Paula wasn’t here five minutes ago, so I couldn’t have clocked out.
Kendry spoke to Sammy, who sat on her hip as he chewed his fingers. “Let’s go for a walk, little guy. We’ll clock me out, then come back to say bye-bye to Myrna.”
The lively little boy on her hip cheerfully called, “Da-da!”
Sammy’s dad was here. Kendry knew what Da-da’s voice would sound like. She braced herself for that educated, masculine timbre, that voice with just a hint of native Texas drawl.
“Hey, little buddy. How was your day?”
It didn’t matter how many times she heard it, it still made her melt a little. Sammy kicked Kendry vigorously in happy response as she turned around to find Sammy’s father, all six-feet-something of him, standing close enough to take his son out of her arms.
“Hi, Dr. MacDowell. Sammy’s doing well today. He drank every ounce of formula. He seems to have an easier time taking his bottle when I have him sitting almost straight up. It makes me wonder if—”
“Good evening, Dr. MacDowell.” Paula’s voice had a different tone to it now. All peaches and cream.
Kendry stifled her frustration. She wanted to discuss Sam’s ability to eat, but Paula wanted to...to...
Flirt. There wasn’t a woman in the hospital who didn’t know Dr. MacDowell was single. Never had been married, apparently. He’d returned from military service in Afghanistan with Sammy, so the rumor mill said, and had turned in his camouflage for a civilian career in order to spend more time with his son. Because no mother was in the picture, some people speculated that the baby was an orphan whom Dr. MacDowell had adopted. This only made women sigh with even more approval.
Sammy grabbed the tubing of Dr. MacDowell’s stethoscope and tried to get it—and his fist—in his mouth. The doctor calmly pried the baby’s fingers open, removed the stethoscope from around his neck and tucked it into the pocket of his white lab coat, all in one smooth move. Then he dropped a kiss on top of Sammy’s head.
He was Sammy’s father, all right. Who cared if the baby’s hair was a darker black than his father’s deep brown? Who cared if the child seemed petite compared to his strapping American father? This baby was loved. Kendry wished all the children that came through West Central were so lucky.
“You can go home now, Kendry,” Paula said.
“What were you saying about Sam’s bottles?” Dr. MacDowell asked.
“I’m wondering if—”
“I’ve got his daily sheet right here, with all his feedings listed,” Paula interrupted. “Kendry, you need to go clock out. There’s no overtime in the budget, and you don’t want to tick off the supervisor.”
Kendry wished her Irish heritage didn’t make it so easy for her pale skin to blush. She hated being put in her place, but even more, she hated being so firmly reminded she was an hourly-wage orderly in front of Dr. MacDowell.
“I’ll walk with you, Miss Harrison,” Dr. MacDowell said. “I want to hear what you have to say.”
Miss Harrison. He addressed everyone in the hospital by their proper names and titles. Still, she couldn’t help but appreciate the respect he showed her. He wanted to hear what she had to say. He always did. He was the kind of doctor who would patiently listen to family members who anxiously brought someone to the E.R. He would listen...
Her gaze returned to Myrna, who was lying as she’d been for the past hour. She hadn’t responded to Paula or Dr. MacDowell’s appearance by her crib.
Dr. MacDowell would listen.
“Could you look at this patient for me? Her name is Myrna Quinones, she’s nine months old, and she’s due to be discharged today. She had surgery three days ago, and I’m wondering if she might have an infection or something. She’s grown increasingly listless today, and I haven’t been able to interest her in taking more than a couple of ounces from her bottle, but she’s been off IV fluids since this morning. Maybe she’s dehydrated?”
“Kendry, please.” Paula sounded shocked. “You don’t bother physicians with cases that aren’t theirs. Dr. MacDowell, I assure you, the nurses on the floor have been checking on Myrna every hour. I’ve requested an update myself, and she isn’t running a fever or showing any signs of infection.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cook.”
Kendry bit her lower lip. Dr. MacDowell had said thank you in that dismissive tone doctors seemed to master, the one that said when I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Kendry saw Paula call for the floor nurse with a press of a button. Once the nurses realized a doctor was checking the patient, they’d show up. Doctors were at the opposite end of the food chain from orderlies.
“Could you hold Sammy for me, please?” Dr. MacDowell asked.
Kendry held out her arms for the little boy, who dove right into them. Dr. MacDowell took his stethoscope out of his pocket and slung it around his neck. As he walked the few steps to the hand sanitizer station, he asked Kendry questions briskly, impersonally. Normal fluid intake? Number of wet diapers today? Normal activity level?
Then he was bending over the crib, opening Myrna’s hospital gown, listening to her chest, running strong hands over the baby’s limbs, feeling for pulse points. Thank you, Kendry wanted to say. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
The baby seemed fine, if unnaturally calm. The doctor didn’t seem to be finding anything out of the ordinary. Kendry started to feel absurd.
“Is it possible to have an infection without running a fever?” she asked.
“No,” Paula answered.
“Yes,” Dr. MacDowell said. “Which procedure did this child have?”
Kendry waited a beat for Paula to answer, but Paula obviously didn’t know and gestured toward Kendry with one hand.
“It was a kidney repair of some kind. I believe they opened a blocked tube, but whether it was going into the kidney or leading out, I’m not sure.”
Dr. MacDowell opened the baby’s diaper and palpated her pelvis and bladder. “Did you recently change her diaper?”
“It’s been hours. I keep checking, but it’s dry.”
“Her bladder’s distended. Mrs. Cook, I want this patient transported to the E.R. Get Dr. Gregory on the phone for me.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Dr. MacDowell gently flipped the baby over and removed her incision bandages. Some unhealthy pus oozed from the tiny incision site. Kendry had never been so sorry to be proved so right.
Dr. MacDowell did not look happy. At all.
“I’m sorry,” Kendry said. “I’m an orderly. I’m not allowed to remove a patient’s bandage.”
“No, but the nurses are,” he said, and she didn’t think she was imagining the quiet anger in his voice. “They should have, given your report.”
For the first time in her memory, Kendry was suddenly glad she wasn’t a nurse. No doubt Paula felt the same as she handed the phone to Dr. MacDowell. “Dr. Gregory on the line for you.”
Kendry busied herself by packing up Sam’s diaper bag with one hand as she held him on her hip with the other. Then she quieted another fussy baby, feeling soothed herself as she listened to Dr. MacDowell updating Dr. Gregory on the patient he was sending his way. One of her fellow orderlies arrived to wheel Myrna downstairs to the E.R.
Paula hissed in Kendry’s ear as the crib was being rolled away. “Get off the clock before you get in trouble for going over.”
“Here,