Dead on Arrival (17 page)

“It has lots of black hair, Angie.” I smiled at her. “Does your husband have black hair?” I asked to keep her mind off of things.

Dano gave some information to Buzz to tell the ER while I made small talk with Angie to keep her from listening.

“Push!” Dano ordered.

I got close to her ear and guided her through every step. ER Dano, Angie, and I worked as a finely oiled machine until the pain became too much for Angie.

“I can't!” she cried out several times.

Dano leaned over and looked her in the eye. “Stop that!” he ordered like a verbal slap.

And Angie stopped.

Then he told her what to do, and I placed her hand on the railing of the stretcher, so she could squeeze. I'd remembered from my nursing days that you never let a patient hold your hand when they were in pain because they could break your fingers.

By the grip Angie had on the railing, I was glad I'd remembered that.

Dano told her when to push and when to stop.

“You're doing great,” I'd add and I looked to see Dano, pulling and tugging one shoulder than the other until the baby came out in a
whoosh
of amniotic fluid.

He wasn't any preemie, was my first thought and thank you God, my second.

“It's a boy,” Dano said in a very matter of fact tone.

At first I was disappointed that he wasn't more excited, but the baby hadn't made a sound.

Dano was yelling at Buzz to tell the ER things.

I kept talking to Angie so she wouldn't hear, but I heard.

Cyanotic. Dano had said the baby was cyanotic, which by now he should have taken a few breaths and pinked up. “Apgar 4,” he said as he grabbed the blue bulb syringe and started to suck out the baby's mouth.

Four. Not good out of a possible ten, but it was only the first scoring at the one-minute point.

I held an oxygen mask near the baby's face as Dano worked on him. It seemed like hours although it was only a few minutes before he suctioned out so much amniotic fluid that I wondered if this little one really would make it.

Angie started screaming that she didn't hear the baby.

I kept trying to reassure her, and Dano suctioned the baby, held it downward, and ran his finger along the baby's foot until it let out a sound.

A sound!

The baby started to make occasional whimpers, although still a bit weak, but with the oxygen and Dano's treatments, the little boy soon started to really cry.

Angie broke out into tears, and Dano wrapped the baby up and held him close to his mother. She took him and held him while the placenta was delivered, and before we knew it, we were on our way after informing the ER that the baby now had an Apgar of seven.

Dano and I sat next to Angie and son, exhausted and exhilarated.

“Birth is just amazing,” came out of my mouth before I realized that I'd spoken my thoughts out loud.

Dano reached over and took my hand into his. “You did good, Nightingale. Real good.”

I turned and saw something in his eyes that I really couldn't identify, yet in that instance I knew, just knew—that ER Dano was not guilty of anything except being a super grouch—but a hot, sexy one.

And being a grouch was not illegal.

After we'd dropped Angie and baby off at the ER, had baby pronounced healthy, and met the proud daddy, we restocked and headed out of the parking lot, but not before I noticed ER Dano near the nurses' station.

He'd been filling out the paperwork on Angie, but when he talked to the father and heard that they wouldn't have insurance for several more months since he was new at his job, Dano tore up some paperwork and threw it in the trash.

He'd just given Angie and family a free ride.

Speechless, I robotically moved into the back of the ambulance and sat there staring at his back.

He better not be a criminal was all I could think.

He was too damn nice for that.

When we pulled into the driveway of TLC, I leaned back and took a deep breath. For some reason, maybe what we'd just been through, I felt as if I were betraying Dan. Even though I'd found those papers in his cabinet, it still felt wrong to accuse him of anything.

The guy was a fantastic paramedic and understandably burned out of a high-emotion, high-stress, and physically demanding job that I surmised he lived for.

ER Dano was not a nine to fiver.

The backdoor opened, and Buzz stood there. I looked to see Dano still in his seat upfront.

I looked at Buzz. “Is he all right?”

Buzz shrugged. “Told me to get the hell out and not to ask questions. He said he'd do all the paperwork. Guess he's fine. Himself.”

I patted Buzz on the arm. Dano didn't want anyone to know that he'd broken some TLC rule that patients pay for their services, but I had to agree with him on this one.

The day dragged on as we didn't get anymore exciting calls. Twice we had to move patients from the hospital back to the nursing home, but none were emergencies. Now I sat in the lounge sipping the rotten tea and occasionally looking over to ER Dano, eyes shut and oh so relaxed on the couch.

In a short time, we'd be dining together at his house, and then I was somehow going to manage to snoop around.

I felt sick to my stomach.

Jeremy had asked me to play a game of cards to pass the time so he, Jennifer, and Marty, another EMT, and I played Texas Hold'em poker with me winning the fake jackpot.

Soon the shift ended, everyone said their goodbyes, and I walked out the back door.

“See you in a few, Nightingale,” Dano said from behind.

Exhausted, I waved my hand in the air. “Be there around sixish.” I wanted to turn around and see him, but told myself I needed to go home, unwind, and get the food or else die of embarrassment when I arrived empty handed.

I should have arrived at Dano's empty handed. Dying of embarrassment in front of a hunk would have been a welcomed relief as opposed to sitting in Stella Sokol's kitchen—and getting the maternal third degree.

And no one,
no one
did the maternal third degree like my mother.

“So, Pauline, why two dinners?” My mother turned away from the frying pan, which held the fantastic potato delicacies, and waved the spatula toward me as if ready to use it. “And I still don't understand why you can't stay and eat with us. The family that eats together stays together.”

“That's prays together,” I mumbled then shook my head and leaned over to buy time while I sipped my tea (mom's teabags were so fresh, I think she grew the herbs herself and made them handmade). “I'm…I'll need them for leftovers. You know how I love the pancakes with eggs the next morning. So does Goldie.”

She spun around and turned the golden brown potato pancakes over. “Goldie. What kind of name is that, and where are my boys?”

“Both working, Ma.” She hated when I called her that, but now I was so tired and crabby from her questions that I did it on purpose. I did have to smile at the way she called my roommates “her boys.” I'd grown very protective of the two of them and was always thankful that someone like my mother could be so accepting of them.

“Working. Like you should be,” she said, taking the first batch of pancakes out and setting them on a paper towel covered dish, which she then stuck in the oven to warm.

“You don't have to keep mine warm.” I got up and made myself another cup of tea. I'd be in the bathroom all night, but that might be just the excuse I'd need to get away from Dano in his own house. “I won't be eating them right away.”

She shut the oven door and looked at me. “Yes, they need to be kept warm anyway, and you ignored my statement about working. You should be working at St. Gregory's hospital like Miles. There is a nursing shortage, Pauline.”

“There's been a nursing shortage, Ma, since the days of Clara Barton.”

She clicked her tongue at me.

I had to say, watching Stella Sokol work her magic around the kitchen was like watching Donna Reed in color. Stella even wore the button-down housedresses, which were so popular in the fifties, apron, and sensible shoes. She seemed to draw the line at pearls, which she only wore on “special” occasions, like weddings and funerals.

Why anyone tied those two together, I never knew.

I shook my head as I stuck my mug into the microwave and realized I'd never seen my mother in pants. “Do you own a pair of pants, Mother?”

“Women should dress like women. And who makes tea in a microwave? Use the stove to boil the water.”

“I hate my tea so hot, and I
do
work, Ma.”

“Stop calling me that.” She ladled spoonfuls of pancake batter into the hot oil causing a crackling and sizzling sound to fill the kitchen along with the delicious scent of the potatoes and onions, which she always added with just the correct amount of salt.

Now the nostalgic aroma had me leaning against the peacock blue Formica countertop and remembering my childhood, which was damn good considering Stella Sokol raised us kids. As a matter of fact, when she wielded the spatula at me, I had another déjà vu kinda moment. Mom always waved some kind of kitchen utensil at us kids to make her point, but she never actually hit us. She left that up to the nuns with wooden rulers. I figured mom's weapon of choice always came from the kitchen because that's where she spent her entire life.

“Okay, Pauline, we are back to my original question. Why two meals and don't give me any malarkey about leftovers. You never liked leftovers. Even as a child you were finicky about eating something that was made on a different day you used to say.”

I felt myself shrink down to the age of five. No, make that seven. The age of reason, when I realized there was no reasoning with my mother. “That was before the dawn of the microwave. Now I love leftovers,” I lied.

“Bologna. Why two meals?”

“I have a date!” flew out of my mouth in the most childish voice.

Mother swung around, sending a drip of grease flying onto the sparkling black and white checked linoleum flooring. While she vigorously wiped it up, she added, “A date. A date? A date!”

I shook my head at her excitement. Or, was that her
amazement
. Damn. “Don't sound so surprised,
Maaaaa
.”

Once again she waved the spatula at me, but this time she quickly wiped it with the paper towel first. “Stop that, or I won't feed you.”

My favorite uncle, Uncle Walt walked in. “Not feed her? Yowza, Pauline. What the hell did you do?” He and I chuckled.

Mother gave him a stern look. “Don't use such language in front of her, Walter.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I won't get fed tonight.” Then he winked at me, kissed me on the cheek, and hurried out.

I guess he figured he better get the hell out of dodge or she really wouldn't let him eat.

“Ma, Uncle Walt's language is fine.” I wanted to say she should hear the guys I hung around with curse but thought better than to share that. I really wanted my food soon. I walked toward her and put my arm around her shoulder after she finished taking out the rest of the pancakes from the frying pan. “I do work, Mother. You know I'm doing very well as an insurance investigator. We're needed too. People cheat the companies out of millions, and that makes the premiums go up for everyone else.”

I decided to go for broke and told her about Angie, the baby, and no insurance until my mother was making the sign of the cross and saying an Our Father for Angie and her family.

Now I had her.

“So, let me package up mine now. I have to get going.”

“Where?” She took out a plastic container and lined it with several paper towels.

“My date. I told you.” I got out a bag from the cabinet and the applesauce and sour cream from the fridge. Both went great with my mother's homemade potato pancakes.

“Yes, you did say a date.” She carefully laid one pancake atop the others as if making a gift basket. “But, Pauline, you didn't say, actually I think you are trying not to say where?” She swung around and glared at me. “Are you having a man over to your condominium?”

Age seven started to resurface again, but I held my head up and said, “Nope.” Then I stuck the rest of the applesauce and sour cream back into the refrigerator. “Okay, Mom.” I kissed her cheek. “This is great. It all smells great. I appreciate it. Great. Great. Great.”

She grabbed my arm. “
His
house? You are going to a
man's
house?”

Even though I'd never been good at reading body language, mother's eyes were wild, accusing, sneaky and probing. Before I knew it, I'd be telling her that I'd had sex with ER Dano! So telling her I was going to his house was mild in comparison. If I stuck around though, she'd have me confessing he also might be a murderer. I had to pull my face away so she couldn't use her motherly interrogation techniques on me.

“Well, gotta run.” I made it to the doorway, but her voice started to yank me back. I swung around just in time for her to say, “You're in your thirties, Pauline. For God's sake, wear the thong.”

Once in my car and on the road, I could barely drive after the verbal shock Stella Sokol had given me.

On my last case, she'd snuck into my condo while I was away and switched all my undies with thongs.

And yet I still loved her.

I kept the potato pancakes in the oven on low and hoped to hell they wouldn't dry out. Mother's never did, but that didn't mean a thing considering my cooking skills.

After my shower, I headed to my room to get dressed. When I opened the dresser drawer, I noticed a thong she'd left there—among the rest of my undies, which I'd promptly replaced with bikinis and even some briefs that I only wore to work. Hey, I didn't want any panty lines on my scrubs.

When I went to get a bikini pair, my hand, all by itself mind you, drifted over and picked up the yellow thong. I held it up to figure out how women actually put the damn things on when from behind me a voice said, “Yellow is your color, Sherlock.”

I shoved the thong behind my back and swung around. “You…what are you—”

Jagger stood in the doorway, looking at my robe, which had now fallen open a tad, revealing some cleavage.

I yanked it shut, but when I did, the thong swung around in my hand. Turning, I threw it into the drawer and decided not to try to explain that my mother had bought it.

“Goldie let me in.” He leaned against the wall now looking oh so delicious.

“Oh.” I held the robe for dear life. “Wait. Goldie isn't even home!”

Jagger waved his hand as if he had no intention of explaining how he got in and, frankly, I didn't care. When I looked at him standing there, my first thought was—he came. He's going to ER Dano's with me.

Jagger thinks Dano is guilty.

While hugging my robe, I felt my heart plummet in my chest. Shit. I didn't want that to be true. “You think Dano is guilty then?”

Jagger curled his lips. “One of these days you're going to have to explain how your mind works. I mean, one moment you're ogling sexy lingerie and the next, you're making statements out of left field. What the hell are you asking?” He sauntered in and sat on the edge of my bed!

Yeah, I was in real good condition to explain things now. Even
I
didn't know what the hell I was thinking! I looked at Jagger and then at the door hoping Goldie or Miles would come in. After a few seconds, traitor Spanky walked in and directly up to Jagger, who lifted the dog up onto the bed.

What an adorable sight!

But I had work to do and part of that was to get dressed. So I summoned my logical thoughts and said, “If you come with me to Dano's, then you must think he's guilty and are worried about my safety.”

Jagger looked at me. “I don't think. I do.” With that he scooped up Spanky and walked out the door. “Get dressed.”

I stuck my hands on my hips then realized how childish that must look so instead I stuck my tongue out at his back.

I wore the yellow thong.

That thought stuck in my head as I walked down the stairs in my condo to go to the kitchen. Jagger was seated on the couch watching CNN.

Suddenly I felt his glare turn toward me, and I swear he knew, just knew, that I had on the thong!

“Shut up,” I said and walked by.

His forehead wrinkled as if he were genuinely confused. But instead of admitting something like that, he said, “Call me as soon as you've found out what you need to know.” He got up, walked to the door, and left.

My mouth hung open for a few seconds, I looked at Spanky, and said, “Shut up,” and then I hurried into the kitchen where I packaged up our meal. I had fifteen minutes to get to Dano's or be late. I hated being late and prided myself in being on time.

On the way out of the door, I had a thought,
our
meal. I'd said our meal, but it could be the last if I found anything suspicious in Dano's cabinets or the reason the papers were there.

Then again, Jagger wasn't coming.

Jagger
wasn't
coming!