“Whatever.” He waved his mistake aside with one hand.
She strode toward the nurses’ station, intent on the last of the large floral arrangements still standing on the counter. Although she’d hoped to leave him behind, he caught up to her in spite of her two-step head start.
“This was, what, your second date?” he asked.
“Third,” she corrected.
“Ah, yes. Number three. A regular milestone in a relationship.”
She grabbed the vase before she faced him with narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because you don’t date and if you do, it’s never more than twice…”
He held up his hands. “Hey, if Trevor wants to spend a fortune on flowers, I’m sure that Frannie’s Florals will be delighted to get the business. But it might be a good idea if you told him to send flowers to your home address instead of here. I may not be able to bail you out the next time.”
“Bail me out?” she sputtered.
“Not to mention it makes the place look like a damn funeral parlor,” he continued mercilessly. “We’re here to take care of patients, not to smell the roses.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Marissa said defensively. Angry and hurt, not to mention bewildered by his attack, she squared her shoulders and adopted her most professional tone. “But you’re right, Doctor. We’re here for patients, so if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
She regally sailed past the centrally located nurses’ station to room six, leaving Justin behind. With luck, by the time she left Lonnie Newland’s bedside, Justin would have reviewed his charts and left her unit—and her—in peace.
Fat chance. Lonnie was also Justin’s patient, which meant she’d have to discuss the man’s care with him shortly, but at least Justin would have to focus on something other than her personal life. And she could concentrate on issues other than how she’d like to knock a bedpan—preferably a used one—against his hard head.
Before she crossed the threshold of the cubicle, she drew a deep breath, forced a smile to her lips and greeted Lonnie’s wife, the thirtyish woman who was gently washing her husband’s stubbled face.
“Hi, Abby,” Marissa greeted her. “I brought a little something to brighten up the place.”
Abby’s soft smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which wasn’t surprising under the circumstances. The dark circles and tired droop of her shoulders were easily explained by her pregnancy and the stress of having had a comatose husband for the past three months. Lonnie had been riding his motorcycle on his way home from Kansas City when a car had hit him. In spite of wearing his protective helmet, he’d been left with massive head injuries and had only recently been transferred back home to Hope Memorial after the neurology unit had done all it could. After a brief stint in the long-term care annex, where he’d developed a kidney infection, Lonnie had been transferred back into ICU.
“Thanks, Marissa. We’re going to enjoy them a lot, aren’t we, Lonnie?”
It was obvious that Abby had taken the neurosurgeon’s advice to heart. She talked to her husband as if he were awake and able to respond, determined to provide any and all possible stimulation she could to draw him out of his unconscious state.
She leaned close to her husband’s ear as she touched his pale arm. “You should see what Marissa brought us. The carnations are just lovely. They remind me of the bouquet you sent me when we first heard the news about the baby. They’re pink and yellow and blue with lots of baby’s breath and greenery. We’re going to put them on the tray table in front of you so you can smell them.”
Marissa placed the vase where Abby had requested, wishing—no, hoping—that the smell of the fragrant blooms, coupled with his wife’s voice, would be enough to yank the thirty-five-year-old businessman back to the land of the living. Logically, however, and based upon her experience, the situation didn’t bode well for a happy ending. On the other hand, she’d been an ICU nurse for too long to discount the possibility of a miracle or the power of hope.
“Did you get any rest last night?” she asked Abby while she monitored Lonnie’s vital signs and checked everything from his IV sites to drainage tubes.
“Some,” Abby admitted. “It’s just hard to be at home by myself. Even when my sister or parents come to visit, the house seems so empty….” Her voice died as she shrugged a slim shoulder.
Although Marissa couldn’t claim to know precisely what Abby was feeling, she did know how empty and lifeless her own house seemed at times. More often than not, she sensed it after one of Justin’s lengthy visits when they played Scrabble or indulged in one of their movie marathons until the wee hours. Strange how she didn’t experience that same phenomenon with anyone else….
“But I’m not totally alone,” Abby said with a smile as she rubbed her swollen abdomen. “The baby’s been a big help already.”
“I’m glad.” It was anyone’s guess what condition Lonnie would be in when he regained consciousness. He could need months and years of therapy before he could go home. If he could ever go home at all. Abby’s son or daughter would give her something to hold on to no matter what the future held.
Abby motioned to the small spiral notebook that held Marissa’s findings. “How’s he doing?”
In lieu of good news, she opted for the stock answer. “He’s holding his own.”
Abby’s smile wavered. “That’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” Marissa supposed it was a case of seeing a glass as either half-empty or half-full. A report of “No change” might not be a strong ray of hope, but it was better than “His condition is deteriorating.”
Before Abby could ask more questions, Marissa posed one of her own. “What are your plans today?”
“I thought I’d read to him this morning,” Abby said. “I brought Oliver Twist.”
“‘Please, sir, may I have some more?’” Marissa quoted.
“Then you’ve read the story?”
“Read the story, seen the movie. Although, to be honest, I liked the movie version better.” Marissa grinned. “And that’s the only line I remember, but don’t tell anyone.”
Abby giggled. “It’ll be our secret.” She stroked her husband’s face. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
Suspecting that Abby would read until she was hoarse, Marissa cautioned her not to overdo it.
“Oh, I won’t. You see, I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. Then it’ll be nap time—doctor’s orders,” she added ruefully. “So I won’t come back until after dinner. You’ll call me if…”
“There’s any change,” Marissa promised, as she always did. “Your number is posted in the nurses’ station. By the way, aren’t your childbirth classes starting soon?”
Abby rubbed her tummy once again. “This week.”
“Do you have a labor coach?”
“With my parents and sister living so far away, Lonnie’s brother, Eric, has offered to stand in.”
“I’m glad you have someone, but don’t hesitate to call if you need me.” Marissa had given Abby both her home phone and cellphone numbers several weeks previously as an emergency contact. It seemed the least she could do for the new mother in such a sad situation.
“Believe me, I won’t.” Abby patted her stomach. “I’m not about to take any chances with Junior.”
Marissa