Читать книгу Hideaway - Hannah Alexander - Страница 11

Susan’s face floated into Cheyenne’s vision, interrupting a perfect in-house nap. The dark brown eyes were lit with humor, the classically high cheekbones glowed with health.

“I want to see you again, Chey.” Her soft voice floated through the darkness. “Make sure to come—”

With a cry, Cheyenne plunged from the dream, startled awake by its vividness.

She gasped, tugging the comforter around her shoulders. “Susan!”

The telephone beside the twin-size bed beeped at her.

“Leave me alone.” She turned away from the sound, covering her ears, desperate to catch another glimpse of the dream, to hear that sweet voice again.

Another beep, and the speaker came alive. “Dr. Allison? Hello?” A male voice. Tom, the R.N. on duty.

She turned and snatched up the receiver. “Yes?”

“Dr. Allison, I’m sorry to wake you. Are you okay?”

No. She cleared her throat. “What’s up?”

“We’ve got a patient with chest pain.”

“I’ll be there.” She disconnected and looked at the bedside clock. Six-thirty on Saturday, April 2. Exactly a month since…

How many dreams did that make now, thirty or so?

How much longer could she function this way? She felt the sting of tears as she reached for her stethoscope. “Oh…Susan.”

She quick-stepped to the ER and found Tom waiting for her at the central desk.

“Vitals?” she asked.

“Arlene’s in the room doing the patient assessment.”

Cheyenne selected a T-sheet and placed it on a clipboard on her way to the cardiac room. She stopped in the doorway and caught the faint scent of body odor.

The patient had black hair…olive skin…dark eyes…

Cheyenne’s clipboard clattered to the floor.

Arlene looked up from the monitor. “Doctor, are you okay?”

Stop this! It isn’t Susan.

“Doctor?”

“Yes. Sorry.” Cheyenne picked up the clipboard and looked at the patient again. Not Susan. Of course it wasn’t Susan. Get a grip!

“H-Hello, I’m Dr. Allison.”

The patient watched her closely, and Cheyenne realized Arlene was still staring at her from the other side of the room.

“Arlene, is something wrong?” she asked.

The nurse shook her head slowly.

Cheyenne questioned the patient, did an exam and ordered a drug screen, all the time aware that the nurse continued to watch her a little too closely. It rankled.

While she waited for the test results to come back, Cheyenne sat down at her workstation and struggled with the memories. As she often did, she planned to drive to the cemetery with a bouquet of flowers from the grocery store.

And then she would sleep through the day. After that, she had vacation for two weeks, which she desperately needed.

She checked her mail slot in the E.R. callroom. There were the typical copies of old lab reports and hospital memos, a request for her to stop by her director’s office before she left on vacation.

No problem, she could do that. Jim had a shift today. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had plans to do anything but sleep. With the physician shortage in the past few weeks, she’d worked several extra shifts in March, half of them nights. It kept her occupied, but it also kept her tired, especially combined with the insomnia caused by her frequent nightmares.

Jim walked past her desk. “You ready to talk to me in a few minutes?”

“Let me finish up a patient and I’ll be there.” He was obviously serious about something. Might as well see what it was.

Dane heard the familiar crunch of gravel announce the arrival of a macho engine. Opening the barn door, he saw the big red pickup floating in a cloud of dust, and the mayor of Hideaway behind the steering wheel.

This was not the best possible morning for Austin’s kind of company, but then, Dane couldn’t think of a time when he would welcome this man. Too much ugly history came between them.

With a final glance at Willy and Blaze hovering over the cows in the milking room, Dane strolled from the barn and ambled up the incline toward the house, catching a whiff of dust in his nostrils. They could use a good rain. In fact, he wouldn’t mind if the sky chose this time for a cloudburst.

Austin Barlow lit from his truck like some cowboy hero alighting from his trusty steed. Minus the hat, for once. At forty-two, Austin had a full head of auburn hair with barely a streak of white, while at thirty-eight, Dane knew his silver-blond hair was already more silver than blond. His beard had even more snow in it. His father had been the same way.

“Morning, Austin.” Dane reached out a hand, bracing himself for the man’s exaggerated grip. He didn’t wince when his knuckles squeezed against each other. “Breakfast will be ready in about thirty minutes. It’s our Saturday special—”

“No time for that today, Gideon, we’ve got other things to worry about.” The man loomed a little too close and tall, a sure bet he had conflict on his mind.

Dane suppressed a groan. At six feet even, he was barely an inch shorter than the mayor, but he’d never learned to intimidate quite so well. “Time for a cup of coffee?”

“I need to know where your boys were last night.”

Not this again. “All snug in the house as soon as the milking was done.”

“You know that for sure? You have padlocks on all your outside windows?”

Don’t react. “I have squeaky floorboards, and I’m a light sleeper. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Austin?”

The mayor kicked at a rock with the pointed toe of his boot and gestured across the lake toward the town of Hideaway. “Someone set a boat afire on the new dock last night.”

Dane sniffed the air. He’d caught the scent earlier, but several neighbors heated with wood stoves and fireplaces, so he’d thought nothing of it. “Was anybody hurt?”

Austin shook his head. “Edith Potts called the county sheriff this morning—she found her cat lying on the front porch, shot through the side.”

That was even more disturbing. In spite of Austin’s suspicions, the fire could have been an accident. The cat could not.

“Know anybody who’d do those things?” Austin’s gaze combed the outskirts of the ranch.

“Not a soul.”

“What about that new boy you got last month? Black kid with that stupid mop-head hairdo. What do you know about—”

“I know where Gavin was last night, Austin. Don’t try to drag my kids into—”

“Didn’t I hear somebody calling him Blaze? I hear he’s not doing too well in school.”

“He’s just settling in.” Temper, Dane. Control the temper or suffer the consequences. “I’ve told you before, my kids aren’t delinquents.” They were just unwanted teenagers who’d fallen between the cracks in the social system.

“Yeah? How long were you in the hospital when your kid Bruce Wickman ran over you with the tractor?”

“That was seven years ago,” Dane said curtly. “He was here by mistake.” Bruce was still a touchy subject between them. One of several.

“How do you know your little Blaze isn’t a mistake?”

From the corner of his sight, Dane saw “little Blaze” walking up the hill with Willy—all five feet ten inches of brawn. Time to get rid of this joker before tempers flared or feelings got hurt.

“Austin,” Dane said, forcing an edge to his tone, keeping his voice low, “I appreciate your coming out to check on us, but your fears are unfounded. Why don’t you wait until the sheriff checks out the source of the fire before you start pointing fingers in our direction again?”

“Don’t blow me off like—”

“It seems I remember you were the most outspoken against the new boat dock. If the sheriff knew that, he might be more likely to check you out.”

“You know I wouldn’t—”

“And didn’t you and Edith Potts have some heated words a few weeks back about her property line?” Most of the time Austin Barlow was easy to handle. He hated bad press.

“Hi, Mr. Barlow,” Willy called.

Austin turned and looked the boys over, nodded, then turned back to Dane.

“Thanks for coming by, Mayor.” Dane opened the truck door and stepped back. “Sorry you can’t stay for breakfast.”

Dr. Jim Brillhart was seated behind his minuscule desk in the director’s office by the time Cheyenne arrived.

She slumped into the empty chair across from his desk. “So, what’s up, Jim?”

He hesitated for a full second before unfolding his long legs from their cramped position. He stepped around the desk. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Ardis brought some doughnuts. I know you like the chocolate-iced ones.”

Cheyenne studied his expression. “No, thanks. I’m not really hungry right now.” Something was making Jim edgy. “Is everything okay?”

He closed the door and returned to his chair, folding himself beneath the desk once more. “I noticed you’re scheduled for two weeks of vacation. Going anywhere special?”

Please don’t tell me you need me to work. “I hadn’t made any plans. Why?”

“I was just checking your records, and you have an anniversary date coming up next month.”

That had to be it. He wanted her to work. “Yes, and I haven’t had a vacation for a year.”

“Exactly.” He tapped the tip of a pen on the desk, watching the movement of his hand.

“Is there some trouble covering the shifts?” It wasn’t as if she had something special planned.

He stopped tapping. “I don’t need you to work.” He straightened and scooted forward, still looking at the pen. “In fact, if you haven’t used up the four weeks before your anniversary date, you’ll lose what you don’t take, according to company policy.”

“I was afraid of that, but I just couldn’t find the time….”

“I have a proposition for you. I would like you to take all four weeks, starting now. In addition, I’d like you to take additional leave time.”

“Additional?” She tried to read his expression. “Why?”

He met her gaze, held it, sighed. “You need it.”

“I’m doing fine. I don’t—”

“I heard about your episode this morning. It’s obvious to me and to the staff that you’re still struggling with your sister’s death.” His words tumbled over one another. It was well-known to the staff that their director hated confrontation.

“I dropped a clipboard, for Pete’s sake. Big deal.”

“Arlene said you were shaking visibly.”

Cheyenne made an ostentatious show of looking at her watch. “It’s been barely forty-five minutes since that happened. Arlene sure didn’t waste any time.”

“And the fact that this annoys you tells me you’re still being affected by grief over Susan’s death, because I know you, Chey. You don’t get rattled that easily.” His chair squeaked as he leaned forward to place his elbows on his desk. “Face the facts. You had a devastating experience, and you haven’t been given the time to deal with it. I’m giving it to you now.” He held up an April schedule. “I’ve already removed your name.”

Cheyenne stiffened. “Over a silly little incident this morning? You can’t be serious.”

“That kind of thing has happened more than once in the past month.”

“Three times. Yes, Jim, I know that. I’ve had some trouble sleeping, but don’t you think that’s normal after a loss like mine?”

“Sure. It’s perfectly understandable after what you went through, and you need time to deal with the loss. You’re one of our best doctors, Chey, and your emotional health is important to everyone here, including your future patients. You know how quickly ER docs burn out.”

“Save the lecture, I’ve heard it all before.” This was crazy. How could he do this to her? “Are you telling me I can be replaced that quickly? We’re already working a doc short.”

“Another Missouri ER is closing near Saint Louis. The physicians there will be out of a job in two weeks.”

“Why is it closing?”

“The hospital couldn’t afford the increase in their insurance rates. Three of their docs are looking for temporary work, and I plan to grab them up and use them as much as possible. That’ll give all of us a break. The rest of us will hold out until they come on board.”

“Jim, I don’t need that much time off.”

He gestured to a stack of files on the far right corner of his desk. “Your quality control reviews have not been impressive lately.”

That hurt. She hadn’t seen the reports for this past month. “I’ve worked fifty percent more shifts than last month, Jim. All of us are a little tired.”

“I saw your patient this morning,” he said. His voice was soft, sorrowful.

“Which one?”

“The one with the chest pain. Crosby. The one who looked like Susan.”

“But I did everything appropriately. I did a cardiac workup and EKG and she was fine.”

“Chey, did you even consider a pulmonary embolis?”

“No, why would I? She was young—”

“She had multiple risk factors. She was a smoker, she took birth control pills.”

“Yes, but—”

“She was wearing an air stirrup splint.” He dropped the pen onto the desk and leaned back, as if he wanted to cross his legs but didn’t have room beneath the dinky desk. “She’d been practically immobilized for three days with a badly sprained ankle. I did a D-dimer test on her.”

Cheyenne’s thoughts froze. “The result?”

“Positive.”

She gave herself time to recover from the blow. “The woman was having a pulmonary embolis?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry, Jim. I—I told you I’m not sleeping well.” The woman could have died! If Jim hadn’t seen that ankle brace…

“You’re not focusing, Cheyenne. That isn’t like you. Your tragedy is way too fresh. For your own good and the patient’s, I have to consider you an impaired physician and take the necessary steps to help you.”

“Impaired! Jim, I’m not an alcoholic, and I don’t have a drug—”

“The problem is, the last place a physician’s struggle ever shows up is at work. You must be going through some nasty stuff at home.”

She nodded, her mind still reeling with shock.

“It took you three weeks to recover from your flu. You worked sick during that time. I want you to take some sick leave.”

“But I’m not—”

“End of discussion. I’m sorry. Why don’t you go see your parents? Florida should be nice this time of year.”

Cheyenne slumped in her chair. “They wouldn’t know what to do with me.” She heard the plaintive sound of her own voice. “Okay, I’ll take off. The whole four weeks.”

“Eight, with an option for more the minute you request it, but give us enough notice to line our people up. And remember, we’ll have third year residents available in July.”

“July?” He was trying to get rid of her. “No, Jim. You can’t do—”

He held up a hand. “You don’t understand what I’m doing yet. Trust, me, Chey, I’ve been there. It took me twelve months to recover from burnout eight years ago. It nearly ruined my marriage and destroyed my family. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

She blinked. This was news. He had three beautiful children, and the youngest was eight.

“But I don’t have a family,” she said softly. Most of her friends worked right here in this department. What was she going to do with herself for two months? What about her nightmares, with no work to distract her from their impact?

She forced herself to stand and walk to the door, hoping she didn’t look as stunned as she felt.

“Chey?”

She turned around, hoping he’d changed his mind.

“You might want to try some grief counseling. I’m speaking to you as a friend, not your boss. We all know how losing Susan—”

“Save it, Jim, you don’t have a clue.” She knew she sounded ungracious, but something in her had snapped, Jim couldn’t imagine her life as a single ER physician, whose schedule was never the same, who could seldom arrange for her own time off to coincide with that of her friends—even less could he understand her grief.

What was she going to do now? How could this day possibly get any worse?

She picked up the next envelope on the mail stack at her work space. She opened it, forgot to breathe.

This was a request for the release of Susan Warden’s medical records to Hodgkin and Long, a legal firm. The request was signed by Kirk Warden.

Cheyenne covered her face with her hands.

Her former brother-in-law had meant his threat at Susan’s funeral. He believed she was instrumental in the death of her own sister.

Was she?