Chapter 1 #2
She gave Jimmy a small smile. “Sorry, dude, but it’s gonna take a few weeks before you’ll be skateboarding again.”
“I can’t believe that useless brother of his, giving him a skateboard at Christmas. It’s not like Jimmy is ever going to be Tony Hawk.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is,” Gen confessed.
“Like, only the most famous skateboarder, ever,” Jimmy explained.
“Sorry, I don’t follow sports.” Once upon a time she’d cared about a certain sport—a certain sportsman—until it had become apparent he didn’t care for her. Since then her spare time was taken up in other, more meaningful, ways.
“Is she stupid or something?” the man complained as he was wheeled away by the nurse.
Bless. She peeled off her examination gloves and returned to the main nurse’s station, where Cindy Gravelly, the head nurse, shook her head. “Honestly, what’s with people these days? You’d think his parents would’ve taught him better.”
She shrugged, keeping her lips closed—she knew better than most about parenting challenges—as Cindy directed her to the next exam room.
“We got a serious hit-and-run patient in there, who’ll likely appreciate your calm approach more than that dude did.”
“Sure.” She gulped her water—these shifts were always busy, so it was best to hydrate when one could—and snapped on new gloves.
Her footsteps slowed as she entered the room where the elderly female patient was being transferred to the bed. “Hello, I’m Dr. Rivas. What do we have here?”
The paramedic explained, and she nodded, quickly assessing the nature of the injuries as a nurse took the patient’s blood pressure, while keeping the woman’s husband at bay. A portable X-ray showed no broken bones, and the woman’s alert nature indicated no head trauma.
“The car just came out of nowhere,” the man—Earl, he pronounced himself as—said.
Despite being injured, his wife—Janice—was obviously the more stoic of the two, quieting her complaining husband, and instructing Gen to carry on and do what she needed.
“It was my fault. I should have checked when I walked out on the crosswalk, but one doesn’t expect a car to run a red light.”
“I’m sorry this happened,” Gen murmured.
“Oh, it’s not your fault, doctor,” Janice said. “You are a doctor, aren’t you? You look a little younger than some.”
Story of her life. “I’m a second-year resident, so yes, you can trust me.”
“What’s up, doc?” Earl quipped.
Like she hadn’t heard that line before, either.
“How about we get Janice stitched up so you can get home soon?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and requested Marcie the nurse to get the topical anesthesia gel and aqueous chlorhexidine, and was soon prepping to clean Janice’s bloodied leg to determine the full extent of the injury.
The nurse returned and Gen spent the next few minutes gently scrubbing out the abrasion’s ground-in dirt to prevent tattooing of gravel rash, then finally suturing the wound.
“You’re being very strong,” she commended Janice.
“One of us has to be,” the older lady muttered.
A quick glance at Janice’s husband showed he was looking a little green around the gills. “Earl, you may want to sit down.” She didn’t need anyone fainting. “Marcie, do you mind—? Oh dear.”
Earl tilted then collapsed, crashing into the side of the bed, which drew fresh blood spatter.
“Help needed!” Gen called, as Marcie bent to assist the man. Gen couldn’t help, being halfway through the procedure.
Another staff member hurried in and aided Marcie, while Gen continued with her careful stitches.
“Silly man,” Janice grumbled. “It’s not as if he’s the one getting stitches. But then he’s always been funny about the sight of blood.”
“You’re made of sterner stuff, huh?” Gen murmured.
“I’ve always thought so.”
Wasn’t that always the way? Men had their uses, but when push came to shove they often found a way to make things about themselves rather than prove to be the helpmates God might’ve once upon a time intended.
Not that she knew too much about God’s intentions about the roles of men and women, as she’d never paid much attention to Him.
It was enough to say that men tended to run away when the going got tough, or so it had proved in her experience, anyway.
Earl was relocated to a chair, and had to face his own stitches now, courtesy of Dr. Goran Visek.
Dr. Visek was a third-year resident, technically her superior, and rumors had it that he was related to someone high up.
His attitude meant Dr. Singh rarely trusted him like he did Gen, which resulted in Dr. Visek often grumbling as much as his patients.
“Men.” Janice rolled her eyes.
“There you go.” Gen snipped off the suture end. “I think you’ll find this scar will fade after some time.” Older skin always took longer to heal than younger skin, but at least Janice looked after herself and didn’t have the skin cracks that permitted infections more easily.
She glanced at Earl then back at Janice. “Dr. Visek shouldn’t be too much longer with Earl, so you can rest here until then, okay?”
“Thanks Dr. Rivas. You’re so calm, it’s very reassuring.”
Gen smiled, even as she caught Goran Visek’s rolled eyes.
Yes, she knew he thought “calm” was another word for boring, or so he liked to imply.
Just because she didn’t often join the other medical staff at the nearby bar for after-shift drinks.
It wasn’t because she didn’t want to—well, that was partly it—but because she had other, more important, commitments.
And after nearly destroying her mom’s world ten years ago, she wasn’t about to do anything to endanger the fragile truce that existed these days.
She went back to the desk, snatched a doughnut from the box then winced at the stale taste. Ugh. She spat it into a tissue then deposited it all in the trash. Life was too short for stale doughnuts.
“Hey, Gen,” Cindy looked up from the computer, “we’ve got an ambulance pulling in and we’ll need you in trauma room four. Dr. Singh is elbow deep on a trauma patient in room three so we need you in four. Okay?”
“Okay.” Trauma room four was toward the back of the emergency department, past the curtained bays for examinations or less serious cases, in a section for those patients needing more privacy. As the emergency physician, Dr. Singh would normally take the VIP cases, so this would be interesting.
“Oh, and you might want to deal with this.” Cindy gestured to her chest.
Gen glanced down and sighed at the blood spatter adorning her scrubs.
She hurried to the doctors’ lounge and changed, then retrieved her white lab coat, knowing it instantly added credibility and professionalism to those who might otherwise like to question her youthful looks.
She buttoned it, then adjusted the name tag, and quickly redid her long ponytail as she moved to where a gurney was pulling in, a couple of gray tracksuit-clad men accompanying the paramedics.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Rivas. What do we have here?”
“Male, twenty-nine,” the paramedic said, “hurt in a hockey game.”
Hockey?
Her heart stuttered. But no. The chances were negligible. Next to nil.
“We think it’s his ribs,” one of the gray men said.
She glanced at the patient whose hands covered his eyes, revealing just the bristled lower portion of his face. “Hey, you’re in safe hands here. You’re gonna be okay.”
He removed his fingers, and she froze, as eyes the color of Puget Sound in winter slammed into her.
No. No, no.
“Genevieve?”
What on earth? It was like her worst nightmare come to life. Kyle Tinker might be in safe hands, but she was one hundred percent certain neither of them were going to be okay.