“Can I tell Uncle Adam about this?” Jazmine asked happily.
“Adam?” Her suspicions immediately rose to the surface. “Whatever for?”
“Because,” Jazmine replied as if it should be obvious. “He should know that you really are over Brad. The door’s open, isn’t it? I mean, you’re cured.”
Shana liked the analogy. “I am cured, but let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?”
Jazmine frowned. “If you say so,” she said without enthusiasm.
The kid was certainly eager to get her and Adam together. Presumably she’d abandoned her earlier hopes for Adam and her mother. “I want your promise that you won’t talk to Adam about any part of my conversation with Brad.”
Muttering under her breath, Jazmine shook her head. Halfway to her room, she turned back. “Uncle Adam wanted me to tell you he’ll be by next Saturday. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.” Not until later did Shana realize how dejected she was at the thought of waiting almost a week before she saw Adam Kennedy again.
Chapter Nine
Ali read Shana’s e-mail a second time and smiled. This was exactly what she’d hoped—but didn’t dare believe—would happen. Although her sister was skirting the issue, she was interested in Adam; her e-mail confirmed it. Adam had definitely gotten Shana’s attention.
It took half an hour for Ali to answer her sister. She worked hard on the wording for fear she’d say too much or not enough. Adam was a lot like Peter in the ways that really mattered. He was loyal, compassionate, with a strong work ethic and an endearing sense of humor. Through the years, Peter had encouraged him to settle down and get married. Personally Ali didn’t understand why Adam hadn’t. Aside from the important stuff, he was good-looking. As far as she knew he dated, but obviously hadn’t found the one woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Could Shana be that woman? Far be it from her to suggest such a thing. Much better if a relationship developed without her meddling. From the sounds of it, they were getting all the romantic assistance they needed—or didn’t need—from Jazmine.
Once she’d finished her e-mail, Ali prepared for her shift. It’d taken some adjustment, but she’d become accustomed to life aboard the aircraft carrier. Routine helped pass the days, and being able to stay in touch with her daughter through the Internet eased her mind about Jazmine.
The hours went by quickly as she responded to small medical emergencies.
She was almost finished with her shift when Commander Frank Dillon entered the sick bay. His complexion was sickly pale, and his forehead was beaded with sweat. When he saw that Ali was the duty nurse, he attempted a weak smile but she noticed that his jaw was clenched and he was clearly in pain.
Ali remembered him from her first day in the wardroom. Since then, she hadn’t seen him at all but thought about him often, reliving those few seconds when he’d reached out to steady her in the passageway. Just seconds—it couldn’t have been more than that. She didn’t know why she’d read anything into such a minor incident. Still, she’d fantasized about him an embarrassing number of times in the weeks since. No one had to remind her of the professional issues involved in fraternization aboard ship.
“Commander Dillon,” Ali said, coming forward to assist him. He held his hand pressed against his side. “What happened?”
“Something’s wrong,” he muttered. He looked as if he was close to passing out. “I need a doctor.”
Ali led him into an examination room, and learned that he’d had a stomachache for the last couple of days. It’d had grown steadily worse and now the pain had become intolerable. She alerted Captain Robert Coleman, the physician on duty, who examined the commander.
Ali suspected it was his appendix, and apparently Dr. Coleman did, too. Following the examination, he ordered X-rays. Ali accompanied Commander Dillon while the X-rays were taken. The commander didn’t utter a word, although she knew every touch, no matter how gentle, brought him pain.
One look at the film confirmed her fears. Time was critical; judging by the amount of pain he was suffering, his appendix could rupture any minute. Dr. Coleman scheduled emergency surgery, which he planned to perform immediately.
Ali helped prep the commander, explaining what was happening and why. She hooked up the IV and taped the needle in place. After checking the fluid bag, she glanced down and discovered him watching her. She smiled shyly, unaccustomed to such intent scrutiny.
Frank closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.
Ali squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you back to your command as good as new,” she promised.
He was silent until just before he was rolled into the surgical bay. He gripped Ali’s hand unexpectedly and with surprising strength. Half rising from the gurney, he said, “It’s bad. Listen, if I don’t make it…if there are complications…”
“You’re going to live to tell about this, Commander,” she assured him. She gave his hand another squeeze and urged him back down. Their eyes met and she did her best to let him know that the medical staff would take good care of him and all would be well.
The commander dragged in another deep breath. “I don’t mean to sound fatalistic, but I don’t have any family. My wife left me years ago—no kids. My brother died a few years back and I’ve never updated my will.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she told him softly.
His hand clutched hers. “Money to charity. Decide for me. Promise you’ll decide for me.”
“I will, but, Commander…”
He wasn’t listening anymore, she realized. The pain was too intense.
“I’m going into surgery with you,” she whispered. “If God decides it’s your time, He’ll have to argue with me first.” Although she was certain he was past hearing anything, she thought she detected a faint smile.
As the surgery progressed, Ali wanted to chastise the commander for waiting so long to seek medical attention. He had risked his life because of—what? Pride? Ignoring the pain hadn’t made it go away. An infected appendix was not going to heal itself.
The surgery was routine until they found that, exactly as she’d suspected, the appendix had burst. Extra time and care was needed to ensure that the infection was completely eradicated before it could spread to the entire abdominal area. Peritonitis could be fatal. Having a ruptured appendix wasn’t as life-threatening as in years past, but it was serious enough.
After the surgery, Commander Dillon’s incision was closed and he was taken into Recovery. Lieutenant Rowland was sent in to replace Ali, whose shift had ended.
“I’ll stay with him a bit longer,” she told Rowland. Sitting at the commander’s bedside, she took his blood pressure every twenty minutes until he woke from the anesthesia several hours later.
He moved his head instinctively toward Ali, who sat by his side.
She smiled and touched his brow. “God didn’t put up much of an argument. It seems that neither heaven nor hell was interested in collecting your soul, Commander.”
“You sure about that?” he whispered weakly. “I thought this pain meant I was in hell.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“Like someone hacked me open with a saw blade.”
“I’ll give you something for the pain.” She stood and reached for his chart to make a notation. “Rest now. Your body’s had quite a time of it.” That was an understatement, but she felt better knowing he was awake. His vital signs confirmed that he was out of immediate danger.
Ali