Code Triage (7 page)

“Nicky, darling, is that you?”

He waved to the elderly woman on the paint-layered pink porch next door—flowered housecoat, gray braids looped over the top of her head, red-framed glasses. She extended a large piece of broccoli toward a birdcage.

“Antoinette! What’s the word from Cha Cha this morning?”

She glanced at the gray cockatiel, a grin lighting her face. “Same thing he’s been saying for fourteen years: ‘Forever and ever. Forever and ever.’”

Nick grinned back. Then remembered Leigh straining to understand the bird that first time, when they’d been invited for tea. She’d been certain Cha Cha was squawking, “Never, never.” His smile faded. He should have seen the writing on the wall back then. He glanced at the lowered shades of his neighbors’ house. “And how is Harry?” he asked gently.

Antoinette’s shoulders sagged beneath her housecoat. “Good days and not-so-good ones. He needs the oxygen most of the time now. But he knows my name and still loves his tapioca. I fix the instant now; found it for a dollar thirty-nine at the Safeway.” Her sparse brows drew close behind the red frames. “I worry about having something on the stove. Hot pans, you understand.” She shrugged. “We’re managing. Signed on for the long haul, Mr. McNealy and I. Forever and ever.”

One week.

“It’s so good to see you there. I’m still praying that . . .” She sighed.

“Thank you.” Nick’s throat tightened. “I’m here to pack up a few more things. While Leigh and Caroline are at work. That’s the arrangement.”

His neighbor’s face scrunched into a rare frown and she crossed her arms, making the broccoli look like a switch in the hand of an angry schoolmarm. “And it’s a lousy one, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

He wanted to hug her. “I don’t mind. And you keep saying those prayers, Antoinette.”

“I never quit, darling.”

He opened the door, stepped into the foyer, and saw the lemon tree. And the yellowed leaves on the tile floor beside it.

Caroline was right. Leigh was letting it die.

+++

Leigh glanced out the exam room door toward the nurses’ station and released the breath she’d been holding. She refused to succumb to anxiety that already felt too much like waiting for the other shoe to drop. There had been no further sign of the Child Crisis investigator she’d spotted from a distance at Kristi Johnson’s bedside. And right now the only people at the desk were the ward clerk, Cappy, a housekeeper, and Riley.
Maybe she got the information she needed from the chart; maybe she left. Gone . . . to be with Nick.

“I’ll be giving you some steroids in addition to the diphenhydramine,” she said, studying her patient’s rash-splotched face. “That’s the Benadryl. Same antihistamine you’ve used in capsule form for your allergies, but we injected it through the IV this time.” She watched as the woman’s eyelids drooped. “It’s what’s making you feel sleepy now, Mrs. Wong.”

Her patient, a forty-two-year-old teacher, scratched at her neck, then peered up at Leigh. “Will I be able to go home?”

“Yes, I think so. After we watch you for another hour or so to make sure those hives are gone and no wheezes crop up.” She smiled. “And if you promise to stay away from strawberries. Fresh, frozen, dried, or juiced—they are not your friend. It’s a common allergy; my sister reacted to strawberries when she was just a baby.” Leigh saw her patient’s eyes droop again and thought of baby Caro’s miserable hives, the way she’d scratched and scratched. And how Leigh, at age fourteen, was the one to administer the Benadryl liquid and trim her sister’s tiny fingernails to prevent her from scratching herself raw. Because their mother wasn’t there, as usual. And because her stepfather couldn’t cope . . . after his wife left him to hunt for husband number three.

Leigh stepped back to allow the nurse to inject the steroid into the IV port and checked the clock on the exam room wall. Almost two. Another couple of hours and she’d be able to get away—stop by the house to change into her riding breeches, grab an apple and some carrots for Frisco, and drive out to Golden Gate National Park. The stables were her escape, her refuge, more and more these days. Away from lists, packing boxes, a rapidly emptying house still filled with too many memories. Some of them painful, barely healing. She pressed her palm low against her scrub top, unable to stop the thought. And the confusing mix of feelings that always came with it.
I was almost a mother. Would it have changed things with Nick? Should I have told him?

“I’m finished, Dr. Stathos,” the nurse said, stepping away from the bedside. “And her latest set of vital signs is up on the monitor.”

“Great. Thank you.” Leigh scanned the display and lifted her stethoscope from around her neck. “One more listen and I’ll let you rest,” she told her patient. She pressed the plastic disc to the woman’s chest, asked her to inhale and exhale, and then repeated the sequence on her back. “Very good,” she assured her. “And your hives are fading nicely.”

Mrs. Wong’s sparse brows scrunched. “It could have been worse, couldn’t it? There was a little boy at our school who took a bite of someone’s peanut butter cookie and died. They tried and tried but couldn’t save him.”

“It happens, unfortunately. That’s why we hear so many warnings these days about peanut allergies and why doctors write prescriptions for EpiPens. That’s injectable adrenaline, to stop the allergic reaction and support the vital body systems.”

“Did I get that medicine?”

“No. You didn’t need it. Your reaction has been limited to the skin—hives and itching. The more serious allergic reactions involve rapid swelling of the face, lips, and airway—with wheezing, a sudden drop in blood pressure, and loss of consciousness. It’s called anaphylactic shock, and a true emergency. We see it most often after bee stings or with some food allergies like peanut butter and shellfish. Many times as a side effect of medications. Antibiotics can be a real problem.” Leigh patted her patient’s shoulder. “But don’t worry; your strawberry reaction isn’t going in that direction. We’ll give you a prescription, as well as plenty of written information on allergies. Meanwhile, rest a bit. The nurses will check on you, and I’ll come back and see you later. I have a few other patients to finish with.”

Leigh crossed to the desk and checked with the ward clerk regarding the admissions. Mrs. Baldwin had gone upstairs, with her husband accompanying her. Kristi Johnson’s baby was in a pediatrics room that would accommodate his sister as well as his mother. They were expected to be transferred up there within twenty minutes.

Leigh peered down the corridor. “And Child Crisis? Did that investigator ask to talk with me?”

Riley spoke up. “I haven’t seen her since she finished talking with Kristi. Not sure if she’s still here. I’ll check around, if you like.”

“No,” Leigh said, seeing compassion in Riley’s eyes.
Does she know?
“That’s fine. I think I’m going to grab my knitting and a cup of coffee and take them outside. Relax for a couple of minutes.” She saw Riley nod and was certain she did know. For some reason it helped. “If anyone needs me, you know where I’ll be.”

She filled her coffee cup—a ceramic mug with a handle shaped like the hindquarters and tail of a bay horse—and carried it outside. For once, the parking lot was clear of ambulance and rescue vehicles. Just one young employee, wearing a 49ers jacket over his scrubs, getting into his car. Leigh settled onto a bench and took a sip of the coffee, thinking once again how convenient it was to live so close to the hospital. She wouldn’t have to fight the notorious San Francisco rush-hour traffic. Just drive home, get dressed for the stable, leave this stressful day behind. She closed her eyes and listened to the comforting blend of sounds: traffic on Geary Boulevard, gulls calling overhead, the electronic click and whoosh of the ER doors opening, and—

“Dr. Stathos?”

Leigh’s eyes snapped open and her heart climbed to her throat.

“I’m Samantha Gordon.”

Chapter Five

Leigh stared at her husband’s lover.

Samantha Gordon’s lilac blue eyes were unblinking, her expression composed. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Leigh breathed through her nose, fighting an alarming wave of nausea. Was this really the shadowy apparition who crowded so many ugly, angry nightmares? Her gaze moved over the woman’s face. Sharp, narrow. Too much makeup, short hair . . .
Nick likes long hair. Why, why . . . ?

“Sorry?” Leigh rose to her feet, finding satisfaction in the fact that despite her modest height, she still topped the Child Crisis investigator by at least two inches. “You’re sorry? Now that’s . . . a word.”

Sam chewed her gum for moment. “I don’t expect you to believe me.”

Leigh’s heart thudded in her ears, shouting escape as insistently as Frisco’s hoofbeats against a clay trail. “What exactly
do
you expect from . . . this?”

Sam glanced away and sighed, her breath a humid waft of cinnamon. She ran her fingers through her hair and met Leigh’s gaze again. “I expect that we—all of us; you, me, Nick—can be adults.” For the first time, her expression showed a hint of vulnerability. “And I expect that things will get easier for Nick soon. So he can move on with his life. My brother’s death hit him hard. And coming so soon after your separation . . .” She nodded, the softness in her expression gone. “Being with me and my little daughter helps him.”

She has a child?
Leigh’s breath stuck.

Sam saw it and smiled. “Elisa’s three. Nick’s good with her. I’m sure you know how much a family means to him. Losing his mother the way he did, being raised in foster care—”

“Don’t.” Leigh raised her palm. “Don’t you
dare
.” The nausea swirled again. “Don’t stand there and presume to explain my husband to me.” She realized with horror that she’d started to tremble.

Sam took a step backward but kept her gaze leveled at Leigh. “All I’m saying is that I understand where he’s coming from. We’re very much alike. And I want you to know that I think you’re doing the right thing. With the divorce. It’s hard on Nick right now; he’s confused. But that won’t last forever. It never does.”

Leigh bit into her lower lip, grateful for the wail of a siren in the distance.

“Looks like you’ve got more work to do,” Sam said, her voice completely matter-of-fact. As if their entire conversation had been that way. “So do I.” She patted her briefcase. “I have all the information I need on Kristi Johnson; anything else I’ll get from her admitting physician. I’ll be visiting regularly during the baby’s hospitalization.” The frosty eyes captured Leigh’s. “And I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” She turned and walked away.

How Leigh made it back into the ER—punched the lock code, put one foot in front of the other along the length of the corridor to the nurses’ station—she had no clue. When she got there, Riley glanced up with questions in her eyes but said nothing. Leigh caught the charge nurse’s attention. “What’s the ambulance?”

The nurse glanced at the ward clerk’s computer screen. “Transfer from a nursing home. Needs a catheter change.”

Leigh scanned the dry-erase assignment board. “Anything I need to do urgently in the next few minutes?”

“No, we’re fine, and your relief doc’s here early.”

“Good.” Leigh hugged her white coat around her and faked a smile. She met Riley’s eyes for a risky instant. “I’m going to run to the physicians’ library for a minute, and then I’ll be back.”

She made it there on the same autopilot that got her away from the bench in the parking lot. The same way she’d navigated so many days this past year. She crossed the thickly carpeted and dimly lit room, grateful that it was unoccupied. Leigh breathed in the smell of leather and newsprint, trying to dispel the scent of cinnamon gum and the knifing jab of Sam’s words. And mostly trying to stop the childhood memory that had played and replayed for as long as she could remember. But it came anyway.

She’d been barely twelve, and school let out early. She walked home, let herself in with the key she’d daubed with bright pink nail polish. Tried to think which of her favorite shows would be on TV—
The Cosby Show
,
Growing Pains
? She’d get her homework done early and still have time to look at her latest horse magazine, then surprise her father with his favorite snack, peanut butter and salami on Ritz crackers with a cold Dr Pepper. She’d have it all ready, meet him at the door with a bear hug and the silly joke she’d been practicing all day. It would be hours before her mother got home from her new job. Leigh would help her dad forget how her mother picked on him, ran him down about being “only a plumber.” Leigh would make him laugh again.

She took the stairs two at a time humming that new hit song “Somewhere Out There.” She loved how romantic it was, two people wishing on the same star, love seeing them through; she secretly loved everything to do with romance. It made her hope that someday she’d have that too: a handsome husband and her very own happily ever after.

She bounded down the hallway past her parents’ open bedroom door and heard a deep, unfamiliar male voice, followed by her mother’s tinkling laughter. She backed up, peered through the doorway. And almost threw up.