Chapter 37
Cameron
“Well, this can’t be right,” Cameron says as he stares intently at his computer screen, his eyebrows stitched together.
“What?” I ask as my eyes dart between the screen and his clearly confused face. “What is it?”
He shakes his head. “This is…wow. Alright.”
“What is wow? What does it say?” I snap.
Josh leans back, motioning to the screen. “Just…look for yourself.”
So I do. But it’s just a spreadsheet of a million different numbers and decimals and percentages. I’m not gonna lie, I’m about as good at reading what’s going on here as Josh would be at reading a brain scan.
“I don’t…I mean what is–” I stutter.
“We’re up, Cam,” he says and I look at it again before looking at him.
“Up?” I ask. “You mean…”
“I mean our numbers are up,” he grins.
“How up?” I ask, knowing full well I sound like an idiot.
“We’re not in the negative. For the first time in a hot minute, we are above water. Not far above, but enough to breathe. And that’s with the clinic running at full steam.”
My shoulders drop in a hint of relief. “How?” I ask.
“Charity,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Charity? Charity has been enough to dig us out of the hole? At Christmas time?” I ask.
“I guess so,” he says with a smile.
It doesn’t add up. I mean, technically speaking, it does. It’s right there on the screen and I’m not about to ask my brother if he’s sure. You never would have caught me saying it a week ago but he knows how to do his job. And right now the work of his job is saying that I get to keep doing my job.
“So part of this is thanks to Sarah,” he says.
“Sarah? You mean–”
“Your head nurse.”
“What did she have to do with it?”
“I don’t know if you noticed but nurses like to talk. And with all the drama buzzing around this place in the last month, they’ve made second full-time jobs out of it.”
I shake my head. “That still doesn’t explain the lack of negative signs in front of the numbers on your screen,” I tell him, taking another bite of my non-fat vanilla yogurt.
“Sarah and all the other nurses who work on your floor and attend all our holiday parties including the one you fake proposed at–”
“The proposal wasn’t fake,” I point my spoon at him. “It was the relationship–or–go on…”
“They talk, Cam. They observe and they make assumptions and they talk.”
“That still doesn’t tell me why our boat miraculously has less holes in it all of a sudden,” I narrow my eyes and choke down more yogurt.
“All that chatter got out to all the doctors, both here and elsewhere that healthcare workers mingle across the board. And your story with Noah and that social media page…kind of went medical field viral…” he explains.
“So…other hospitals have been donating money? To keep us open?”
“Only the ones that loved dad,” he says. “Which is…a lot of them. Also, it was the doctors that donated.”
“Not their stuffy accountants?” I jab and Josh shakes his head.
“Nope. What’s really wild though is that we have had a private donor too. Now, obviously all this random generosity is not enough to keep us running this high forever but we’re cleared for a couple of months.”
“Who’s the mystery deep-pocket?” I ask and he just shakes his head.
“Anonymous.”
“No name at all?” I ask.
“Only…Secret Santa.”
“Hmm,” I scratch my head. “Well, whoever they are, I wish I could thank them. That and I should probably buy Sarah and the other nurses lunch.”
“Go wild. We can afford it,” he says. “But not too wild.”
“Ted’s Steakhouse it is,” I say, patting him on the shoulder.
I down the last of my yogurt and toss it in the trash on my way out. But before I make it through the door, Josh calls over.
“Hey brother…any status update on your ex…fiancée…girlfriend…thing?”
“No,” I say flatly.
“No, because you haven’t talked to her? Or no because you have talked to her and it didn’t go well?”
“I’m sorry. Did something give you the impression that I was actually going to entertain this conversation?” I ask. “Go back to your numbers.”
“Fine. Fuck you too,” he mumbles and I smile for all of a second before it fades.
I make my way to the elevator and ride up to the sixth floor. The elevator opens and I use my badge to open three sets of double doors before reaching the nurse’s desk where I find Sarah buzzing about as usual and Trevyn smiling down at a nurse he’s been striking out with for weeks.
“Cameron,” Trevyn calls over, standing up straight when he sees me.
“Settle something for me. Dana here says that she won’t go out with me because she’s a pescatarian and I don’t love fish so we’d never agree on a restaurant.
I say that sushi doesn’t really count as fish when you fry it and cover it in wasabi meaning I would hopefully get to indulge in two hot things that evening if she could just say yes. What do you think?”
“I think wasabi is your best bet at anything spicy coming near your mouth at this point, brother,” I say and the nurse’s station erupts.
“That was cold,” Trevyn says and everyone laughs. “Also, don’t you have somewhere to be? Patients’ moms to fall in love with or something?”
I flip him off.
“I am here because I owe this entire shift lunch from my understanding. You ladies, and gentlemen, really did this place a service with soliciting and I can’t thank any of you enough.”
“So we aren’t going to lose our jobs?” Sarah asks.
“No. Not even close,” I say and they all cheer. “Unless you don’t get back to work. I’m talking to you, Trevyn.”
Everyone laughs and I grab a chart, going over the list of patients I have for the day. And I have to admit– it’s both a relief and a little bit of a heart sore that Noah’s name isn’t on that list. Obviously I don’t want to see him here, at least not as a patient. But I do miss him.
And I miss her.
I move through my routine checkups on auto-pilot.
It’s second nature to me, taking care of kids, talking to parents, chatting with nurses.
I love it, even if I do see a lot of hurt and sadness.
My dad used to always tell me when I was little that the world is a beautiful disastrous place and the best we can do is mend things that are broken along the way.
By the time I make it back to the nurse station, I’m beat. Sarah is also still here smiling at me with tired but bright eyes.
“You want a cup of coffee, doc?” she asks.
“Is it burnt?” I ask.
“Maybe,”
“Stale?”
“Definitely. But it’s caffeine.”
“Works for me.”
She smiles and pours us each a cup. Sarah doctors hers up and I drink mine black, something I do when I really need the boost.
“How are you doing?” she asks after we each take a sip and sigh.
“I’m alright. Not too many sobbing parents today and the boy in 670 even showed me how to make an origami duck,” I answer, pulling it out of my pocket.
“Isn’t it supposed to be a crane?” she asks.
“Yeah. But I missed two steps and fucked up a third and mine is definitely more of a duck than a crane,” I answer and she laughs.
“That’s great. But also…that’s not what I meant,” she says. “I mean who are you doing? With life? I heard things went a little crazy with Riley?”
“God,” I mutter. “What did you hear?”
“Enough. But don’t worry. We’re all in your corner,” she says.
“Thanks.”
Sarah looks at me with an empathetic smile. “You’re every bit as good a man and doctor as he was, you know?”
I blink, hit in the chest by her comment.
“I’m talking about your father,” she says.
“I know. And thank you. I’m trying.”
“You’re doing more than trying, doc. You’re succeeding.”
“It doesn’t always feel like it,” I admit.
“Bandaging the wound is only one of the first steps, doc. First you evaluate, then you clean it up, then you bandage. And then comes the healing.”
“Why are you so smart?” I ask, trying not to cry.
“It’s that BSN,” she brags with a laugh.
“Nah. The things you know can’t be learned in nursing school,” I say with a wink as I head for the first set of double doors. Once I am outside, I take a deep breath of the crisp, salty air. I let it out in a sigh, weary from head to toe.
My phone buzzes with a notification from the hospital app. But it’s not work related. I’m on the receiving end of this one.
Notification: Test Results In. View Now.
“Jesus…” I let out. The tip of my thumb hovers over the button reluctantly before I pull the trigger. My heart explodes in my chest as I read the result. Then check the time. I pull my phone out to text Riley and then pause.
“Fuck it,” I say, getting in my car. Noah’s play is in thirty minutes and I am not going to be late.