Chapter 11 Downward Spiral
Chapter eleven
Downward Spiral
The idea of Lance being released so suddenly depressed Lynnette more than she was comfortable admitting to herself. On any other day, that would have been her biggest problem. Part of her wished it was.
She’d walked with him through the assigned lap, watching him closely while he prattled on about something that was probably only half true.
She watched the way he held onto the IV stand as he was instructed, and the way he carefully applied a portion of weight to his injured leg with each step.
She watched him for signs of disguised discomfort, signs of distress, signs of muscle fatigue—all the usual things a stubborn and determined patient might try to power through.
And while he didn’t put an equal balance of weight on both legs, the truth was they didn’t walk at a snail’s pace, either.
He hadn’t hopped, limped egregiously, or needed even one break.
As impossible as it seemed, she understood Doctor Garland’s thought process. Somehow, he was already healed enough to manage the rest from the comfort of … well, in his case, anywhere else. Within reason.
Hospitals were notoriously slow with release paperwork, but as Doctor Garland had set up parameters ahead of time, Lynnette was able to get that ball rolling once Lance was resettled.
Despite the odd, sharp pain in her chest. He’d be there for a few more hours still, so she’d promised to return with lunch and headed off to resume her circuit.
She hadn’t expected to nearly bump into Claire outside the next patient’s room. Claire, who was supposed to be off that day.
Claire curled her lips as if she were looking at some diseased creature and moved to the side. “Stay out of my way, .”
“Seriously?” How was that even supposed to be an insult?
Claire lifted her chin and started walking off. “Don’t talk to me or I’ll report you,” she said in a taunting sing-song tone.
Lynnette ground her teeth, flipped to the notepad she’d stuck beneath the patient reports on her damnable clipboard, and started a fresh page. She spotted the nearest clock, jotted down the time, and scribbled a quick note of the exchange.
Handwritten notes weren’t going to mean shit to anyone, but it made her feel better to keep them given the current state of everything.
With that done, she attempted to resume her normal duties and crossed her fingers for some good luck. Or even just some neutral luck.
She popped in on a new arrival, spoke to the spouse who was sitting with him, then slipped out and made her way to her least favorite and longest-term patient.
The creepy, perverted old man. She debated, as she reached his door, whether or not it would make her day worse if he was awake and therefore had his dick out.
Normally it did. In the grand scheme of things, she wasn’t sure she cared.
She almost thought she’d accept the wrinkly, unimpressive sight if it meant the rest of her day might see an improvement.
Giving herself a shake, Lynnette pushed into the room. He was awake, and considering the proximity to lunch, that wasn’t really a surprise. So, she quickly moved her eyes up toward his shoulders and head. “How are you fe—”
He hurried to cover himself and made a sloppy stopping motion with one hand. “Not you,” he said, a little winded. His chest heaved. “Go away. I don’t want you here.”
Lynnette balked, her feet stopping. “Sir, I have to do my jo—”
“Someone else can do it,” he snapped, narrowing his bushy brows at her. “Get out or I’ll push this button and call for security!”
Stunned, Lynnette held up her free hand in a pacifying gesture. “Okay, okay, I’m leaving. I’ll have someone else check on you.” She stepped backward until she reached the door, turned, and let herself out, pulling it shut behind her.
Not fast enough to miss his last hurled exclamation. “And don’t come back!”
She stared at the closed door, her heart beating hard as the shock washed over her.
What the hell was that? She hadn’t seen a sign of anyone else in the room.
And sure, he wasn’t her favorite patient, but she’d always been polite and professional with him.
Always accommodated his requests when it was within her power and not against doctor’s orders.
She hadn’t seen any signs of dementia, or any other mental break. I’ll have to report it.
Lynnette flipped to his set of pages as she moved to put her back to a wall, grabbed the attached pen, and went straight to the extra notes section.
She jotted down a summary of what had happened, again noted the time, and decided that this incident needed more prompt reporting than whenever someone went through the papers.
So, she pivoted and made her way back to Amy’s desk.
Amy smiled. “Hey. Lunch break?”
“Not for me,” Lynnette replied. She set the clipboard down just to not have to hold the thing for a moment and leaned forward. “Something bizarre just happened, and I wanted to make sure it got straight into the patient’s record.”
“What’s the matter, Garver?” Del called as he walked by, de-scrubbed and clearly done for the day. “Forgot how to use your tablet?”
Lynnette frowned his way. “If you’re only going to speak to me when you feel like acting like a high school bully, then please don’t bother. And if you would also pass that on to Claire, that’d be great. Have an awesome day.” She put her back to him without waiting for his response.
“So,” Amy prompted after a beat, “what’s the issue?”
Lynnette quickly briefed her on the experience, and the need to notify someone else to handle that particular patient, at least until a higher power could evaluate the situation.
Amy’s eyes bugged and she started typing. “That’s really weird. I mean, not the worst thing that could happen for you, but definitely weird.”
Lynnette sighed and lifted her clipboard. “Normally I’d agree, but today, it just makes me look bad. Regardless of the reason.”
Amy pursed her lips. “That’s really unfair,” she muttered.
Lynnette offered her a smile before trekking back down the hall.
Lunches were starting to roll out, so she adjusted as best she could to keep out of the staff’s way.
It was preferable to pop in right before meals were delivered, rather than interrupt while a patient was eating, but she couldn’t always time it that perfectly.
Some twenty minutes later, she found herself striding down the hall Lance was in, and she spotted the food cart stopped just shy of his door.
The man she’d seen wheeling it not ten minutes earlier was pacing the hall, phone pressed to his ear, and talking in a low, urgently clipped tone.
Concern spiked through her and Lynnette adjusted course.
Interrupting a phone call was generally rude, but it was also rude to leave a patient’s food in the hallway.
She raised her hand enough to get his attention as he twisted back toward the abandoned cart, one brow raised to express inquiry.
He blew out a breath. “Hold on—no, I know, just hold on a second,” he said into the phone. Then he lowered it, covered it with his palm, and moved closer.
“Is there something wrong with this patient’s food?” Lynnette asked, tilting her head to indicate the undelivered meal.
His gaze flicked to the side and his jaw trembled for a moment. “No,” he said. He swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, but can you finish for me?”
Lynnette arched a brow. She could, of course. It was just delivering a meal and returning a cart—the latter being more inconvenient than difficult. While it wasn’t a task that typically fell under her purview, it wasn’t something she’d never done, either. “I can,” she said. “But why can’t you?”
He held up his phone. “My son, he— he’s downstairs.” His voice was strained, the words choking from him.
Downstairs … ER. Lynnette softened her expression and nodded her head. “Go. I’ll handle this. Be with your family.”
His eyes watered and he brought the phone back to his ear as he said, “Thank you, thank you!” He turned and jogged away, toward the nearest elevator, his voice changing as he resumed speaking to the caller.
Lynnette sighed, something in her chest pinching, then made herself turn away.
She still remembered how emotional her mother had been when her father had come home for good.
She’d barely understood then that his work was dangerous and that he left them for long stretches because of it, but she’d been glad to have him home, too.
For all the silly, sometimes jealousy-driven, reasons a child wanted their parents with them.
She remembered much easier—much more achingly—the pain of losing her mother.
How deeply it had wounded her strong, unflappable father.
That wasn’t even the situation that man was running off to, but the look in his eyes had reminded her of something she’d seen in her father’s eyes back then nonetheless. It wasn’t a headspace she ever wanted to revisit.
She did her best to push it aside, tried to remember what it was she’d thought to ask Lance the next time they spoke, and managed to get the door open and wheel the cart inside. There was a disjointed moment as she moved forward where two very different things struck her at once.
Something was wrong with the cart.
And Lance … was laughing. Loud, full-bodied, shoulder-shaking laughter that filled the air with warmth. It was a welcoming sound. On nearly any other day, she would have smiled to hear it.
Instead, Lynnette pushed the cart awkwardly into the room, having to fight it against itself as if she were wheeling it over rocks but only on one side, and she said, “Glad to see one of us is having a good day.” No sooner were the mildly bitter words out of her mouth than the problematic wheel let out an earsplitting squeak abruptly popped right off the cart.
The entire cart tipped precariously, forcing Lynnette to prioritize rebalancing that lest the food drop, and she let out a curse.