Читать книгу Once a Good Girl... - Wendy S. Marcus - Страница 9

OKAY. That’s it.

Victoria tossed her briefcase on the back seat of her car, slammed the door shut and waited to the count of five before turning on Kyle. She spoke slowly, fought to maintain an even tone. “Jake is none of your business. My life is not your concern and I’ll thank you, in advance, to stay away from me for the short time you’ll be in town.”

“Like it or not, most of my patients are on your floor and, once my therapy dog program is approved, I plan to accept the full-time staff position I’ve been offered.” He leaned toward her. Challenging. “The next time I leave town it will be on my terms.”

“You make it sound like approval for you to bring your dog to work is a given. It’s not. We’re firm at three for and four against. I’m against.” As was her mentor, the director of nursing.

“We have four weeks to change your mind.” He patted his dog’s head, looking unconcerned.

“No one can be as good as the two of you are touted to be. The patient outcomes and lengths of stay will speak for themselves.”

“Oh, we are that good, honey,” he said confidently.

“Don’t call me …”

“Come on, Tori,” he said as he turned to walk away. His dog trailed after him.

She sucked in an affronted breath. “You named your dog after me?” she called out.

He glanced over his shoulder. “She was a stubborn little thing when I started working with her. Reminded me of a girl I used to know.”

Victoria resisted the urge to scream. Having Kyle Karlinsky around was going to be an exercise in self-control. And secrecy. At least until she decided whether to inform Jake that his father, who she’d promised to help him search for when he turned sixteen, had returned to town eight years ahead of schedule.

Using the utmost care not to bang her now throbbing foot, Victoria slid onto the cold leather driver’s seat.

No doubt Jake would be thrilled to finally meet the man whose picture sat on his night table. He deserved a chance to get to know his dad. At some point. Was now, when he was so young and impressionable, the best time? Until she could learn a bit more about Kyle, where he’d been, why he was back, and maybe gauge his reaction to having a son, she would not risk Jake getting hurt.

Although the drive to school turned out to be a bit more difficult than anticipated, Victoria avoided any major problems. Thank the Lord two pedestrians crossing at Third Street saw her in time to jump out of the way.

The second she got out of the car and set her right foot on the ground for balance, pain exploded in her ankle, the intensity on a par with labor contractions. She eyed the distance from her parking spot to the door of the cafeteria. It may as well have been the length of a football field rather than the twenty or thirty feet it actually was.

Eleven minutes late, she couldn’t afford to be any later. Clenching her teeth hard enough to crack a filling, she made a limping dash towards the school. Halfway there Jake exited the building, in the process of pulling on his hat, and without looking at her walked directly to the car.

The afterschool program teacher—Mrs. Smythe—followed.

The temperature dropped a few degrees.

“I had to take care of a choking patient. Then I twisted my ankle rushing to leave,” Victoria explained.

“If it wasn’t that it would have been something else,” the evil woman replied. “I have a life outside my job, you know.”

Was it common knowledge that, aside from Jake, Victoria didn’t? “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said as she, too, walked past Victoria without looking at her. “Be on time.”

She would do better, Victoria decided when she climbed into the car, glimpsed into the back seat and saw the unhappy pout on her son’s precious face. Jake, the most important thing in her world. “I love you,” she said.

He stared out the window.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Victoria started the car and changed the radio to Jake’s favorite station.

He lunged over the front seat and turned it off.

Except for the heat blasting from the vents, a tense silence filled the car.

She looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Put on your seat belt.”

He didn’t.

“Jake, I said I was sorry. You understand why Mommy has to work so hard, don’t you?”

Nothing.

It was going to be a long night.

“I’m talking to you, Jake Forley. And we will not leave this parking lot until you answer my question.”

“Because it’s just the two of us,” he said, still looking out the window. “And you need money to pay bills and send me to a good college.”

“And so you can play baseball in the spring.”

He jerked his head, his eyes went wide. “Really?” He scooted to the front edge of his seat. “You’re going to let me play?”

An impromptu, anything-to-cheer-him-up decision she would likely live to regret but, “Yes. And you’re going to need baseball pants, a bat and glove, and shoes.”

“Cleats, Mom,” he said with an eye roll and an air of eight-year-old disgust at her ignorance of sports lingo. “Baseball players wear cleats.”

“After dinner we’ll go online and do some research.” To figure out what cleats were. “Sound good?”

“Sounds great! Thanks, Mom!” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” But she’d never tire of hearing him say it.

The next morning, her purplish, swollen right ankle elevated on an overturned garbage can and propped up on a pile of folded towels, her neck stiff, and her right knee almost twice its normal size, Victoria felt like she’d been selectively beaten by one of the dozens of baseball bats she’d viewed on the Internet the night before. With everything she needed to consider—barrel, taper and grip size, length and weight, as well as material makeup: wood, aluminum, or composite—choosing the correct bat was more complicated than calculating a biochemical equation. On the plus side, she now knew baseball cleats were little more than fancy sneakers with molded rubber studs to increase traction on the field.

She smiled. After a difficult start, she and Jake had had a super-terrific—his words, not hers—evening together. He was now an officially registered little-leaguer assigned to a team in the Madrin Falls Baseball League, practices to start next week, the season opener three weeks after that.

It would require creative scheduling, but she’d find a way to squeeze in everything. Work. Jake’s school. Her school. Religious school. And now baseball. Her stress level spiked up a notch just thinking about it.

“Knock, knock,” a familiar male voice said from her office doorway. “How’s the ankle?”

Victoria turned her head in that direction, forgetting her neck felt fine as long as she didn’t try to move it. “Go away.” She lifted her hand to the stabbing pain and tried to work out the cramp.

Kyle walked in, towered over her, filled her tiny office. He set two cups of coffee on the desk, and squeezed into the small space behind her. His body pressed against her back, pushing her ribs into the desk. She couldn’t move. “Wait.”

As if his fingers had the ability to shoot potent muscle-relaxer beams deep into her screaming elastic tissues, the spasm lessened with the contact of his big, warm hands on her skin. A pleasant tingle danced along her nerve endings, made her wish he’d branch out a bit. Lower.

Heaven help her, she still loved the feel of his hands on her. Strong. Knowing.

She forced her eyes open. This had to stop. But it felt so good. She let them drift closed, again. One more minute. Maybe two.

But, on the cusp of total relaxation, Victoria’s memory kicked in and transported her back in time. Something had her wedged in place. Confined. Squished. She couldn’t expand her chest. Couldn’t breathe. Could not pull air into her lungs. Please. Not again. She needed to get away. Escape this place. She was an adult, refused to be imprisoned. Never again.

“What’s wrong?” Kyle’s concerned voice sounded far away. His face appeared in front of hers. Kind. Searching.

She returned to the present standing on both feet, the garbage pail lying on its side. She shifted her weight to relieve the pressure on her right ankle, the move so quick she lost her balance and grabbed on to the desk for support. Her chest constricted, floaters dotted her vision, a wave of dizziness threatened to tip her over.

“You’re okay.” A strong arm wrapped around her upper arms and basically held her up. “Come on. Breathe. In and out. Move my hand.” Which he’d placed over her diaphragm. “That’s it.”

“I need …” She tried to push away from him.

“You need to sit down for a minute.”

Not again. Not now. It’d been nine years, for heaven’s sake. Why was his voice, his touch, sending her back in time?

He guided her into her chair. “Here.” He handed her one of the cups of coffee he’d brought. “Drink this.”

In a daze she lifted a cup to her mouth.

“Careful. It’s hot.” He removed the lid and blew on it like a parent cooling his child’s hot cocoa. Like he would have done for Jake had he been around for the past eight years. Clarity returned.

“I’m fine.” She took the cup from him, even though she didn’t drink coffee. “Thank you.”

He picked up the other cup, took a careful sip and watched her. “What just happened?”

Rather than answer, she countered with a question of her own. “Where’s your dog?”

“In with a patient.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be with her at all times?” Per hospital protocol developed specifically for his and Tori’s probationary period.

“Patients open up to Tori. Part of what makes me so good at my job is knowing when I’m in the way.”

“Typical man,” she said, feeling back to normal, “letting the woman do the work while you go for coffee.”

“I brought the coffee up with us. Do you have panic attacks often?”

Not recently. She took a sip of coffee. “It wasn’t a panic attack,” she lied. “More like an allergic reaction to a new irritant in my life.”

He smiled, unperturbed by her verbal jab. “Guess I’d better start carrying around some antihistamines in my pocket.”

“I have things to do. Did you come here for a reason?”

“To check your ankle.” He squatted down, picked up her right foot in his hand, and slid off her shoe.

“Impressive colors. But look at these.” He pointed to depressions in her edema. “Your shoe is too tight.”

“No, it’s not.” But, boy, it felt good to have it off.

He gently rotated her foot watching her face as he did. “Decent range of motion. Moderate discomfort. How’d you sleep?”

Woke up every time she’d changed position. “Like a baby.”

“Keeping it elevated?”

She pointed to the garbage can. “As much as I can. I’m a nurse, I know how to treat a sprained ankle, Kyle.”

“You’re sure that’s all it is?”

She hoped. “Yes.”

A loud bang followed by frantic dog barking echoed through the hallway.

Without a word, Kyle placed her foot on the floor and ran from the office.

Victoria slipped on her shoe and followed.

Kyle slammed into room 514 where he’d left Tori with Mrs. Teeton, a fifty-four-year-old female, ten days post-op radical abdominal hysterectomy for treatment of stage II cervical cancer. Undergoing combination chemotherapy and radiation. Suffering from severe adjustment reaction to her diagnosis, debilitating fatigue, and deconditioning. Completely dependent for all ADLs—activities of daily living.

The balding woman sat with her bare legs on the cold hospital floor, her upper torso, arms, and head draped over Tori’s back. “Mrs. Teeton. Are you okay?” he asked, dropping to the floor beside her.

“I’m so weak,” she said quietly, her cheeks wet with tears. “Can’t even sit up by myself.”

Kyle handed her a tissue from the bedside table. “You are going to get through this phase of treatment, and I’m going to show up every day, several times a day, to help.”

“What happened?” Victoria asked as she half ran, half hopped into the room, and, ignoring the bits of food spattered on the floor from the overturned meal tray, got right down on her knees next to Kyle. “What hurts, Mrs. Teeton?”

The pale, sickly woman tried to lift her head, couldn’t, and set it on Tori’s fur. “My pride.”

“Before we get you back into bed I want to check you for injury,” Kyle said. “Can you move your arms and legs for me?”

“I’m crushing poor Tori,” Mrs. Teeton worried.

“A dainty little thing like you?” Kyle asked. “I think she’s mistaken you for a blanket. She looks about ready to fall asleep.”

Victoria smiled, a bright, encouraging smile he remembered from the hours she’d spent tutoring him. The one that used to make him feel all warm inside. And you know what? Still did.

“He’s right,” Victoria said.

Kyle patted the dog’s head. “Good girl.” She opened a sleepy eye.

With his assistance, Mrs. Teeton moved her arms, legs, and head without a report of physical discomfort. “I’m going to lift you into bed.” She felt like a child in his arms. A small woman, like Victoria, Mrs. Teeton had all but stopped eating since her diagnosis three weeks ago, losing an estimated eleven desperately needed pounds. Too weak to participate in her own care and refusing psychological counseling, she had the highest acuity ranking of any patient on Kyle’s roster.

Once in bed, Victoria took over, checking the patient’s abdominal incision and taking her blood pressure before tucking her into bed. “The incision looks good. Your blood pressure is low. Before I put a call in to your doctor, tell us what happened.”

“I’m so tired.”

“It’s important.” Kyle put his hand on her lower leg, touch a big part of his therapy.

“I wanted to give Tori a treat from my breakfast,” Mrs. Teeton said, her eyes closed.

“That breakfast is for you to eat, not Tori. And I told you, she’s trained not to accept food from patients.”

A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Wanted to see. Sat up but so dizzy.” She sounded about to drift off to sleep. “Started to roll forward. Tori caught me.” She mumbled something ending with, “Good dog.”

“That’s the most I’ve heard her say since admission. And I visit her every day,” Victoria said quietly, looking at Mrs. Teeton’s sleeping form.

“Tori gets them talking.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” She looked up at him, her beautiful blue eyes soft and warm. “You were great with her. So gentle and kind.”

The hint of disbelief he detected bothered him. Before he could call her on it she headed for the door. “I’ll call Dr. Starzi. Would you please put up all four bedrails and make sure her call-bell is within reach?”

As he was in the process of raising the last bed rail, someone walked into the room. A nurse, dressed in what he’d recently learned were 5E’s trademark lavender scrubs. Brown hair up in a messy knot, girl-next-door pretty. Even with the surprise of her pregnant belly, Kyle recognized her instantly. His friend Ali Forshay, who Victoria had befriended back in tenth grade, as unlikely a pair as he and Victoria had been. Some kids had accused Victoria of slumming, others had called Ali and Kyle her charity projects.

Maybe they had been.

Good, a friendly face. He clicked the railing into place. One of the two he’d hoped to see while back in town. At least he’d thought so until he noticed her scowl.

She observed the patient then pulled the cord to turn off the overhead light. With narrowed eyes and pursed lips she pointed at him and then the window.

Did she expect him to jump?

A second later she grabbed him by the lab coat and pulled him deeper into the room, yanking the curtain partition into place as she did. The second bed lay flat, empty and raised to the highest position with the covers folded down at the foot of the bed, likely waiting for the occupant to return from the OR.

“Why did you come back?” she whispered curtly.

Because Dr. Starzi was the best oncologist around and Kyle refused to pass up the opportunity to work with him simply because of where he had to do it. And what reformed degenerate wouldn’t want to ride the success train back into his hometown? Show everyone who’d labeled him worthless and turned a blind eye in his direction except to blame him for things he hadn’t done and threaten him away from their daughters that they’d made a mistake in writing him off.

“No hug?” he asked, half teasing. In anticipation of seeing Ali he’d visualized their happy reunion. They’d been pals, both with difficult home lives. They’d looked out for one another. It’d been Ali who’d suggested Victoria tutor him when the thought of failing out of high school hadn’t bothered him all that much. He owed her, planned to help her out if she needed it. But from the looks of her, and the size of the diamond engagement ring on her finger, she’d turned out okay, too.

“You’re lucky I don’t scratch your eyes out after what you did,” she said.

And she looked ready to do it. He took a step back, kind of glad to have Tori in the room. “Exactly what did I do?”

“You stay away from Victoria.” Again the pointing, this time at his chest. “Better yet, go back to where you came from.”

“Hey,” he said quietly, cupping her bent elbow. “We were friends. What happened?”

She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and hurt. “You’re not the person I thought you were. I’m sorry I ever encouraged Victoria to give you a chance.”

Ali had been one of three people to see something good in him, something of value, at a time when he had been unable to see it himself. Victoria and her Aunt Livi had rounded out the triumvirate.

The intercom in the room sounded. “Recovery Room on line two, Ali.”

“Be right there,” she responded without taking her eyes off of him. “Do the right thing, Kyle. Leave. And don’t come back. Victoria’s worked so hard to put her life back together. She’s interested in a man for the first time since you …”

What? Since he what?

“You are the last thing she needs right now.”

With that parting shot, Ali, at one time his closest friend, turned and left.

Back in town for two days and Kyle had more questions than answers. If Victoria hadn’t cried rape, where had the accusation come from? What was she doing in Madrin Falls, working as a nurse? A caring, competent nurse from what he’d heard and seen, but why hadn’t she gone to Harvard to become a physician as planned? Why was Ali warning him off? Why did Victoria’s life need putting back together? The most stable, together person he knew, why was she suffering panic attacks? Who was Jake and how serious was their relationship?

Sensitive to turmoil, Tori nuzzled his thigh. He petted her soft head. “We’ll find out, girl.” And since Victoria and Ali didn’t seem eager to enlighten him, after work he’d visit Aunt Livi.

The small raised ranch-style home looked better than he could ever recall seeing it. Neater. Prettier. The white siding could have passed for new, the once-dingy black shutters gleamed and a bright red door matched what looked like a freshly painted version of the heavy, antique planters he’d lugged out of the garage every spring and back every fall, which sat at either side of the front porch steps.

The gravel driveway he’d shoveled every winter for years looked newly paved, and the grass he’d mowed summer after summer, while sodden from the winter thaw, seemed fuller, healthier.

Odds were Livi had finally snagged herself a man with an interest in home maintenance. Good for her. Only knowing she had a man inside made him feel a bit guilty showing up at dinnertime, with an apple pie and an empty stomach.

The woman knew how to cook, and had never passed up an opportunity to invite Kyle in for a meal. Something he used to thank his lucky stars for, daily.

A boy responded to his knock. That was unexpected. He looked familiar. Probably because he shared Livi’s kinky red hair.

“I thought you were the UPS man,” he said with disappointment. “Mom,” he yelled over his shoulder. “There’s a man at the door.”

The kid looked up at him, got an odd look on his face. Kyle noticed his eyes, the same eyes that stared back at him every time he looked in the mirror.

“Jake Forley, you know better than to open the door when you don’t know who it is,” a familiar female voice said from the top of the stairs.

Over the kid’s shoulder Kyle caught a glimpse of Victoria, heading toward the door, looking very at home in pink warm-up pants and a white V-neck T.

This was Jake? Kyle shifted so Victoria couldn’t see him. “Is that your mom?” Kyle asked quietly.

The boy nodded.

“How old are you?”

“Eight.”

Holy hell!