Twenty minutes later, Kate was certain she was about to hit a new low in feeling rotten.
“I hate putting you in this position, Kate.” ER director Joanna Berry bridged her hands together, snowy French-tip nails touching. “But this is an unusual situation and you’re my best hospital resource.”
“There are three other charge nurses. And relief staff.”
“I’ve talked with them. And I received a letter from Dr. Travis today. All somewhat helpful, but the fact remains that you’ve had the most contact with Riley in the emergency department setting because you work day shift. Granted, that was in her capacity as chaplain. But I understand that you’ve been helping her with some manikin practice. Perhaps worked with her at the clinic?”
Oh, please, no . . .
“Riley’s proposing that she be considered as a full-time triage nurse,” Kate explained.
“Exactly the dilemma, I’m afraid.” Joanna sighed. “That position—a dedicated triage position, exclusive of acute care nursing tasks—has never existed in this hospital system.”
“And neither did the position of trauma chaplain.” Kate met her gaze, knowing full well she was pointing to the Hale-size elephant in the room. Kate gritted her teeth. Why should she have to weigh in on a problem the hospital created?
Joanna’s pretty fingers interlaced, thumbs wrestling each other. “That’s true. And while I’m not at liberty to discuss that decision, my personal opinion is that it was one of the best moves this hospital has made. Riley’s doing a remarkable job as chaplain. That she’s a nurse and a trauma survivor herself only adds to her abilities. I can’t tell you how many letters I receive from patients, their family members, and staff. My own mother calls her the Alamo Grace angel.” She shook her head. “If only I could clone her for every team in every department.”
“As a chaplain.”
“Yes.” Joanna frowned. “We come full circle again. So . . .”
“What are you asking me?”
“I want to know this: if the triage position were taken off the table and Riley was being considered as an ER staff nurse, could you recommend her?”
Kate glanced at the sheaf of papers in front of the director, stomach plunging. “Officially—on the record?”
“Only as a guideline to help me. I’m meeting with the nursing supervisor and the head of human resources in an hour. We’ll be looking over résumés from some very qualified trauma nurses and considering the department’s immediate needs, now that two of your staff are out.” Joanna exhaled, met Kate’s gaze. “The ultimate decision regarding Riley’s employment will be based on several factors, of course. Not only the nurses’ input.”
Kate took a sip of mocha that suddenly tasted like sawdust. She thought of Riley’s words only minutes ago:
“I’m there for you.”
She cleared her throat. “I . . .”
23
“I’m sorry to hear that, Vesta.” Riley held her cell phone with one hand while opening the clinic’s medicine cupboard. “Are you keeping up with your fluids? You don’t want to risk getting dehydrated.”
And ending up in the ER again, sweet lady. Neither of us wants that.
“I’m being careful. And I’m sorry about your visit tomorrow. I was looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” Riley said sincerely. “I’ll call you on Saturday to check in. We’ll reschedule for next week, when you’re feeling better.”
“I’ll be better. I’m not going to miss another chance to visit with you . . . or pet that little dog from the clinic.”
“Yes, Hobo’s quite the charmer. I’m glad that you got to meet him.”
Riley said good-bye and disconnected, thinking that maybe she’d just found more evidence of the hope she’d been looking for this morning. Vesta had met Bandy and Hobo, which required her to walk to the San Antonio Street curb. Maybe some first steps in broadening her world. She smiled to herself. Not that Vesta would be taking the TYGRR-mobile for a spin anytime soon, but—
“Last patient, last sandwich,” Bandy reported from the doorway. His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I like it when it works out like that.” He watched as Riley tapped a couple Tylenol into a paper medicine cup. “Doc Estes and I appreciate your coming in to help at the last minute.”
“I was glad to. And to hear that he asked for me specifically. It gives me hope.”
Especially after Jack’s text about the letter. And soon, my medical clearance, then . . .
She replaced the lid on the medicine bottle and turned to Bandy with a sigh. “I’ll be honest with you. I may have been working as chaplain this past year, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had doubts. Even after I got past peppering God with the ‘why me’ questions about my injury.” She wrinkled her nose. “At least I think I’m past that. But what I’m saying is that I’ve worked so hard to get back to where I was. And most of the time it feels like I’m slogging through waist-high mud in some east Texas bayou. When just over there—” she extended her numb arm—“is the river I’m supposed to be floating down. Does that make sense?”
Bandy nodded. “I’ve done some time in hip waders.”
Riley stared down at her right palm. “I can’t understand why God would only take me so far. Why he’d tease me with what I want most, then hold it back, and . . . It’s so hard, Bandy.”
“I hear you. It is tough. And that’s exactly when we have to believe that God is still faithful, worthy of trust. That’s the time to close our eyes, stop keepin’ tally of this and that, and just feel his hands holding us. Feel his hold . . . and trust it.” Bandy winked at her. “There’s no eight-second buzzer on that grip.”
Riley watched as he walked back through the kitchen, noticing how stiffly he was moving today, and remembered what he’d said about pulling some muscles in the garden. He’d finally agreed to take the pills Jack prescribed, even if they’d knock him out “deep enough so I wouldn’t hear a train roarin’ past that sofa bed.” She smiled to herself—like The Bluffs would tolerate a train. She hoped Bandy got some much-needed rest.
Despite the doubts she’d just admitted, Riley was starting to feel more optimistic about things like Vesta’s situation and the fact that Jack had sent that recommendation to the ER director today. She’d felt good about the chapel gathering at the hospital and elated when Dr. Estes had requested to work with her. And she even felt better about Kate.
“You did good at the clinic. You handled it well.”
She’d said that to Riley and—even if she’d been hesitant about Riley starting that IV—it meant something. It meant hope.
* * *
Kate sat cross-legged on an old beach towel in the deepening dusk, wondering which would chase her out faster—the infamous Texas chiggers or The Bluffs’ neighborhood watch. She didn’t really care; all she needed was time enough to see if . . .
She hunched forward, peering down the knoll toward the creek that threaded through the exclusive golf course, searching the dense cedar and dark stands of old oaks. She’d been told that April was early to spot them, but the evening was warm and humid . . .
Ah, there—fireflies!
Her breath caught at the magical blink-blink of beautifully eerie light. Green, glowing—there and gone. Then she smiled at the impetuous answer: a zigzagging glimmer stumbling down the creek like a smitten lover holding a minuscule flashlight, asking, “Are you there? I’m here. Are you there?”
Incredible.
Kate sighed. Fireflies were Disneyland made real. She’d needed that today. Something that simply . . . felt good. Riley had said much the same thing to the stressed staff she’d gathered in the chapel.
Riley . . .
Kate pulled her phone from the pocket of her hoodie and once again scanned her missed messages. A call from Riley, followed by a text:
My senior house call canceled 4 tomorrow. Have extra time and bubble wrap. Packing party?
Kate winced; she should call Riley back. But . . .
A blinking trio of fireflies flickered close enough to touch and Kate watched, spellbound, until they disappeared. She stared at the dark vacuum left in their wake. Had Stacy Paulson lived in Texas long enough to see fireflies? Kate hoped so. She needed to think that their elusive magic had helped that runaway forget about being pregnant, alone . . . and scared to death.
Kate sighed, recalling what she’d heard in the chapel this morning—that Stacy’s mother had brushed her daughter’s hair, braided it, and talked about the good times they’d had. Kate swept her hand over her bangs, and her throat tightened the way it always did when the ifs tumbled forward. If Kate’s ugly mistakes had left her in Stacy’s situation and her mom were still alive, would she have done that for Kate?
Brush my hair, sit beside me all night, talk about . . .
Kate chewed her lip. Were there enough good times to outweigh all the bad?
“Do things that make you feel good.”
What if there wasn’t anything?
Kate frowned in the darkness. What was she doing here? Fireflies weren’t magic—they were bugs, same as chiggers. And she was too old for Disneyland. She was an adult who’d put her mistakes behind her, moved nearly two thousand miles to start a new life and take on a demanding leadership position that sometimes required tough decisions. Feeling good wasn’t always in the equation.
She stood and shook her beach towel, stopped as her cell phone rang. Riley? Kate reached into her pocket, thoughts staggering toward what she’d say.
“Griff?” she asked with surprise.
“The one and only. What’s up?”
“Uh . . .” Kate glanced toward the creek, feeling foolish—and for some reason remembering his quip about picking the wings off butterflies. She wondered if his no-harm agreement extended to fireflies.
“Kate? Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No,” she said quickly, “not at all. I’m just winding down after work. It was a miserable day.”
“I can only imagine—and don’t want to.” His breath sounded close enough to warm her ear, like it had when they’d danced. “I have this idea. I know I said I wouldn’t push, but I’ve got tickets to the Majestic Theatre on Saturday night. It’s an incredible historic building; you’d love it. I’m in Dallas till Saturday, but I’ll be back in plenty of time to make the performance. And these are great seats.”
Kate glanced down at her old beach towel. “What’s the production?”
“
Wicked
.”
She made no attempt to hide her laugh.
“Well then . . . Saturday night . . . ,” Griff persisted, the faint Southern gentleman accent as tempting as firefly magic. “Does that sound good?”
Do things that feel good . . .
“Yes.” Kate smiled in the darkness. “
Wicked
sounds good.”
* * *
“Good,” Jack said, continuing his cell phone conversation with Bandy. He glanced at the Kerrville ER’s status board: belly pain awaiting labs, fractured hip, motorcycle road rash . . . “I’m glad Riley came in. And it sounds like there won’t be any problem with staffing tomorrow. I’ve got that appointment—”
Bandy snorted. “You versus gravity.”
Jack smiled. “Yes. But I’ll check in to see if you need anything. How’s your back?”
“Still holdin’ me up. Even after walking a bunch of miles at SeaWorld—worth every step.” Music swelled in the background. “After I get Hobo settled outside and do my rounds in the parking lot, I’m going to try one of those pills you gave me. Break it in half and see how that goes.”
Jack shook his head, agreeing with Gretchen: stubborn.
“And hopefully there won’t be any more shenanigans in the neighborhood,” Bandy continued, referencing the reason for his call. A Dumpster fire at the dress shop down the block from the clinic. No serious damage, but plenty of commotion. “You’d think folks could find better things to do than play with matches.”
“Rob thought it was kids?”
“He suspects so. Though . . .”
Though we’ll get blamed. Again,
Jack finished Bandy’s unspoken suspicion.
“I’d better get back to work.” Jack nodded as a ward clerk caught his attention, indicating that another call was waiting. “Sleep well, pal.”
“Jump safe, Doc.”
Jack reached for the desk phone, frowning at the thought of the action committee using tonight’s Dumpster fire as more fodder against the clinic. No doubt it would be mentioned at their “emergency” meeting on Saturday at the library.
Then a tempting thought struck him: unlike The Bluffs’ clubhouse, the library was a public place. Anyone could show up.
* * *
Riley nearly dropped her phone. “I don’t understand. What are you trying to tell me?”
Kate sighed. “That Joanna pointed out what we both knew all along: you applied for a job that doesn’t exist.”
“Proposed,” Riley said, sensing that she was spitting into the wind. “It’s different. I
proposed
that I be considered for a position as full-time triage nurse. I asked them to consider it.”