Nick
“Incision.”
Finally. We made it. I was beginning to think this surgery would never happen.
My first patient of the day was a reschedule of a rescheduled cholecystectomy from five months ago.
On her original surgery date, she ate a kolache on the way to the hospital.
This woman was a sweet-talker and painfully flirty, but no amount of southern charm was going to convince me to induce anesthesia on a non-fasting patient.
Emergency? Sure, but not scheduled. As far as it depends on me, my goal is to keep patients off of a vent in the ICU.
When she arrived for her second attempt two months ago, she thought it would be funny to bring breakfast kolaches for the entire surgical team—which was very nice. The only problem is she took a sedative to calm her nerves, and her high-ass promptly ate one while she sat in pre-op.
I can't make this shit up.
Third time's a charm, and today is the day. She has fasted, and she is officially anesthetized for the removal of her gallbladder.
I finish documenting before scanning through the anesthesia record one last time. Logging out of the charting system, I pat Gene, our nurse anesthetist, on the shoulder. “Need anything from me?”
“I think I'm good.”
“Y'sure? I know where I can find a mild sedative and a kolache—”
“Dude, I swear to God, if I hear the word kolache one more time …”
“So that's a no then?”
“Bye, Crawford.”
“Okay, okay.” I chuckle. “Don't call me if those vital signs tank—and by don't, I mean please do, or else I'll make sure your own vitals tank.”
Gene chuckles. “Duly noted. Now get out of here.”
I give a little salute before heading out of the operating room to pre-op. The day has only just begun, and it's a full board of surgeries with back-to-back cases.
As I take a quick sip of burnt-flavored coffee, my phone vibrates in my pocket. My heart flutters with the anticipation of a picture of my son, but I force myself to finish reviewing the surgical board before pulling it out.
Today is a big day for Grady. His kindergarten class is taking a field trip to the children's museum that has an interactive dinosaur exhibit. He's been talking my ear off all week about it.
What has him most excited, though, is that Tiffany had taken the day off to chaperone.
Not going to lie: I'm a little jealous. I would've done anything to have gone on that field trip with him. Hell, I would do anything just to spend more time with him.
Tiffany and I are still figuring out this whole co-parenting thing. We don't want to overwhelm Grady with too much change all at once, so we're taking things slow. Painfully slow, if you ask me.
Fortunately, Tiffany makes an effort to keep me included, and that includes the occasional photo update.
My phone vibrates again, and I imagine it's a picture of them loading onto the bus—except when I glance down at the screen, my stomach drops.
It's an incoming call from Pinehurst Elementary.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hey, it's Leah Harrison.”
For the briefest second, my lips curl at the sound of her voice. “Leah, hey, is … is everything okay?”
“Well, maybe. I'm not sure. Have you been in touch with Grady's mom?”
I duck into a quiet alcove, lowering my voice. “Today? No, I haven't. Why? Is something wrong? Is Grady okay?”
“Grady is okay. He's safe. We're about to leave for the children's museum, but … Tiffany isn't here yet.”
My eyebrows furrow trying to comprehend her words. “What do you mean she isn't there yet?”
“She's not here. Parent volunteers were asked to be here by eight-thirty, and—”
“Right, I'm aware,” I interrupt, trying not to panic. “But Tiffany drops him off in the mornings. If Grady's there today…” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She has to be there somewhere. Or close by? Did y'all call her?”
“I've tried three times. The front office has tried twice. I even called her job to see if she worked overnight. She hadn't.”
What the hell, Tiffany?
“Okay, so … what do I need to do?” I ask.
“Nothing. I am sorry for having to upset you with this information.”
“No, no. Thanks for telling me.” I sigh. “How's Grady? Is he upset?”
She pauses. “He's—uh … I have him sitting next to me on the bus, and he's going to be okay.”
I curse under my breath. He’s not happy. “I don't know what to do,” I admit. “I feel like I should do something … but I can't just leave work. Shit, what do I do?”
“Hey,” she lowers her voice. “It's going to be okay. This day isn't turning out as planned, but it doesn't mean it's ruined. We're going to make this work, okay?”
“But … he needs me—”
“Of course, he does. But until you can be here, he has me. Okay?”
Some of the tension eases in my shoulders. Leah shouldn't be so familiar, and yet she has become the peace in the middle of my chaos once again. Simply knowing she's with Grady is more than enough to satisfy my worry.
After agreeing to pick up Grady after school, I quickly down the rest of my coffee and tuck my phone back into my pocket. I shove every ounce of frustration into the back of my mind, and jump back into work. The patient waiting for me deserves my full attention, even if my heart is somewhere else.
***
It's a little past four when I pull up to Grady's school.
School let out over forty minutes ago, and the parking lot is near-empty.
I park my truck next to the curb before hustling inside.
Darrell was already notified of my situation, so he checked me in promptly before escorting me to the kindergarten wing.
Before I even start toward the classroom, a voice—a lovely, melodic voice with a gentle tone and a soft vibrato —echoes down the hallway.
“Look at the brachiosaurus eat leaves, their long necks can reach the trees …”
I glance up at the police officer, and he's already smiling, enjoying the private serenade. “She's a little songbird. I swear, she has a song for everything.”
The corner of my mouth curls as I quietly step toward her class like an ancient sailor to her siren song.
“There's that word again. Can you read it to me?”
Suddenly, I hear my son's voice. “Look.”
I stop cold, my heart catching behind my ribs.
My son just read a word.
My son is reading.
My eyes burn with unshed emotion. Before I reach the open door, a bulletin board with a giant, friendly-looking scarecrow steals my attention. Dozens of hand-colored paper pumpkins surround it beneath the cheerful caption, Welcome to Our Learning Patch.
I can't help but smile as I read them one by one.
I want to learn about stars.
I want to learn about basketball.
Every pumpkin is different, but the careful, bubbly handwriting beneath each drawing is unmistakably the same. Leah. She must've sat beside every one of her students, patiently sounding out their words before writing down exactly what they wanted to say.
Close to the bottom of the board, a slightly wrinkled pumpkin catches my eye.
Grady.
I crouch down, my fingertips brushing over the crayon-scribbled paper. His coloring spills outside the lines, but it's the sentence underneath that catches me completely off guard.
I want to learn about cows.
I close my eyes as tears threaten to appear. I take back every sarcastic remark I've ever made to Julian for crying over his daughters' craft projects. Hell, my own dad never cared much for colored pictures or birdhouses made from popsicle sticks.
Then again, he didn't show up for state championship games or my medical school graduation, either.
“Triceritops!” Grady shouts from the room.
Leah giggles. “That's right! This is a Triceratops. Did you see one today?”
I peek into the classroom, resting a shoulder against the doorframe.
Amid the cheerful chaos of alphabet charts, counting posters, and tiny desks, Leah sits cross-legged in a pair of overalls on a rainbow-colored rug.
She has her hair pinned up in that braided crown again, wisps of hair falling free from the long day.
“It was—it was big!” Grady beams.
“It was big, huh?” Leah agrees, tapping her head. “Put your thinking cap on. What was special about the Triceratops head?”
Grady taps his head like her, his eyebrows drawn together. “Horns?”
“That's right! They have horns.”
Grady beams, his chocolate eyes shining with excitement. I've never seen him so confident. “Triceratops also have frills,” he says confidently. “And some scientists think they changed colors.”
“Oh … uh …” Leah stammers before finally chuckling. “Well, Mr. Grady, I just learned something new today.”
I knock on the door, announcing my presence. “That goes for me, too.”
“Nick!” Grady jumps up and races to me.
I take a knee, allowing him to collide with my chest, my arms embracing him tightly. “Hey, partner. Did you have fun?”
“Uh-huh!” he says enthusiastically. “It was the best day ever! We saw a Deino—uh … a Deinocheirus and-and a Saurolophus!”
“My favorites …” I tease, giving him an extra squeeze.
Leah stands up, adjusting her clothes before she slowly ambles over, not wanting to interrupt. Our gazes meet, and I swiftly lift Grady into my arms, saddling him on my waist. “Hey.”
“Hey.” A sweet, lazy grin spreads across her face.
“Thank you for …” I nervously chuckle, my cheeks heating. I don't know where to even start. “Just everything.”
“We had a good day.” She pats Grady's back, and he promptly warms to her touch, nodding eagerly. “Do you want to show Nick what you got at the gift shop?”
“The gift shop?” I raise an eyebrow.
Grady lights up. After setting him down, he runs over and grabs the dinosaur book they were reading—or rather singing—together. “It's called Look! There's a Dinosaur!”
I flip through the pages, enamored by it, quickly seeing the fifteen-dollar price tag on the bag. “This is neat, partner! Why don't you pack up your bag while I talk with Ms. Harrison.”
He nods, and dutifully follows my direction.
Leah smiles watching him. “That book actually has several perfect sight words for beginning readers, so I thought—”
“You didn't have to do this.”
“Do what?” She shrugs, feigning innocence. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Leah …” I murmur.
Our smiles linger for a few moments … only to be interrupted by Grady's hand slipping into mine.
I smile down at him. “Did you get all your things?’
Grady nods, pulling me toward the door. “Bye, Ms. Harrison!” he chirps.
“See you tomorrow, buddy.”
I tip my chin. “Thanks again.”
“You bet.” She waves, watching as we leave.
Before we make it to the hallway, something else catches my eyes, something out of place for a classroom.
A crystal vase with an arrangement of at least two dozen red roses sits on her desk. Each bloom is flawless, artfully splayed with fresh eucalyptus and rich greenery.
My stomach sinks.
Who the fuck sent her those?