’s she?’

‘The other car.’

The other car? She spun around, her eyes searching beyond the truck and the bleating sheep.

‘Lucy!’ Deb, an off-duty nurse from the hospital, ran up to her breathless. ‘Geraldine Carter’s in the other car.’

Oh, God, she couldn’t even see another car and a thousand thoughts ran through her head. ‘Get Dr Rodriguez, ring the police, find someone to stay with Jason and then come and help me.’

As she ran, she heard the scream of sirens in the distance and gave thanks, knowing the police and local volunteer fire brigade would block off the road and sort out the sheep. She rounded the truck and braced herself for what she imagined would be horrific.

She breathed in hard to keep from retching.

What had once been a small hatch-back car was now smashed almost beyond recognition. The impact of the crash had flattened the passenger side of the car before pushing it off the road into the low stone fence of the community park. A woman was slumped forward over the steering wheel, deathly still.

Checking there were no power lines touching the car, Lucy gripped the car door handle and prayed it would open without needing the cutting skill of the ‘jaws of life’. She gave an almighty pull and felt some give so tugged again. Grudgingly, the door opened just enough for her to squeeze in. She put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘Can you hear me?’

The woman didn’t move. What had Deb said her name was? ‘Geraldine, can you hear me?’ She heard a moan. ‘I’m Lucy and a doctor and I’m going to help you.’

Airway, breathing, circulation. Lucy pressed her fingers against the woman’s neck, feeling for the carotid pulse. Thready. Carefully, using her hands as a brace, she brought Geraldine’s head into a neutral line. She needed to apply a cervical collar, but to do that she needed to sit her upright. Ideally, it was a two-person job.

Hurry up, Marco.

Airway comes first. She knew she didn’t have time to wait, especially when she had no clue how far away help was from arriving. ‘Geraldine, I’m going to move—’

‘What’s her condition?’

Thank you. Lucy had never been so pleased to hear a Spanish accent in her life and she swivelled her head around in relief. Intelligent, dark brown eyes filled with a host of medical questions gazed at her, backlit with care and concern.

A odd, fleeting half-thought amidst the chaos of the moment made her wonder how it might feel to be the focus of that sort of caring.

She brushed it aside as completely irrelevant. ‘She’s conscious, although only just, and given her pulse rate, probably bleeding somewhere. We need to treat her as a possible spinal injury.’

Marco nodded and tugged on the door which shifted, giving them a bit more room, but they’d need a lot more to get Geraldine out of the car. He turned and yelled to the police sergeant, ‘Graham, we need this door off.’

‘On it.’

Lucy heard Graham on his two-way radio to the fire brigade and then Marco moved in next to her, filling the cramped space with his clean, fresh citrus scent and the welcome support of professional reinforcement. ‘Geraldine, this is Marco. We’re going to carefully sit you up and protect your neck.’

The woman groaned without forming any words.

Lucy continued in triage mode. ‘Marco, you support her mid-thorax and I’ll support her neck. On my count. One, two, three.’

They sat Geraldine up and then without being asked, Marco passed Lucy the cervical collar.

‘This will support your neck, Geraldine.’ She quickly wrapped it into position.

‘Lucy, take this.’

She turned and Marco held out the equipment she needed to attach Geraldine to the Propaq so they could monitor her vital signs. ‘Thanks.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll insert the IV.’

‘Sorry, Geraldine, but I have to rip your shirt.’ The woman’s eyes flickered open and shut again. Lucy tugged at the buttons on the blouse and they came open and she applied the patches to the woman’s skin. A moment later, the machine beeped into life. ‘BP’s low. Two lines would be good.’

‘Oxygen too.’ He shoved the green mask and plastic tubing into her hands and then he returned to his task, his forehead scored deep with worry lines. He quietly reassured a barely conscious Geraldine while his fingers moved up and down her arm seeking a viable vein. He tightened the tourniquet and tried again.

Lucy wanted to watch, wanted to will a vein to appear but she knew it wouldn’t help. Her job was to check Geraldine’s pupils’ reaction to light and hopefully rule out a head injury. They each did their job, working as a team and pooling their body of knowledge as they scrambled to stabilise their patient. They spoke few words, but the ones they voiced locked together to build a synchronicity that flowed between them.

‘IV is in.’

‘Great. Push fluids.’

Marco pumped in a litre of Hartmann’s through the hard-won IV line in a furious attempt to bring up Geraldine’s blood pressure.

Blocking out the bleating of sheep and all other extraneous noises, Lucy moved her stethoscope around Geraldine’s chest. The woman was taking short, shallow breaths and her pulse-ox numbers stayed low despite the help of the oxygen. ‘I think she’s got a tension pneumothorax.’

Marco’s frown deepened. He handed the bag of Hartmann’s to a bystander saying, ‘Hold it high.’

The young man nodded and did as he was asked while Marco passed gloves, antiseptic and a large bore needle to Lucy. ‘Needle decompression.’

Lucy snapped on the gloves and sloshed the brown antiseptic onto Geraldine’s skin. ‘Second intercostal space at the level of the angle of Louis.’

‘Sí. Then gentle traction on the plunger and checking for air bubbles.’

Lucy knew it all, but saying it out loud to a colleague and hearing confirmation always helped. ‘And then an immediate relief of symptoms.’

I hope. Her fingers located the position and she pressed the needle into place, praying the needle wouldn’t block. The beeping of the monitor faded.

‘Beuno, you’re in. Pulse-ox is rising now.’ The relief in Marco’s deep voice vibrated around them, matching her own. ‘Leave the needle open.’

‘Yep, had planned to.’ The rush of a good save flowed through her. Although Geraldine wasn’t out of the woods yet, at least they’d sorted out one big problem.

The sensation lasted ninety seconds.

The sharp and incessant beeping of the Propaq rose again, screaming at them as their patient’s heart rate soared and her blood pressure plummeted. For the briefest moment, Marco’s gaze met hers and she had an overwhelming moment of connection, unlike anything she’d ever experienced with a colleague.

Their words collided as they both yelled out in unison, ‘Jaws of life now!’