“What’s going on?”
“Unless you’re the father or the grandparents of this baby, you don’t want to know.” Her voice trembled a little.
“Francie, I took a course in genetics, embryology and reproduction my first and only year of medical school.”
“Well, then I’d prefer not to tell you. It’s kind of personal.” She softened the words with a smile. “Anyway, that’s why Brandon wanted you to drive me since he couldn’t get off today. We’re not sure what the doctor’s going to say.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “We first-time parents worry a lot.”
He signaled and turned on the ramp to Loop 1 or the MoPac as everyone in Travis County called the highway. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I do. And I will.” She sighed. “So you might as well drive the car. Brandon or his family will drive me anywhere so I won’t need it. If using my car makes you feel guilty, bring me some of Manny’s good soup from the diner every week or two.”
“Fine with me.” He stopped at a light and turned toward her. “Mom’s coming home next week. I’ll be able to pick her up at the bus station.”
“Are you excited to see her after—how long has it been? Seven, eight years?”
“Eight.” He considered the question. “Hard to say. I’m excited and worried both. The three of us haven’t lived together since she left. We’ll be crowded in that tiny house.” He stepped on the gas as the light changed. “Tim and I have to share the second bedroom. The owner has bunk beds in there.” Mike grimaced. “Fortunately, Tim’s still enough of a kid to like sleeping in the top bunk.”
“Oh, and you’re such an old man you couldn’t get up there?”
“I don’t want to get up there.” He turned off on the Thirty-fourth Street exit and drove a block before he said, “There’s another reason I’m worried.” His hands beat out a rhythm on the steering wheel. “You know how much I love her, but how’s Mom going to move on from prison life? She’s never worked. What if she wants to forge paintings again?”
“That’s hard, Mike.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to lay down the law, which is not something this family is good about accepting. I’ll pray for you. You might do some praying for yourself.”
He nodded. No use telling the woman who’d introduced him to church and helped him develop his faith that prayer had become only habit. It didn’t work for him anymore.
Francie folded her hands over the roundness of her stomach and struggled to find a comfortable position. “How’s Cynthia?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen her for a while.” He signaled for a turn, carefully kept his gaze on the road and refused to meet her eyes. “Not a lot of traffic. We should get to the doctor’s office in plenty of time.”
“Don’t change the subject.” She pushed herself around in the seat to look at him. “What happened with Cynthia? I thought you two were made for each other.”
“I thought so, too.” He clenched his jaw, not wanting to say more, but he knew Francie wouldn’t leave him alone until he explained. “When I told her I had to quit medical school to work, that we couldn’t get married for two or three years, not until Mom and Tim are on their own, she said she wouldn’t wait.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“She wants to marry a doctor, not an orderly who lives with his mother and brother.” Her departure had filled him with an emptiness it would take time to fill, so at least he wouldn’t hurt every time he thought about her. “I don’t blame her.”
“You should blame her. She’s a shallow ninny.”
He didn’t feel like it, but he had to laugh.
“Why aren’t you angry? You should be furious,” she said.
“I thought Christians didn’t get angry.”
“Well, in some situations, like when your former fiancée is being a shallow ninny, I think it’s okay. For a while.”
Well, then, yes, he’d been angry when he realized Cynthia hadn’t wanted him. How could he have misjudged her feelings and character? How could she have fooled him so completely? Maybe he was the idiot for believing she loved him. It would be a long time before he opened himself to that kind of hurt again.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“About a month ago. When I made the decision for Mom to live with me instead of going to a halfway house, I told Cynthia.”
“Well, I’m put out with her. I’d like to talk to that girl, set her straight about what’s important in life.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” He shook his head. “But Brandon and little Ebenezer are blessed to have you watching over them.”
“I’m the one who’s blessed. I have a wonderful husband whose family loves me and this baby coming. I have you and Tim and Aunt Tessie will be home soon. What more could I want?”
Ana Dolores Ramírez—Ana Dolores Ramírez, M.D.—tossed a newspaper off the only comfortable chair in the gray, dingy break room and fell into it. After taking a drink of her cold coffee, she leaned back, almost asleep.
What an evening: a terrible accident on I-35, and a fire in a crowded restaurant, all that in addition to the normal everyday emergencies like broken bones, ODs and injuries from gang and domestic violence. Why had she ever thought she wanted to work in an emergency room?
Well, yes, she knew. She loved the excitement, the challenge, the urgency to save people, the fight against death, bringing healing from tumult and despair.
Another reason was the memory of the doctors who had worked so hard to save her leg and the staff in the E.R. who had saved her mother’s life.
“It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it?” Dr. Leslie Harmon, the Director of Emergency Services, entered the lounge.
Ana yawned. “Why are you here so late?”
“I was called in when the cases started to back up. I wanted to come in during a busy stretch on this shift to evaluate how the E.R. staff handles a heavy load.”
“How’d we do?”
“Very well.” Dr. Harmon rubbed her neck and rotated her shoulders. “I was particularly impressed with one of the CAs. The new guy—dark-haired, handsome kid—seemed really sharp. Who is he?”
Before she could reply, Ana’s pager went off. Checking the message, she pulled herself up with a groan. “Not a very long break, but I’ve got to go.” She gulped the last of her coffee and tossed the paper cup in the overflowing trash can as she headed back to the emergency room.
“What’s coming in?” Ana pushed through the swinging doors, instantly alert. Paramedics pushed gurneys into the hallway while a clerk wrote the names of the incoming patients on the large white board at the central desk and nurses began to take vitals. Instant activity and a huge increase in the noise level.
“Another traffic accident,” the new orderly said.
What was his name? She took a peek at his ID tag as she picked up a chart to make notes in. “Thanks, Fuller.” As Dr. Harmon had said, he seemed pretty bright. More than just a strong body to lift and position patients. Earlier tonight, he’d recognized the signs of shock and taken quick action, more like a paramedic. He’d also helped with triage, stepping in when he saw how thin the staff was stretched. His assessments hadn’t been perfect, but he’d done well enough with those minor cases. After she’d quickly doubled-checked his decisions, she’d been able to concentrate on major traumas.
As the injured were quickly evaluated and moved to treatment rooms, to surgery or to wait in the hall, Ana noticed a boy about six years old standing by one of the gurneys. The woman on the gurney was pale, her eyes closed. Blood stained the bandages the EMTs had applied to her forehead and chest.
When his mother’s gurney was pulled into a cubicle, the boy grabbed the side of it and ran to keep up. “Mama,” he sobbed.
“Fuller,” Ana called.
After he pushed a gurney against the wall, Mike hurried over to where Dr. Ramírez stood next a gurney with a little boy hanging on to it.
“This kid came in with a family from an accident. Please take care of him.”
