Chapter 6
Harlow
“Harlow, can you come and give us a hand?” Gretchen’s voice carries over the bleeping monitors and constantly ringing phones in the adjacent nurses’ station.
Part of what I love about this little emergency room is the camaraderie. Even when we’re short staffed, we all pitch in to help the other out. This hospital isn’t keen on hiring outsiders. And by that, I mean paying travel nurses a much higher wage to work alongside those of us who’ve been here in the trenches for years. If push came to shove, I’m certain they’d hire whomever necessary to make sure we met the patients’ needs. But unlike some of the larger hospitals in neighboring towns, the administration seems to prefer to reward those of us who’re already on staff with shift differentials and raises. Then again, maybe I’m just being hopeful their allegiance is to us. They could simply be too cheap to pay for travelers.
Darting into the room, I come to Gretchen’s side, where she’s clearly having a hard time keeping the pale, thin, combative man still enough to secure an IV. We have a large elderly population in Candy Cane Key. And if memory serves, this gentleman’s been here before. I believe he has advanced Parkinson’s disease, which has caused significant cognitive impairment on top of the loss of his motor function. Not that you’d know it by the death grip he has on Gretchen’s arm.
“His son said he’s developed a stomach bug that has gone through the household. He’s pretty dehydrated from vomiting and diarrhea, but not so much he’s going to lose this round of arm wrestling.” Gretchen grimaces.
Verifying the name on his wristband, I scoot closer to the patient and hold his upper arm steady so Gretchen has room to work. “Mr. Richardson…” I try to keep my tone calm and soothing as I wait hopefully for his eyes to connect with mine. “My name is Harlow. I took care of you when you were here not that long ago. Do you remember?” I’m shocked when his wary orbs track my voice until his gaze holds mine. I usually don’t garner any acknowledgment when I attempt to communicate with dementia patients, particularly when they feel they’re under attack. It’s a shame they can’t see we’re only trying to help.
“I don’t know what magical powers you have, Harlow, but keep it up,” Gretchen encourages. Looking over my shoulder, I discover she’s managed to not only get the IV, but she’s also attached the much-needed bag of intravenous fluids.
Placing my hand on Mr. Richardson’s shoulder, I give him a grateful squeeze. “There. The hard part’s over. Now you’ll get some fluid replacement and medication to help you feel better.”
I’m met with a blank stare, just before he swings his other arm across his body, pulling me closer.
Before proceeding to vomit down the front of my scrub top.
“Oh, Harlow,” Gretchen consoles sympathetically. “I’m so sorry. And here you came to help me out.”
“It’s okay. He couldn’t help it. I’m going to see if I have anything in my locker to change into.” Stepping away, it dawns on me that it wasn’t that long ago a drunk tourist did something similar, and I groan.
Opening the green metal locker in the changing room, my head drops to my chest as I discover I’m correct. I can’t believe I forgot to bring another pair of scrubs after the last incident. Looking down, I notice my pants are unscathed, but I nearly gag when I take in my top covered in green bile.
As luck would have it, Sadie and Shay come in to check on me.
“Harlow,” Shay gasps.
“I’m trying not to cry. I don’t have a change of clothes. I forgot to bring another set after the last time this happened.”
“I’m sure Gretchen could get some for you.”
“The last time we tried that, I had to wear the soiled clothes for what seemed like hours until the nursing supervisor could find some in the OR. We’re already short staffed. And if I have to keep smelling this, I’m going to add another layer of puke on top of this one.”
“Oh, babe. I might have something,” Sadie says as she moves to her locker.
“Sadie, I couldn’t fit one boob in your top.” She’s so small. Mighty, but small.
“Wait. I think I have something in my car. I forgot I went to the beach and brought a shirt to change into if we went to dinner afterward. But we ended up going straight home,” Shay exclaims. “You just wait here. I’ll let Gretchen know I’m running to the car to get it.”
“Oh, thank you, Shay. You’re a lifesaver.”
Ten minutes later, I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, swallowing hard and pinching my lips into a narrow line at the sight. This is utterly ridiculous. Wearing a Backstreet Boys crop top and these black scrub pants, I look like I belong in a ninety’s music video, not an emergency room.
As I make my way back to my assigned station, my cheeks turn pink at the laughter emanating from every nurses’ station I pass.
“Gretchen. Is there any chance I can check my car to see if I have a lab coat or a sweater?” I ask, mortified. Like I’d have a sweater in my car. I live in Florida. But I’m desperate for a miracle. And it’s Candy Cane Key. If ever there was a place for a Christmas miracle, it’s here. Right?
“Yes, of course.” My ever professional, favorite charge nurse turns her face away from me, holding her sides as she bursts out laughing.
“Not funny.”
“Go on, sweets. I’ll cover until you get back. And if you can’t find anything, I’ll lend you mine.”
“Thank you,” I shout as I turn in search of my car keys. Gretchen probably wears a size 2X, but I’d take her lab coat over walking around with this crop top on display for the next eleven hours.
Harrison
“Sorry, dude. You missed her.”
I turn to see Gino shrugging his shoulders at me. Sheesh, does everyone know?
Vincent snickers loudly behind him.
“What?”
“Oh, man. Watching you with this girl is like having built in entertainment on the job.” He howls.
“Fuck off, Vince.”
“Just try and deny it,” Gus pipes in.
“Would you three hens get back to work?” I blurt, unsure if I’m more aggravated at them or the fact I got here late again. The thought has barely escaped me when a flash of something beneath us steals my attention.
Walking to the edge of the scaffolding, I peer over just in time to see a brown-haired beauty running to the shuttle stop in front of the ER. Her back is to me, her wavy tresses flying behind her, but once I catch sight of the silvery gray arm tattoo, I know it’s her.
She doesn’t look up, but crosses her arms in front of her. Something seems off. I lean forward, squinting to take her in as the platform sways.
What is she wearing?
The little white shuttle bus pulls up, obstructing my view, so I force myself to get back to work, although admittedly distracted by what just happened. I take two steps and freeze as Vince, Gino, and Gus stand side by side looking like Larry, Moe, and Curly. As if on cue, the three of them double over in laughter. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Making my way to my earlier spot, I’m again startled by something out of the corner of my eye. But this time it’s up here on our level. That damn cat. “How did it get up here?”
“It probably followed Gino. You’re not the only one in love around here.” Vince snorts.
I open my mouth to toss back a smart reply and then think better of it, deciding instead to try to get this morning back on track. I admit I woke up in a bad mood. I’d had too much scotch last night with Char, and hit the shower frustrated again after dreaming of the hot nurse, this time in pretty pink lace panties. Even under the spray of the warm water, I couldn’t get off for fear I’d utter noises Joyce and my mother might hear.
Finally managing to get out the door, I made it to the car only to discover my front passenger side tire was flat from driving over a nail. I once again arrived too late to see her walk in to work, but still had to face the wrath of these three.
Holding up the nail gun, I return to the area I’d been working. I’ve barely shot five nails into the periphery of the dry wall when Gino bellows, “She’s back.”
Deciding as much as I’d like to chance her looking up at me, it’s not worthy of the ribbing I’ve had to take since the moment I arrived here. I flick Gino the middle finger before returning to focus on what I’m doing when suddenly the guys all start shouting at something down below. My spine stiffens at the thought someone’s hurt.
That she could be hurt.
Dropping the nail gun like a handful of hot lava, I sprint to their side in such a rush, I tilt over the edge of the scaffolding. There, the black and tan tabby dangles precariously from one of the rungs of the ladder below. But that feline is the last of my worries, as the platform shifts under the weight of everyone’s scrutiny, my stance too far forward to regain my balance, and I plunge forward.
“Harry!”