Chapter Thirteen
“Thank you for coming in on such short notice,” Doreen says as I walk into the ICU. She called me in to work the night shift since I have the day off tomorrow and LuAnne called in sick. Honestly, I need the money, so I didn’t make a fuss.
“It’s really no problem,” I say. “I like to help out, it helps me feel useful.”
“Yes, well, after what you’ve been through, I have to say that you’re one of the strongest women I know,” Doreen says. “I sure as heck wouldn’t be here.”
“Thank you,” I reply, and clam right up. I know it’s meant as a compliment, but I can’t help but think that I’m not that strong at all. If anything, I just feel shattered inside, like I’ve been broken for so long that it’s become second nature—maybe even before losing Joseph. For me, if I don’t keep going, I might stop existing completely.
“Alright, well I got to get home now,” Doreen says. “Jacqueline will be in later to help with the shift. Until then, you are the head woman in charge.”
“What time does she come in?”
“Well, it’s about ten now, so probably around midnight,” Doreen says as she looks down at her phone, then slides it into her pocket. “Just a warning, she isn’t feeling so hot either, but she’s decided to push through it.”
That’s not too bad, I think to myself. It could be worse. I could be all by myself for the entire night, which I’ve seen happen to some of the other girls since I started here.
Not that I can blame Doreen’s leadership. She’s doing her best. But the hospital just isn’t willing or able to give us the people we need. Which can be a real pain, especially when it’s really busy.
“Here’s your charts,” Doreen says as she hands me a stack of clipboards. “See you later!”
I immediately begin looking through the charts to see if Elijah is still here. Sure enough, after a few moments of searching, there he is, and I’m listed as his nurse for the evening.
Just like I had before, I avoided Elijah’s room like the plague, not wanting to run into any of the boys. It makes me feel like a complete and utter coward that I can’t even face them, but the wound is so fresh I can’t even talk about it to Sparrow. I’m sure all they need is some blubbering woman they hardly know hanging around and making things worse.
“Hey, Darla,” Jacqueline calls out to me from the nurse’s station.
“Yes?”
“Have you checked on Elijah yet this hour? We need some vitals from him, and I did it last time since you were busy.”
“S-Sure, I can do that,” I reply, feigning cheerfulness. But immediately my palms start to sweat as I move toward his room, and I feel a little heady.
It’s just a checkup,I tell myself as I enter his room. It’s the middle of the night, he’s not going to be much for conversation anyway. Still, I can feel my anxiety roar to a fever pitch as I press the blood pressure button and get out the thermometer, standing over him in the dark.
“Evenin’,” the old man says quietly, his crackly, half-awake voice nearly making me jump out of my skin.
“O-oh! Sorry if I woke you,” I say, as I fumble with the thermometer in my fingers, holding it in front of his mouth. “I just need your vitals.”
“It’s alright,” he mumbles as he gingerly takes it, opens his mouth wide, and then shuts his lips over the probe. After a few moments, the thermometer beeps, and I feel a sense of relief washing over me. It’s almost over, I tell myself. Now, all I have to do is get out of here and write these down. Guess that wasn’t so bad after all.
“Wait,” the old man says, his voice clearing up a bit. It was still a tinge grainy, but oddly enough, not old sounding at all. At least, it wasn’t how someone his age would sound like in my head.
I stop in place, my hands shaking. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy, I think to myself as I turn back around, forcing a smile. “What can I help you with, Mr. Garcia?”
“Would you mind getting me a glass of water?” he asks, and I’m dumbstruck by how much he sounds like Eli. It’s my brain trying to deal with my grief, I tell myself, and I shake it off, grab his pitcher, and fill a paper cup to the brim.
“Thank you kindly,” he replies, and I’m hit once more with that weird sense of déjà vu. Obviously, he’s related to Eli since the boys have been around to see him—but maybe they just sound alike. “Would you mind helping me drink this?”
“Of course,” I say, as I shove my emotions down and help him drink, placing the straw in the cup and holding it for him while he gently sucks through the straw. For a man who had just come out of a coma, especially at his age, he seems to be doing well. But his head is still wrapped up like a mummy.
“Thank you so much,” he says as he finishes, and I set the cup back on his side tray.
“It’s no problem,” I reply with a sigh. “If you need anything else, just press your bell.”
The rest of my shift was fairly quiet, which wouldn’t be such a problem if my brain wasn’t on fire after hearing that voice.
I’m riddled with guilt. The boys are the real victims here, having lost their father. I’d only known him a short time, and I’m devastated. But Eli had raised them, and I can only imagine how they feel. I mean, I haven’t even given them my condolences. . . It just wasn’t right.
Finally, 7 a.m. rolls around, and once I pass the shift to the morning crew, I dart for my car. Those boys are without a mom or a dad now, and if it were my kids, I’d want somebody to check in on them and make sure they’re okay.
I drive out to the grocery store and grab a pie, some flowers, and a condolence card, and head up to the house. It was the least I felt I could do, given the circumstances. As I go, my fingers are white-knuckled on the steering wheel the whole way. I wonder what I’m even going to say. What can I say? Nothing is going to make this any better.But maybe I can ease their pain just a little somehow.
I get to the house and I knock on the door, standing there nervously with pie and flowers in hand. I see a head pop through the curtain and look at me, but then it promptly disappears. For a moment, I fear that they don’t want to talk to me. That maybe I should just walk away. But then, slowly, the door creaks open, and there stands Noah, rubbing one of his eyes sleepily.
“Oh, hello there, Ms. Darla,” Noah says, seeming surprised to see me.
“Hey there,” I reply, holding out the pie. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m so sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man.”
“Wait. . . what are you talking about?” Noah asks.
“Eli,” I reply, feeling a bit flustered by his lack of emotion. “I heard of his passing through the other nurses,” I fib, not wanting to admit that I used my credentials and the computer at work to search for answers.
“Well, they told you wrong,” Noah says. “He isn’t dead. He’s actually been awake and alert, he’s just having some memory issues.”
“What?” I gasp, nearly dropping the pie as I sit down on the little bench by the door.
“Zack! Get me some water.” I hear him say as a wave of dizziness washes over me. The two boys hand me a cool glass of water, and I shakingly bring it to my lips to sip.
“But the computer at work said that he died,” I reply, feeling very confused. “It said that he had a seizure and didn’t make it.”
“Well, that’s not what happened at all,” Zack insists. “He’s been awake for a day or so.”
“On the ICU ward?” I ask, still feeling fifty shades of stupefied.
“Yep,” Noah replies.
“But I just worked last night and he’s not in any of the charts,” I say, and Noah’s eyebrows furrow.
“Something’s fishy here,” Noah says, his brow furrowed. “Why don’t we go over to that hospital with you and try to figure it out.”
“I agree,” Zack says with a nod. “Let’s get you sorted and then roll out. You can ride with me, Ms. Darla.”