Critical Care: 1 (Mercy Hospital) Page 19

  “What?” Erin asked, stepping close to see what Claire found. “What is that?”

  “A prescription bottle,” Claire said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she glanced toward Sarah. “She’s been taking sleeping pills.”

  +++

  Logan rubbed his neck, then leaned back in his office chair with a long sigh, grateful there was a break in the day’s chaos. He’d even had time to change into clean scrubs. Things were finally settling down. He checked the clock on the wall. Three thirty in the afternoon? No wonder he felt wiped out. But at least he had things under control. The cardiac patient went to the CCU with an external pacemaker, and the vehicle accident cleared hours ago, though the TV news kept running that footage of Sarah’s car dangling from the freeway guardrail.

  Logan refused to imagine any alternate outcome and tried not to dwell on the fact they’d found a bottle of sleeping pills in Sarah’s belongings. Fortunately her blood toxicology screen showed only a trace of prescription medication and alcohol. Not enough to be harmful or legally compromising. The important thing now was that Sarah had stabilized and they’d sent her to the ICU. The surgeon would keep a cautious eye on her condition, and the pulmonary docs were monitoring her lung status. Tension pneumothorax—it could have been fatal.

  Logan’s instincts had been right about Claire. She’d been sharp to catch Sarah’s symptoms and did everything right without wasting precious time. Without hesitating, like the new nurse might have. He frowned, remembering the uncomfortable conversation he’d had with Erin and Keeley thirty minutes ago. But then Logan had the right to insist that every member of his team be top-notch, didn’t he?

  The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. “Yes?”

  “It’s Claire. I’m finished talking with the chaplain and I’m on my way out. Can you spare a few minutes? I need to talk with you.”

  Logan felt warmth spreading through his chest. “No problem. C’mon over.”

  He warned himself not to mention the stress interviews the chaplain was conducting. Ironic as that must seem to Claire, he didn’t want to risk a confrontation over their stalemate regarding that subject. In fact, he wanted to forget all of this. He wanted to do something enjoyable. Which reminded him he needed to make that reservation. Tomorrow night, dinner along the river, Claire in the dress he’d been imagining . . . Why wait for tomorrow? Claire’s urgent care shift had been covered by another nurse. He could make that date happen tonight, and after a day like today, nothing could be better. Yes, they’d celebrate their victories.

  Logan smiled at the tap on the door and the sound of Claire’s voice, but his smile disappeared when he saw the look on her face, her pinched brows, and the rigid set of her jaw.

  “You told Keeley Roberts she should quit?” she asked, spitting the words out before he could speak. “How could you do that?”

  Blast it. “Close the door.”

  Claire did as he asked, then turned back, crossing her arms over her scrub top. Twin splotches of color rose high on her cheeks as she trembled with emotion, eyes bright and long hair spilling around her shoulders. She’d look beautiful if she didn’t have murder on her mind.

  Logan took a breath and raised his palm.

  But Claire wasn’t about to stop. “I talked with Keeley. She was crying and angry, confused. Worst of all, she’s doubting her skills, afraid she’s lost her edge.”

  “She might be right,” Logan stood behind his desk, hating that the conversation was headed down this slippery slope. He’d waited all day to talk with Claire, but this was nowhere near what he’d had in mind. “Look, I don’t like being the bully here, but—”

  “Yes. You do. I think you really do,” Claire argued. “I think everything I’ve heard about you is true.” She hesitated, her expression obviously pained. “I think you’re insensitive, critical, and woefully uncaring.”

  Uncaring? He swallowed. “Claire, wait.”

  “Wait for what?” she asked, her voice deepening. “For the all-powerful and unbending Dr. Logan Caldwell to care? Or wait until you can understand that Keeley Roberts spent the last year watching her only sister die? Her. Sister. Died. Don’t you get it? People are human and fallible. Not everyone can bounce right back after a tragedy. Sometimes . . . we . . .” She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Logan moved toward her, but Claire stiffened and stepped back.

  “No, it’s not okay.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I wasn’t okay either. In those first weeks after Kevin died. I told you I doubted myself, had trouble. Remember?”

  How could he possibly forget Claire being on duty when her brother arrived critically burned and dying? Logan nodded, keeping his distance even though he ached to comfort her.

  “What I didn’t tell you was I quit that job in Sacramento. Because even after I’d begun to feel better, one of the ER doctors continued to question my competence—” Claire narrowed her eyes—“and made it his personal goal to have me fired. He applied more and more pressure until I began to hesitate, to second-guess every single decision I made. I started to believe I was incompetent, worse than useless—that I was the weak link in that trauma team.” She leaned forward and stared unblinking into Logan’s face, anger smoldering in her eyes. “A weak link. Your words. Remember?”

  Logan winced, struggling for something to say. Anything to stop this. What could he say? “I’m sorry.”

  But that wasn’t right either because she shook her head, wiped her tears away, and reached for the door.

  “No,” she said after clearing her throat. “Tell all those other nurses you’re sorry.” Then she shrugged and let out a soft groan. “Including Sarah.”

  “Sarah?”

  “Yes.” A look of inconsolable sadness replaced the anger on Claire’s face. “She was hurrying to get here because of you. Because she didn’t want to let you down. She said she hadn’t been able to sleep, so she took sleeping pills. Then raced to get here after she overslept. So she wouldn’t disappoint you, her boss. A man who doesn’t understand that people have troubles and are sometimes . . . weak. A heart is more than an organ in your chest, Dr. Caldwell.”

  Logan stared at her, not trusting himself to speak. Not even sure he could.

  “Keeley’s already left,” Claire said, almost whispering. “And I’m going right now. But you know where Sarah is.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Erin paused outside the doors to the ICU to shut off her cell phone, frowning at the display of unanswered messages—all from Brad. She hadn’t talked to him since she found the checks in his car and still wasn’t sure how she’d deal with that. All Erin could think of now was how near Sarah came to dying. And it’s partly my fault.

  She took a deep breath and walked into the ICU toward the nurses’ station, squinting as her eyes adjusted. Erin never understood how the staff could stand working in semidarkness—or semisilence for that matter, unless you counted the mechanical whoosh of ventilators and robotlike beeping of countless monitors. Or the crunching of popcorn. Erin waved to an evening shift nurse peeking out of the break room, a red-striped microwave bag in hand. Then crossed the last stretch of blue carpeting to Sarah’s room. She was surprised to see her awake.

  “How’re you doing?” Erin asked, resisting the urge to check the monitor overhead and the fluid collection bags hanging near the foot of the bed. She wasn’t going to be that obvious; besides, she’d already called Sarah’s nurse for a full report. Roughly ten hours since the accident, Sarah’s condition was remarkably stable.

  “Okay.” Sarah licked her dry lips. “Better, if you’re packing a bag of M&M’S and a Diet Coke.” She attempted a wan smile that did nothing to erase the discomfort in her eyes.

  “Believe me, I asked about that.” Erin’s gaze moved over her teammate’s battered face. Sarah’s left eye was nearly closed by swelling, and the sutured side of her mouth was dark with bruising, like she’d been snacking on berry pie instead of eludi
ng death. Erin’s heart ached for her. “But you can’t have anything to eat or drink until tomorrow. They want to be sure your abdomen’s okay.”

  “Humph.” Sarah snorted, then winced. “I’m no doctor, but I’d say this hose stuck in my chest says something about where the problem is.”

  Erin studied the length of transparent tubing extending from beneath Sarah’s gown to its connection at a calibrated plastic collection container near the floor. A column of water, functioning as a seal to prevent further lung collapse, fluctuated each time Sarah breathed. Erin sighed. “It’s the only way to keep you in bed, I suppose. Otherwise you’d be reporting for the evening shift down in the ER.”

  Sarah closed her eyes and the ICU’s eerie brand of silence surrounded them: whoosh-click-whir-beep, interrupted only by the occasional distant moan from one of the other rooms and the soft, reassuring response of a nurse. Erin figured her friend had gone to sleep and was preparing to get up and leave when Sarah turned to her. “I probably can’t do that anymore,” she whispered.

  “Can’t do what?” Erin asked, seeing anxiety in Sarah’s eyes.

  “Come back to work in the ER.”

  “Hey.” Erin reached out and took her hand. “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine, and—”

  “No,” Sarah interrupted. “That’s not what I meant.” Her eyes searched Erin’s. “I mean because I’ve screwed up so much lately. And now this accident. If the investigation shows I’m at fault, I could be fired, right?”

  “I don’t know yet. It hasn’t been discussed.” Erin squeezed Sarah’s fingers, exhaling softly. “How did all this happen, anyway?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I haven’t been able to sleep more than a few hours a night in a couple of weeks. I have trouble sometimes . . . this time of year. A doctor prescribed sleeping pills about a year ago, but I’d never taken them before. Until now.” She grimaced. “I also tried . . .”

  “Alcohol?” Erin asked, remembering that a trace had shown up in the blood screening.

  Sarah’s response was barely perceptible in the darkness, a mere dip of her bandaged head. “Wine. Another thing I usually don’t touch.”

  “Why, Sarah? Why would you risk all that?” What should I have known?

  “Sleep. I just can’t sleep.” She faced Erin, her expression guarded. “I only wanted to get enough sleep so I could work. Because I didn’t want to let anyone down. We’ve been so short-staffed.”

  Erin gritted her teeth against a rush of guilt. Even if Sarah wasn’t going to reveal the reasons behind it, it was clear that she’d been struggling with something and Erin missed it, completely missed it. How was that possible? She was in charge and yet apparently knew next to nothing about her staff. “Where’s your family?”

  A look of pain flickered across Sarah’s face. “I . . . I don’t have anyone.”

  “No one?” Erin asked gently. “Nobody we can call to come visit?”

  Sarah smiled ruefully. “The chaplain’s been here. Twice. Merlene and Inez too. And Claire. She said no one was seriously hurt in the accident. That the kids are all okay. I tried so hard not to hit them. But I guess my reaction time was too slow.”

  “They’re fine. I promise. One little sling, not even a real cast. Otherwise, Logan gave them all a clean bill of health.”

  Sarah reached up to touch the stitches at the corner of her mouth. “He’s still here at the hospital?”

  “You mean Logan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Actually, I think he left already.” Erin frowned. “He hasn’t been in to see you?”

  Sarah glanced away, shaking her head. When she turned back, her eyes were filled with tears. “Logan knows . . . about the pills and the alcohol?”

  Erin nodded, and then her own eyes brimmed with tears as Sarah’s mournful sobs sliced through the silent ICU.

  Father God, help her. Please help us all.

  +++

  Logan gunned the Harley’s engine and leaned into the curve, relieved to see the live oaks and low-growing shrubs along the highway finally give way to tall stands of pine. Chill air whipped against him, snapping his scrub pants like a flag against his legs, and he was glad he’d taken the time to pull on the leather jacket. He’d almost forgotten it in his hurry to . . . escape? Logan snorted inside his helmet. Sure, he’d wanted to escape. Who wouldn’t? He’d had a brutal day and deserved the comfort of some peace and quiet. Was that too much to ask?

  He checked his rearview mirror and changed lanes, the obvious answer to his own question making him irritated all over again. It had been too much to ask, especially if he expected to find the comfort he needed in Claire’s company. A quiet evening, the warmth of a woman who felt like she was made for his arms, the soothing sound of her laugh. He’d wanted that so much. It wasn’t going to happen tonight. Maybe never. He squinted, remembering the look on Claire’s face when she confronted him in his office, calling him insensitive, unbending . . . uncaring? She’d crossed her arms and spit those words at him as if his professional actions—his responsibility to keep things under control—somehow negated anything personal between them. Couldn’t she see the difference?

  Logan sucked in a breath, telling himself to let it go. But he couldn’t. Uncaring? How could she say that? Of course he cared. He understood people had problems, knew full well it had to be rough for Keeley Roberts to care for a dying relative. But you had to leave that stuff at home. You had to buck up and get the job done. It wasn’t like they were dishing up soft-serve ice cream. Lives were at stake every single day in the ER. As medical director, it was Logan’s job to keep things together. He was good at it. He’d done that all his life, for his father and brothers when his mother left and for Beckah after she lost the baby. He’d been strong and logical; he’d had to. But to have Claire unjustly compare him to some jerk doctor in Sacramento who’d hassled her and—

  He eased the bike to the shoulder, then pulled off into the gravel, braking to a stop. He slid his helmet off, recalling Claire’s anger and how she’d parroted his words when he’d talked about weak links in his emergency team. Then she implied he didn’t have a heart. She was wrong. It killed Logan to know Claire was there when her brother died, and it made him crazy to see her cry again today. It tore a hole in the heart she didn’t give him credit for having.

  But what was he supposed to do when everything around him tumbled into chaos? Pray? Let God handle it? Right. The way God had handled the situation with Logan’s alcoholic mother, the way God had kept Beckah from leaving? What if Logan had stood back and prayed for Sarah today instead of plunging that needle through her chest wall? She’d be dead now. Logan clenched his jaw and glared up at the blue Sierra sky. “I’m supposed to let go and let you handle it, God?”

  He shook his head and groaned, his gaze dropping to the guardrail of the overpass ahead. Then winced at the memory of that TV footage, the car dangling. Claire said Sarah was racing to work because she didn’t want to disappoint him. That she’d taken those pills because she needed to sleep so she could keep working all those long hours, all those extra shifts. Because Logan expected that from his staff. Claire was implying Sarah was stressed because of Logan, that the accident was somehow his fault. She was wrong. Sarah was just like him—tough, strong, responsible. The image of Sarah’s face, bruised and beaten up and impossibly fragile, intruded.

  Logan’s throat constricted as he recalled Claire’s final words today: “You know where Sarah is.”

  He put on his helmet, merged back into traffic, found the next exit . . . and turned around.

  +++

  “Smokey?”

  Claire squatted down, lifting prickly branches aside and peeking into the underbrush. “Smokey . . . oh, please. Where are you?” She scrambled forward on her hands and knees, snagging her hair in the bushes, then dropped backward to sit in the red dirt, exhausted body and soul.

  She’d rushed home after an awful day, posted flyers with Smokey’s picture around the neighborhoo
d, and searched for more than two hours. Not a black whisker in sight anywhere. Tears that had threatened all day slid down Claire’s face. She wiped her nose on the hem of her T-shirt, then stared at the sky, realizing that absolutely everything was heading 180 degrees away from her master plan. Merlene Hibbert had dropped the bombshell about Renee Baxter’s application for the job Claire needed, she’d ended up having to work in the ER, she saw one of her coworkers critically injured, and afterward she was handed one of her own stress pamphlets by the hospital chaplain. To top it off, she’d managed to go completely berserk and leap down the throat of the man she’d just discovered she deeply cared for.

  Claire peered up through the trees to the barely visible deck railing. Now it was getting dark, and her brother’s cat—if still alive—could be at the mercy of rogue raccoons for a second night. He had only one ear left after his first tangle with them. The pitiful thought brought on a second bout of tears as Claire pictured those flyers with Smokey’s lopsided face and realized she might never have the chance to hear him purr. The thought made her unbearably sad and made her want to feel Logan’s arms around her, to lose herself in that sweet comfort she’d only begun to discover.

  It also made her regret saying those awful things to him today and wish that she could do it over again. But she couldn’t and she . . . wouldn’t. Because everything she’d said was true. She and Logan were completely different in ways that were far too important to ignore. He’d never understand the only way she’d functioned in the trauma room today was as a result of prayer, a direct appeal to God to help her save Sarah’s life. And that she’d been praying for Logan’s skill as he maneuvered the lifesaving needle into their teammate’s injured chest. He’d never buy that what happened in the ER today had less to do with being tough and soldiering on and all the other noble attributes he seemed to demand in himself and his favorite nurses and far more to do with the grace of God.

  Claire’s brows drew together as she wondered once again if she’d missed signs of stress in Sarah—way back, at the Little Nugget interviews—and if there might have been some way to prevent today’s tragedy. She had so many questions. Was what she’d told Logan right? Had Sarah taken sleeping pills to cope with the stress of her work? Had a desperate need to please Logan caused the nurse to take risks that nearly took her life? Does Logan really care about any of that?