19. Gabi
NINETEEN
GABI
The community center parking lot was already mostly full, with emergency vehicles and other cars crowded haphazardly near the entrance. The hurricane’s aftermath had drawn half the island here—some to help, others seeking it.
Inside, folding tables lined the walls, stacked with medical supplies and bottled water. The basketball court had transformed into a makeshift triage area, complete with rows of cots and privacy screens. The squeak of sneakers on polished wood mixed with urgent voices and the clatter of equipment.
Justin waved from where he was setting up an IV stand. “Over here, Doc!”
Kristie intercepted me before I could reach him, clipboard in hand. “Thank God you’re here. We’ve got mostly minor injuries—cuts from debris cleanup, a couple of sprains. Mrs. Jackson’s blood pressure is through the roof again.”
A group of volunteers hauled in more supplies through the side entrance, directed by the emergency management team. Some faces I recognized from the clinic, others were residents I’d treated over the past couple of months. Plenty more I’d simply known all my life. The familiar rhythm of controlled chaos settled over me—not unlike a busy ER shift, just with a distinct island flavor.
I scanned the setup, mentally cataloging what we had and what we still needed. The basic triage stations looked solid, but we’d need to establish a better flow for incoming patients. The mess of vehicles outside would impede any serious emergencies from being able to easily get inside. And someone would have to coordinate with the pharmacy about prescription refills for people who’d lost medications.
I snagged Curtis Bowen, one of the EMT firefighters, and tasked him with sorting out the parking lot. Then I crossed the room to check in with Justin.
I recognized the grizzled old man on the cot. “Mr. Collins, what’s going on with you this morning?”
The elderly fisherman flashed a shaky smile. “Just wanted to check my ticker after all that excitement. Storm had me wound up something fierce.”
I thought of the less than restful night I’d spent at the clinic with Daniel and our captive. “It did that for all of us. Deep breath in for me.” I pressed the stethoscope against his chest. “And out slowly.”
After I’d listened, I eased back, checking the vitals Justin had already gathered. “Your heart sounds good. Blood pressure’s a bit elevated, but that’s expected. How’s that hip doing?”
“Better since you adjusted my meds last month. Sarah says I’m not grumbling near as much.”
“Glad to hear it.” My brain flipped through the mental list of patients I’d seen, wondering if I knew her. It finally registered that Sarah was his granddaughter. Newly pregnant. She’d been the one to bring him in for his last appointment. “Speaking of Sarah, is she keeping up with her prenatal vitamins?”
His weathered face broke into a proud grandfather’s smile. “Sure is. That great-grandbaby’s due right around Christmas.”
I moved on to Jenny Reyes, who’d sliced her palm, helping clear branches from her yard. As I cleaned and bandaged the wound, she updated me on her son’s college applications.
“—apply for that scholarship I told you about?” I tied off the gauze. “The one for children of commercial fishermen?”
“First thing Monday. Thanks again for telling us about it.”
“Of course.” It had been scholarships that had paid for my education off island. I knew the challenges a lot of people here had in finding ways to pay for college that didn’t involve taking out student loans that wouldn’t be paid off until retirement.
Mrs. Jackson was next, her usually immaculate silver hair disheveled from the night’s stress. Her blood pressure had indeed spiked, but fifteen minutes of quiet conversation about her grandchildren’s recent visit brought it down to more reasonable levels.
Between patients, I caught snippets of storm damage reports—mostly minor flooding and debris, though the pier had taken a beating. At least two boats had broken free of their ties at the marina and were unaccounted for. Half a dozen more were floating in the harbor, and a team was being dispatched to retrieve them. Quite a few folks had lost their stairs down to the beach, and there were missing chunks of roofs all over the island, but it could have been so much worse. The collective relief was palpable.
“Doc?” Justin appeared at my elbow. “Got a sprained ankle over here. Teenager who thought aftermath cleanup was a good time for parkour.”
I suppressed a smile, already knowing which of our local daredevils it would be. Sure enough, Tommy Jensen sat sheepishly on the exam table, his mother standing nearby with her arms crossed.
“So Tommy,” I pulled up a rolling stool. “Want to tell me what happened, or should I guess based on your last two visits?”
I listened to him describing the incident while his poor mom grimaced. I shot her a sympathetic smile. “Tim’s pyrotechnics are seeming pretty same now, aren’t they?” Tommy’s elder brother, grown now, had been on the receiving end of plenty of lectures from Hoyt and the rest of his crew over his teen years. His failed canon experiment still got talked about from time to time.
Mrs. Jensen groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Holding in a smile, I turned to Tommy. “Next time you decide to practice your stunts, maybe wait until after we’ve cleared all the debris? Your poor mom needs a break.” I finished wrapping Tommy’s ankle and handed his mother an ice pack. “Twenty minutes on, twenty off. And stay off it as much as possible for the next few days.”
“Gabi!” Caroline’s voice cut through the bustle. My sister threaded her way between the cots, dodging volunteers and patients.
I met her halfway, pulling her into a quick hug. “Everything okay at home?”
“The kids are driving me up the wall. They’ve been cooped up too long.” She smoothed back a few wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Logan’s convinced he’s going to find buried treasure in all the mess the storm washed up, and Aubrey keeps trying to sneak out to help him.”
“Sounds about right.” I grabbed a bottle of water from a nearby table and handed it to her. “Have you been home yet? House make it through okay?”
“Lost a few shingles, but nothing major. Hoyt’s been out since dawn with the emergency crews. They’re focusing on Shore Drive first. Apparently the surge took out a big section of the road.”
That was the road leading to the north end of the island, where Willa and Sawyer had weathered the storm at Sutter House. “You heard anything from Willa or Sawyer?”
“No, but the cell towers are still down. I’m sure they’re fine.” She took a long drink. “The Wilsons lost their deck, and that old boat shed by the marina collapsed. Could’ve been worse, though.” Caroline glanced around the community center. “Need any help here? I could pitch in for a few hours before the kids drive Ibbie completely insane.”
“We’ve got it covered. The team here are rock stars.” I nodded toward where a steady stream of patients with minor injuries was being processed by the EMTs and my nurses. “Go home. Keep my niece and nephew from becoming amateur treasure hunters. Or at least make sure they wear shoes while they’re at it.”
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of faces. Thankfully, none of the injuries required med evac or anything necessitating hospitalization.
I heard Ed’s grumbling before I saw him, his distinctive booming voice carrying across the community center as Bree guided him toward one of the treatment areas.
“It’s just a scratch, Pop,” Bree insisted. “Let the doctor look at it.”
“Damn fool thing to do, trying to clear that branch myself.” Ed dropped onto the exam chair, holding a blood-spotted cloth against his forearm.
I pulled on fresh gloves. “Let me see what we’re dealing with here.”
The cut wasn’t deep, but it was jagged enough to need cleaning. As I worked, Ed updated me on the storm’s impact. “Lost three windows at the brewery. Water got in before we could get them boarded back up.”
“Could’ve been worse,” Bree said. “The equipment’s fine. We’ll need to replace some drywall, but insurance should cover it.”
I dabbed antiseptic on Ed’s arm. “Have you heard anything from Willa? The cell towers are still down.”
“Nothing yet.” Bree shook her head. “But Sutter House was built to handle worse than this. I’m sure they’re fine, just waiting for the roads to clear.”
Ed winced as I started placing butterfly bandages. “That girl picked a hell of a time for her honeymoon.”
“There.” I secured the last bandage. “Keep it clean and dry. Come by the clinic in a few days so I can check it.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Ed flexed his arm carefully. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a chainsaw and what’s left of my oak tree.”
“Pop, no.” Bree’s tone brooked no argument. “You’re going home to rest. I’ll call the tree service.”
“Ain’t no formal tree service gonna be operating normally on this island for at least a couple of weeks.”
The sound of their bickering faded as they made their way to the exit.
I sat back, pausing to chug down a bottle of water myself. They were probably right. Willa was probably fine. I was just antsy not being able to confirm the safety of one of my people.
Shrugging off the sense of lingering disquiet, I went back to work.