Nursing The Doctor (17 page)

The following morning, Greg finished the list he’d been working on for hours and then wheeled himself out to the bank of telephones.

Using his most authoritative voice, he had Dr. Ben Halsey paged. He knew that Ben was probably finished surgery right about now. It was an emergency, Greg stated, asking that Ben come immediately to rehab.

It took Ben fourteen minutes to respond. Greg was sitting in the hallway timing him, and when he saw Ben’s compact figure, still in operating room greens, hurrying toward him down the corridor, he called out, “Hey, Ben, how’s it going? I need you to do some stuff for me.”

“You’re the emergency?” Ben gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Last time I ventured near you, pal, you went straight for the jugular. You told me to take a long walk, remember? You said you didn’t want to lay eyes on me again until you left the hospital.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t really mean it. I was in a bad mood that day.”

Ben grimaced. “You give a whole new dimension to the term bad mood, my friend. When did they transfer you down here?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I’m on a ward again, and you gotta get me into a private. I asked Edward, but the man’s useless.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” Ben rolled his eyes heavenward. “We just had this conversation. I practically had patients on ortho sleeping in the hallways trying to get you a private. And the minute I manage it, you move down here. This isn’t a hotel, Greg. And there’s only so much I can do. I’m not your doctor and I’m not exactly head honcho around here either, remember. Plastics men are pretty low on the food chain in case you’ve forgotten.”

“C’mon, Ben, you’ve got till Friday. That’s lots of time.” Greg leaned forward. “But it’s absolutely gotta happen by Friday. And there’s some other stuff I need you to do for me.” He handed Ben his list, and the other doctor’s thick black eyebrows shot skyward.

“Champagne? Dinner delivered from de Montreil? A visit from your barber? A tracksuit that fits over those casts? Scented candles? Four dozen daffodils?
Daffodils?
Greg, it’s the first week in December. Where the hell do you think I’m gonna get four dozen daffodils in December? Be reasonable here.”

“You can do it, Ben. It’s for a good cause. You want me to recover, don’t you? Think of the mortgage, you know I didn’t take out any insurance. This is what it’s gonna take to give me the will to live. Friday, by five-thirty. Sooner for the track-suit, you’re also gonna have to get it altered to fit me. Might as well get me a few of them while you’re at it. Dark colors, I slop food when I eat.”

“You know what I think? I think you need a psychiatric consult, is what I think. In fact, Bellamy already suggested it when I met him in the coffee shop the other day.” He was still reading the list, shaking his head.

“Bellamy’s a surgeon, what do surgeons know? By the way, Ben, you ever hear of a surgeon named Richard who works in Calgary?”

“Oh, sure, I know all the surgeons across Canada by their first names. I suppose you want me to fly him here for Friday at five-thirty?”

“Nope. Definitely not. In fact, I’d like it if you could arrange for him to disappear. Nothing violent, just an abduction to Costa Rica or one of those obscure countries that have a lot of internal strife. They need surgeons down there. Why should Calgary have them all?”

Ben tapped the list against his leg and studied Greg from knowing eyes.

“If you weren’t encased in plaster and probably terminally constipated from all the meds, I’d think this sudden change of attitude had something to do with a lady.”

“I suppose you figure us cripples don’t have sex lives. What do they teach you guys in med school anyhow?”

Greg reached out and turned the list over, revealing the most important of his requests. “I don’t need these now, but I will soon.”

Ben read the brand name of the contraceptive and his face suddenly split into an ecstatic grin. He reached out and thumped Greg’s good shoulder.

“Damn, it’s good to have you back, Brulotte. For a while there I figured we were gonna have to arrange a brain transplant. As for this list, I’ll do what I can, but it’s gonna take nothing short of a miracle to get you into a private by Friday, for starters.”

“So, call in a few favors. You’ve done nips and tucks and snips on enough doctors’ wives, to say nothing of their girlfriends. It’s payback time.”

“Payback’s gonna come when you get out of here. You’re gonna owe me big time.”

“Put it on my account.”

“So, who’s the lady? One of the nurses down here?” Ben cast a speculative eye around, but the only nurse in sight was middle-aged and decidedly overweight.

“It’s Lily Sullivan from the ER.” Greg’s voice was almost bashful.

Ben gave him a long, thoughtful look, but all he said was, “Pretty lady.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got office hours, I’ve gotta run. I’ll do what I can, but no guarantees.” He gave Greg a snappy salute and hurried off.

Greg realized he was so exhausted he was trembling. He maneuvered the chair back into the ward, coming to an abrupt halt when he found Sammy curled up in his bed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“What the hell’re you doing, Sammy? You’ve got a bed of your own. That’s mine. Clear out now.”

“I wanna see Lily. Is she coming today?”

“Not today, pal. She’s working. Now get the hell out of my bed.”

Sammy slowly and laboriously clambered down. “I like her smell. Don’t you like her smell?”

A wave of recognition rolled over Greg. After she’d gone yesterday, a hint of Lily’s flowery perfume had lingered in the air, dispelling the hospital odors of stale food, bedding, urine and disinfectant

It had been like an echo of another life, a reminder of freshness and beauty. He suddenly knew exactly what Sammy meant and his voice softened.

“Yeah, Sammy, I do like her smell. Very much.”

“I can play Go Fish with one hand,” Sammy announced. “You only got one hand, same as me. I can show you how to play Go Fish with one hand. You wanna try, huh? You wanna try?”

Greg opened his mouth to bellow at the annoying little man, and heard himself agreeing to let Sammy show him how to play Go Fish.

With one hand.

“So, what are you going to wear?”

They were having coffee together in the cafeteria, and Frannie’s purely female question was exactly what had been going through Lily’s mind. She shrugged.

“Pants, maybe. What do you think? We’ll be coming here to the cafeteria for supper. It’s not as if it’s a real date, where you dress up and all that. Do people still dress up? It’s so long since I was on a date I can’t really remember.”

Frannie had dressed up to go out with Kaleb that first night. She’d changed four times before she found the look she wanted. And last weekend before the sleigh-ride party, she’d finally bought a new pair of designer jeans and a coral chenille sweater.

Clothes were easy. She just hadn’t figured out how to tell Kaleb she couldn’t keep on going out with him. Her stomach felt sick every time she thought about that, so instead she concentrated on Lily and her peculiar date with Greg Brulotte.

“I think you should wear something absolutely smashing,” she decided on impulse. “Whenever I wear something really pretty to work, the patients comment on it. Even the street kids notice. Besides,” she added with a wicked grin, “Doc Brulotte is a hunk, casts or no casts. Wear something blue and short and close fitting, and consider it therapy.”

Lily laughed. “For me, or for him?”

“Both of you. It’ll do you good to get all dressed up.” It had been wonderful to dress up for Kaleb, she thought wistfully. And the expression on his face when he came to pick her up had been well worth the effort. She wanted so much to see him again, and that was causing her sleepless nights and anxious days.

Lily felt self-conscious and a little ridiculous as she hurried along the corridor to the rehab unit at five-twenty on Friday afternoon. Her high heeled sandals clicked on the shiny tiles. The dress she’d bought earlier that day was a shade the enthusiastic saleslady called teal. It was a deceptively simple chemise that hugged her breasts and skimmed suggestively over her hips, and it was short.

Very short, Lily thought uncomfortably. She was wearing a long coat over it at the moment, but the time would soon come when she’d have to take it off, exposing what seemed even to her an extraordinary amount of her silk-sheathed legs. And she was conscious of Gram’s diamond pendant earrings gently swinging from her ears. Maybe she’d gone way over the top.

She didn’t want to encounter any of the nurses, and thankfully there were none in evidence as she hurried into the ward where Greg had been two days before.

He was gone. A stranger occupied his bed, a young man with a prosthesis for an arm, but Sammy was still in the bed on the other side of the room.

“Hey, Lily,” he hollered. “Hi, Lily. Doctor’s not here, Lily, where’d he go, huh? Where’d he go? I showed him how to play Go Fish with one hand. I won. You remember me, Lily?”

“Hi, Sammy.” She smiled at him.

“Doc Brulotte’s down the hall, in 124,” the man in the bed in the comer volunteered. Lily realized uncomfortably that every eye in the room was riveted on her. “They moved him out about two hours ago. He’s got himself a private
room.”

She made her way along the corridor, checking the numbers. The door to 124 was the only one firmly shut, and she drew in a deep, nervous breath before she tapped and then hesitantly opened it.

“Hello, Lil. You’re right on time. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought we’d have dinner here instead of in the cafeteria.”

Dazed, she slowly closed the door behind her and leaned against it, stunned at what he’d arranged.

The bed was shoved back against the wall and the overhead light was off. Candles in short, fat holders flickered on a small table covered with a sparkling white linen cloth. It was set for two with attractive china, elegant wineglasses and heavy cutlery. Delicious aromas escaped from silver serving dishes. Wine chilled in a pottery cooler. Soft music drifted from a portable CD player on the floor by the window. In each comer of the room was an enormous bouquet of daffodils, jammed into glass lab beakers, and their perfume mingled with the smell of food.

Greg smiled at her from his wheelchair, freshly shaven, hair expertly trimmed, looking handsome in a black tracksuit that had been cleverly altered to fit around his casts.

“I don’t believe this, Greg. How on earth...?”

“Take your coat off and come sit beside me. Sorry I can’t help you with it.” His irrepressible grin told her how delighted he was at surprising her so thoroughly.

Slowly she slipped her coat off her shoulders, and the sudden intensity of his gaze and subtle narrowing of his eyes told her that the dress was exactly right

He whistled softly.

“Lily, you take my breath away. You’re absolutely lovely,” he breathed, and she knew all of a sudden that he was right. She felt attractive, and she was so glad she’d spent such an exorbitant amount of money for the dress and a ridiculous amount of time getting ready.

“Thank you.” She also sent a silent fervent thank you to Frannie as she laid the coat on the bed and took the comfortable chair someone had placed at the table.

“How did you arrange all this, Greg? How did you know that daffodils are my favorite flower? And where on earth did you find daffodils in December?”

The enormous trouble he’d gone to preparing all this just for her touched her heart.

“Ahh, I have my ways,” he purred like an old-fashioned villain, pretending to twirl an imaginary moustache. His eyes were bright “But there are certain obstacles, my dear,” he cautioned. “For instance, I can’t manage to get the cork out of that damned wine one-handed. And after you manage that, you’ll have to serve all the food.”

He moved his wheelchair closer to her as Lily uncorked the wine. It was from Chile, rich, red and exotic. She poured it into fluted glasses and handed him one.

“To first dates,” he toasted with a grin.

“To ingenious patients,” she responded. The wine tickled her taste buds and the music seemed to penetrate her pores, soft, wistful, longing. Romantic.

“I don’t recognize this CD.”