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He rolled his eyes. “Oh, ple-e-ease.”
“It’s true. When was the last time you sent anyone flowers for no other reason than ‘just because’?”
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.
“Aha!” she crowed. “I knew it. You never have.”
“Hey, if Trevor wants to—”
“You’re definitely suffering from a senior moment,” she interrupted grimly. “I’ll remind you that his name is Travis. Travis Pendleton.”
“Whatever.” He waved his mistake aside with one hand.
She strode toward the nurses’ station, intent on the last of the large floral arrangements still standing on the counter. Although she’d hoped to leave him behind, he caught up to her in spite of her two-step head start.
“This was, what, your second date?” he asked.
“Third,” she corrected.
“Ah, yes. Number three. A regular milestone in a relationship.”
She grabbed the vase before she faced him with narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because you don’t date and if you do, it’s never more than twice…”
He held up his hands. “Hey, if Trevor wants to spend a fortune on flowers, I’m sure that Frannie’s Florals will be delighted to get the business. But it might be a good idea if you told him to send flowers to your home address instead of here. I may not be able to bail you out the next time.”
“Bail me out?” she sputtered.
“Not to mention it makes the place look like a damn funeral parlor,” he continued mercilessly. “We’re here to take care of patients, not to smell the roses.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Marissa said defensively. Angry and hurt, not to mention bewildered by his attack, she squared her shoulders and adopted her most professional tone. “But you’re right, Doctor. We’re here for patients, so if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
She regally sailed past the centrally located nurses’ station to room six, leaving Justin behind. With luck, by the time she left Lonnie Newland’s bedside, Justin would have reviewed his charts and left her unit—and her—in peace.
Fat chance. Lonnie was also Justin’s patient, which meant she’d have to discuss the man’s care with him shortly, but at least Justin would have to focus on something other than her personal life. And she could concentrate on issues other than how she’d like to knock a bedpan—preferably a used one—against his hard head.
Before she crossed the threshold of the cubicle, she drew a deep breath, forced a smile to her lips and greeted Lonnie’s wife, the thirtyish woman who was gently washing her husband’s stubbled face.
“Hi, Abby,” Marissa greeted her. “I brought a little something to brighten up the place.”
Abby’s soft smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which wasn’t surprising under the circumstances. The dark circles and tired droop of her shoulders were easily explained by her pregnancy and the stress of having had a comatose husband for the past three months. Lonnie had been riding his motorcycle on his way home from Kansas City when a car had hit him. In spite of wearing his protective helmet, he’d been left with massive head injuries and had only recently been transferred back home to Hope Memorial after the neurology unit had done all it could. After a brief stint in the long-term care annex, where he’d developed a kidney infection, Lonnie had been transferred back into ICU.
“Thanks, Marissa. We’re going to enjoy them a lot, aren’t we, Lonnie?”
It was obvious that Abby had taken the neurosurgeon’s advice to heart. She talked to her husband as if he were awake and able to respond, determined to provide any and all possible stimulation she could to draw him out of his unconscious state.
She leaned close to her husband’s ear as she touched his pale arm. “You should see what Marissa brought us. The carnations are just lovely. They remind me of the bouquet you sent me when we first heard the news about the baby. They’re pink and yellow and blue with lots of baby’s breath and greenery. We’re going to put them on the tray table in front of you so you can smell them.”
Marissa placed the vase where Abby had requested, wishing—no, hoping—that the smell of the fragrant blooms, coupled with his wife’s voice, would be enough to yank the thirty-five-year-old businessman back to the land of the living. Logically, however, and based upon her experience, the situation didn’t bode well for a happy ending. On the other hand, she’d been an ICU nurse for too long to discount the possibility of a miracle or the power of hope.
“Did you get any rest last night?” she asked Abby while she monitored Lonnie’s vital signs and checked everything from his IV sites to drainage tubes.
“Some,” Abby admitted. “It’s just hard to be at home by myself. Even when my sister or parents come to visit, the house seems so empty….” Her voice died as she shrugged a slim shoulder.
Although Marissa couldn’t claim to know precisely what Abby was feeling, she did know how empty and lifeless her own house seemed at times. More often than not, she sensed it after one of Justin’s lengthy visits when they played Scrabble or indulged in one of their movie marathons until the wee hours. Strange how she didn’t experience that same phenomenon with anyone else….
“But I’m not totally alone,” Abby said with a smile as she rubbed her swollen abdomen. “The baby’s been a big help already.”
“I’m glad.” It was anyone’s guess what condition Lonnie would be in when he regained consciousness. He could need months and years of therapy before he could go home. If he could ever go home at all. Abby’s son or daughter would give her something to hold on to no matter what the future held.
Abby motioned to the small spiral notebook that held Marissa’s findings. “How’s he doing?”
In lieu of good news, she opted for the stock answer. “He’s holding his own.”
Abby’s smile wavered. “That’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” Marissa supposed it was a case of seeing a glass as either half-empty or half-full. A report of “No change” might not be a strong ray of hope, but it was better than “His condition is deteriorating.”
Before Abby could ask more questions, Marissa posed one of her own. “What are your plans today?”
“I thought I’d read to him this morning,” Abby said. “I brought Oliver Twist.”
“‘Please, sir, may I have some more?’” Marissa quoted.
“Then you’ve read the story?”
“Read the story, seen the movie. Although, to be honest, I liked the movie version better.” Marissa grinned. “And that’s the only line I remember, but don’t tell anyone.”
Abby giggled. “It’ll be our secret.” She stroked her husband’s face. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
Suspecting that Abby would read until she was hoarse, Marissa cautioned her not to overdo it.
“Oh, I won’t. You see, I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. Then it’ll be nap time—doctor’s orders,” she added ruefully. “So I won’t come back until after dinner. You’ll call me if…”
“There’s any change,” Marissa promised, as she always did. “Your number is posted in the nurses’ station. By the way, aren’t your childbirth classes starting soon?”
Abby rubbed her tummy once again. “This week.”
“Do you have a labor coach?”
“With my parents and sister living so far away, Lonnie’s brother, Eric, has offered to stand in.”
“I’m glad you have someone, but don’t hesitate to call if you need me.” Marissa had given Abby both her home phone and cellphone numbers several weeks previously as an emergency contact. It seemed the least she could do for the new mother in such a sad situation.
“Believe me, I won’t.” Abby patted her stomach. “I’m not about to take any chances with Junior.”
Marissa nodded, well aware that this baby was surrounded with love and care even without Abby’s firm assurance. And while she might not be able to do as much for Abby as she would like, the one thing she could do was to give Abby’s husband the best possible nursing that she could provide. With any luck, he might be alert when his son or daughter arrived in a few short weeks.
She cast a final glance at the array of monitors above her patient’s head. Satisfied by the readings, she deftly adjusted the blanket over Lonnie’s feet. “I’ll leave you two alone for now,” she said with a smile. “If you need anything, I’m only a few steps away.”
Her calm deserted her the moment she left the room. Determined to ignore Justin as much as possible, or at least to treat him with cool indifference, she crossed into the nurses’ station, braced for a fight.
To her surprise, Justin was noticeably absent.
He hadn’t seen his patient, so he couldn’t have gone far.
“Where’s Dr. St. James?” she asked Kristi, hating to ask in case he was within earshot.
“Dr. Tremaine paged him for the ER. He left about ten minutes ago, and said he’d be back as soon as he could. Do you need him?”
Need Justin St. James? Hardly, she inwardly scoffed. “Not at the moment. I just didn’t want him to get away without rewriting a medication order.” Then, because she wanted to push the man from her mind, she changed the subject. “I noticed we’re low on syringes and blood-gas kits. Before I check through the drawers, can you think of anything else to add to my order?”
“Not right now.”
Marissa nodded. As she compared her checklist to the labeled cupboards and drawers in the small medication room adjoining the nurses’ station, she wished that her life was as neatly arranged.
Maybe that was all it took—a checklist. Let’s see, she thought as she started a mental tally. She had a house that suited her perfectly, even if it was on the small side. A Cairn terrier that served as companion and confidant. Wonderful neighbors, especially Lucy Mullins next door. She also had great friends and lived in a community that boasted enough shopping opportunities and free-time activities to keep her happy. What more could a girl want?
A husband. A couple of kids. A family.
Okay, so those things were missing. And, yes, she admitted, those were major items for a woman who had been raised by her grandmother, thanks to her mother’s parade of husbands who hadn’t been interested in having a stepdaughter underfoot. The fact that she wanted a family at all was a testament to her grandmother’s moral fiber and value system. If she’d actually lived with her mother during the turbulence of all her marriages, she might have felt differently, but her grandmother had been her anchor and her role model.
The one thing she had learned from her mother was not to be taken in by a charming smile and a handsome face. While she considered herself “cautious” when it came to the opposite sex, some might call her “picky.” Admittedly, she was, although she’d dreamed of having her family—or at least a husband—by the time she hit thirty. She had a year to go before she missed her self-imposed deadline.
Of all the men she’d ever dated, Travis Pendleton had the most potential of being The One. And if their relationship continued to move along as well and as fast as it had so far, she just might be on the way to realizing her dream with time to spare.
Idly, she wondered how Justin would react to news of her getting married. He’d be shocked, to be sure, and would try to change her mind, but if this was the right thing for her to do, then nothing would stand in her way.
But, oh, how she’d love to see the look on his face when she told him….
Justin lingered at the far end of the nurses’ station, out of Marissa’s sight as she sat in front of a computer terminal. She seemed in a good mood, which was a relief considering the way they’d parted thirty minutes ago. Even if she hadn’t been, he’d always been able to wiggle his way back into her good graces. He felt certain he could do so again.
Do you really think so? his little voice asked.
It might not be as easy this time, he admitted. Discrediting the man who’d provided more bouquets than most women saw in a lifetime hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done. He should have known that she’d feel compelled to defend the man. The problem was, he didn’t quite understand why his temper had suddenly flared at the mention of Pendleton and his dramatic gesture.
You’re jealous.
Hardly, he scoffed at Marissa’s words echoing in his mind. He simply didn’t want her to be taken in by a man who was all flash and no substance. If he could save an old friend from making the same mistakes that he had, he would. His motives were as simple as that.
And, yes, Marissa had a good, level head on those pretty shoulders. She could size up a fellow quite well, but none of them had ever gone to such drastic lengths to impress her. What woman wouldn’t be affected by the romance of this grandstand gesture? It was his duty to make sure that an undeserving lout didn’t hang stars in her eyes now, only to blast them to earth later.
Even now, he swore he could smell flowers, although it was probably all in his imagination. That, or the fact that the scent of those damn roses he’d carried had rubbed off on his clothes.
Just as he was about to make his presence known and tell her about his new ICU admission, the phone rang to give him a brief reprieve.
He watched and listened as she spoke with the usual joyful lilt in her voice. From past experience, he knew that one didn’t have to see her to hear her perpetual smile. It was why he always made a point to talk to her either in person or on the phone at the end of the day. Just the sound of her voice lifted his spirits, no matter what his mood.
Her long, light-brown hair was tied back in a ponytail instead of a braid, which meant that she’d probably overslept that morning. It made her appear too young to be the shift charge nurse, but those who were foolish enough to think that a youthful appearance and medical experience couldn’t coexist soon learned otherwise.
She tucked an ink pen behind her ear, drawing his attention to her fine features. Even from his position, he could see the gentle curve of her mouth as she reached out to caress one of the daisy petals with long, slender fingers. He knew just how gentle her touch was—he’d seen her work her magic with her patients and had enjoyed more than one of her back rubs when he’d been dead tired.
To him, though, her hazel eyes, framed with dark lashes, were her best feature. Gazing into them was like watching the different moods of the Atlantic, but whether they sparkled with animation or reflected her genuine care and compassion, they didn’t reveal a lot of what was going on inside her pretty head. For all her friendliness and the years they’d known each other, she was still, in effect, a private person.
Sometimes, like now, he wondered why she hadn’t found the right man to spend her life with, but considering her mother was on husband number four, he understood why she hadn’t rushed into the state of matrimony.
Her mother’s failed marriages aside, he chose to take a small amount of credit for Marissa’s caution. After his own marital fiasco, he’d vowed that none of his friends would be taken in by a pretty face or, in Marissa’s case, a handsome one. No, siree. It wouldn’t happen on his watch.
Perhaps he wouldn’t feel this strongly if someone had warned him about his ex-wife, Chandra. Her gorgeous face and model’s body had hidden a calculating mind and a hard, greedy heart. Within six months of their wedding, she’d maxed their credit cards to the limit “because you’ll be able to afford it, darling. And I have an image to uphold,” she’d cooed.
Some image. He grimaced at the memory. Sleeping with the bank loan officer who’d been helping them obtain the funds for their first home had certainly not been upholding his ideal image of a trustworthy physician or a happy marriage. Neither was having an affair with their accountant, her dentist or their veterinarian. By then, her escapades had killed any feelings he’d had for her.
Had he loved her? He’d thought so at the time, but now he couldn’t say. True love couldn’t be killed so quickly, could it? After all, he missed Maisie, Chandra’s French poodle, more than he missed her.
In any event, she’d eventually walked out because she’d been tired of trying to make their marriage work when she hadn’t loved him. Privately, he doubted if she ever had. She may have loved him for his profession, his future income and his status, but not for him. If he hadn’t been so blinded by lust, he might have seen the same character flaw that his closest friends in med school had seen. But he hadn’t, and they hadn’t uttered a single word. “We hoped we were wrong,” they’d said in their defense.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t been. Now, having been burned by his experience, he’d never sleep at night knowing that he could have saved a friend from misery and hadn’t.
Be that as it may, their personal issues and discussion would have to wait. The soon-to-arrive patient would take precedence.
He approached Marissa as she severed the phone connection. “I’m back,” he announced.
The smile on her face faded. “How nice.”
Her polite tone grated on his nerves but he deserved a chilly reception. Before he could frame an apology, she pointed to the monitor of a second computer. “My notes on Mr. Newland are charted for your review. The pharmacy has already called about renewing his medication orders, so if you can take care of that first—”
“They’ll have to wait. I’m admitting a new patient to the unit, a seventy-year-old female with possible meningitis or encephalitis. I’ll want a spinal tap.” The elevator bell dinged an interruption, and he added, “That’s probably her now.”
She rose and darted around the counter, her cool demeanor changing to her usual professionalism. “I’ll put her in two.”
“Marissa, wait.”
She stopped in her tracks. “Why? Your patient is here.”
As if he needed a reminder. “I know.” He paused. “You need to know something first.”
Impatience flitted across her face. “What?”
“It’s Lucy.”
“Lucy who?”
“Lucy Mullins.”
It took a second for the name to register. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “My Lucy?”
He nodded, intently watching her response.
Lucy Mullins might be Marissa’s seventy-year-old neighbor, but she was far more than that. Neither woman had any family to speak of, and he knew that Lucy offered friendship, homemade cookies and motherly advice whenever any of the above were needed.
