Sacred Trust (12 page)

Lukas frowned to keep from laughing.

Buck took some deep breaths. “Does this sound like a tension pneumothorax? I'm fine. I'm just taking part in the drill. Please, no needles. I hate needles.”

Lukas raised the syringe and flicked the flimsy
catheter tubing that jutted from the end of it. “Does this look like a needle?” He grinned wickedly. “I'm not going to waste all that steel on a healthy ox like you.”

Buck exhaled a sigh of relief and gradually returned the grin, which made his ears stick out even farther from his head. “Oh, boy, Doc, you almost had me there.”

“How'd they keep word from leaking out about this one?” Lukas asked. “Usually everyone knows about a drill before it happens.”

Buck shrugged. “You got me. Can I get up now? Wanna undo those straps so I can—”

“Hold it.” Lukas took the description sheet that had been taped to Buck's arm. “You're still hurt, remember? In fact, you're supposed to be unconscious, responsive only to pain.” He gestured toward the observation team. “Over here. We have emergency chest decompression. This would be the first patient in the triage.” He continued to describe his plan of treatment. “We would fly this one to at least a level-two trauma center,” Lukas said, finishing with Buck as he unfastened the securing straps. “According to triage,” he said, stepping toward the next patient, “this one is the patient I would treat next. I would be ready to intubate if necessary. He is showing signs of Cushing's reflex, elevated blood pressure and low heart rate caused by increased intracranial pressure. I would order a cross table c-spine, a one-view chest, a CT—”

“Excuse me, Dr. Bower.” Lauren stepped in front of the camcorder operator and held up her hand. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but we have a patient in room five who—”

“Lauren, don't interrupt,” Dorothy Wild snapped. The stocky, deep-voiced woman with salt-and-pepper hair
stepped between Lauren and Lukas. “You've done your triage. We're recording Dr. Bower now.”

“I'm sorry, but this is a real patient,” Lauren said.

“They can wait a few minutes while we finish this.”

“No, Dorothy,” Lukas said, “I'm sorry, but real patients don't wait for drills.” He turned to follow Lauren. “What seems—”

Dorothy stepped in front of him. “You can at least find out if it's critical before you put all these people on hold.”

Lukas frowned at Dorothy as he stepped around her. “Don't worry, Lauren would not have come to get me otherwise. She's a good nurse.”

Dorothy gestured to the camcorder operator and followed Lukas into the trauma room. “Fine, this is for PR. Let's give them some good PR.”

Lukas turned to stand in the doorway. “I'm sorry, but it's a violation of federal regulations to film a patient without his written consent. Our patients are our first priority, Mrs. Wild.”

Dorothy moved to push past him. “Fine, we'll obtain consent later, but we're getting this on film for—”

Lukas fought his irritation as he blocked her way once more. “No, you're not.”

 

Mercy heard the sirens as soon as the ancient, incredibly slow elevator opened its doors for her on the first floor. She should know by now to take the stairs. The disaster code announcement had rattled her.

She raced toward the emergency room as the ambulance entrance doors flew open and admitted a stretcher with Rod, a paramedic, and Mike, an EMT, in attendance.

“Got another head,” Rod called toward the E.R. entrance. He glanced at Mercy. “Hi, Doc. Decide to join the fun?”

Beverly, the RN, came out to the hallway, obviously to triage. She caught sight of Mercy. “Oh, thank goodness, Doctor. We need you if this thing's going to fly. We're double covered except for Dr. Bower. He's on for a twenty-four, and we can't get a response from any other docs.”

“Why not?” Mercy glanced once more—this time suspiciously—at the head wound on the stretcher. There was a typed note attached to the shirt of the seemingly unconscious patient.

A drill? This whole thing was a drill! What was going on here? No one had warned her.

In disgust, Mercy turned to lead the way into the emergency room. A small group of observers stood staring toward exam room five, their attention on Dr. Bower, who stood nose to nose with the drill coordinator, Dorothy Wild.

“No footage.” His voice was firm but not raised. “This is a real patient.”

“Dr. Bower, part of the reason for this drill is to improve public rela—”

“Not with this patient.” Bower moved to block the camera's view of the man lying on the cot. “We've received no permission to tape, and he has indicated that he wants his privacy. Kindly step from the room.”

Mercy stepped forward and nodded at Dorothy, who was retreating from the room, face flushed, eyes narrowed, chin set. Bower was obviously not counting on a long career with Knolls Community Hospital.

“Dr. Mercy.” The stocky, grim-faced woman spoke
sharply, then took a deep breath and rearranged her expression, as if concentrating on her favorite relaxation technique. “Maybe you can help us. We need Dr. Bower in this drill, and he is not being cooperative. If another doctor were to take the patient he is with now, and no one else chooses this time to come barging in with an emergency, we might get something accomplished.”

Mercy stared at her. Who on earth had ever decided that Dorothy Wild would be a good PR representative for this hospital? “I'm sorry you're having so much trouble, Dorothy.” She tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “I wasn't even aware of a drill scheduled for tonight. Is this a test of some kind specifically planned by our administrator for Dr. Bower alone?”

“Well…no…not exactly, but he is our first full-time emergency room doctor, and—”

“Who ordered it?”

“Excuse me?”

“You're the drill coordinator, not the whole committee,” Mercy said. “Who ordered the drill? Why wasn't it sanctioned by the rest of us first?”

Dorothy's mouth opened slightly.

“Did Dr. George have something to do with this?” Mercy asked.

Dorothy's suddenly sheepish expression gave Mercy her answer.

“Thank you. I'll discuss this with Dr. Bower.” She left Dorothy standing in the middle of the room with her camcorder and entered exam room five, where Lukas Bower and Beverly were bent over a supine male figure on the bed.

“Dr. Bower?” Mercy said tentatively. “I heard the code
and just happened to be in the building. Is there something I can do to help?”

“Sure,” he said without looking up. “It would be great if you would help with the drill. I'll be out when I finish here.”

“Well…since you're the doc in the limelight, according to Dorothy, I thought maybe I could take this patient for you and you could go back to playing doctor for the film crew.”

He glanced up briefly from his perusal of the man's pupils. “Thank you for the offer, Dr. Richmond, but the crew will just have to wait. I'm the doc on duty, and this is my patient, my responsibility.”

“I understand. But you must understand that the PR team is merely trying to learn how best to serve real patients better. It's what drills are all about, and they are a vital function of this hospital.”

“Thank you for your input, Dr. Richmond, but I'll take this patient first.”

Scowling, Mercy retreated from the room. None of this should have happened tonight. “Dorothy,” she called as she approached the central desk, “I might as well help with the drill while I'm here. Lauren, do you have a patient for me?”

“Wait a minute, Dr. Mercy.” Dorothy held up her hand. “We're on hold until Dr. Bower comes back. I was hoping you could help out with his patient so he could join us more quickly.”

“Sorry, he's the doc in charge, and he chooses not to release to an off-duty doctor. I don't blame him. So what about the drill? What do you have?”

Dorothy frowned. “Thank you, Dr. Mercy, but I have a specific request to let Dr. Bower do this exercise alone.”

“A request by Dr. George, no doubt.”

Dorothy shrugged and turned back to the desk. Mercy had been dismissed.

“D
oes Jarvis George suddenly think he's God?” Mercy muttered as she stalked into the first call room she came to. She had never known her father's old partner to pull a stunt like this. Sure, he was opinionated and cranky, but his interests had always been with his patients and this hospital…before. Lately Jarvis had been behaving differently. In fact, only these past few days he'd been reprimanding E.R. staff for little things they did while under the direction of Dr. Bower.

Jarvis seemed to resent Lukas more as time went on. Beverly had complained that she was afraid to work with Dr. Bower anymore because Jarvis had grilled her two days ago about the younger doc's judgment, as if she had something to do with the medical decision. The problem was, the staff also seemed uncomfortable working with Jarvis. In Beverly's opinion, Jarvis didn't have the quality of medical judgment he used to have.

Mercy entered the call room and closed the door behind her. She immediately spied a doctor's traditional black bag—which she knew belonged to Dr. Bower—and
a bomber jacket tossed over the chair back. Rumpled bedclothes told her he had already tried to get some sleep to keep alert on this twenty-four-hour shift.

She didn't leave. He was busy with a patient, and she wanted to make a private call.

She punched Jarvis's office number on her cell and waited. No answer. She hadn't expected one. She disconnected and dialed his home number, which had not changed in twenty-five years.

He did not answer.

She refused to disconnect. He was there, and she knew he was just being his new, obnoxious self.

On the fifteenth ring, he picked up and said testily, “Yes, what is it?”

“Jarvis, this is Mercy. Why don't you come and join our disaster drill party?”

“No.” His voice was cold.

“Then would you at least call the coordinator and withdraw your order about Dr. Bower completing the drill himself? I'd like to help out.”

There was a pause. “Why? You don't…owe him anything.”

Mercy frowned at the sound of his voice. She must have awakened him. “He has a real patient, that's why. Besides, a drill is to test the mettle of a whole team, not just one person. These things are expensive and time consuming for all concerned. And disaster drills are supposed to come through the quality assurance committee. This one didn't.”

“Don't start with me…about protocol, Dr. Richmond.” He sounded more than sleepy. He sounded drunk.

“Protocol is important. The emergency room is not a dictatorship, and you don't call all the shots. Why are you giving this new doc such a hard time? Give it up, Jarvis.”

Silence.

“Jarvis? What's—”

“Let me remind you, Dr.…Richmond, that I am the director of Knolls's emergency room, not you. I will do what I…as I see fit to ensure…to see to the safety of the patients in this community, and if that means pulling a surprise drill to test the skills of a particular health care employee, I will do so with no lip from you, young woman.”

“What?” Mercy snapped. “Jarvis, have you been drinking?”

There was a swift intake of breath at the other end. “What are you talking about?”

A long, indignant pause radiated tension so taut Mercy felt her own hand tighten on her cell.

“Aren't you confusing me with your father?” he snapped. “Why don't you take care of your own job and let me see to mine?”

Mercy's mouth fell open.

Behind her she heard the door swish open. She turned around, saw Dr. Bower standing there, and she waved a dismissing hand at him.

“This
is
part of my job, Dr. George,” she said coldly. “You don't have the authority to call a drill just because you've been on staff since the Boston Tea Party. Dorothy should have known better than to make the arrangements on your word alone. I don't care if she does worship you. I'm ashamed of the way our new recruit is being treated by—”

There was a click. Jarvis had hung up.

 

In spite of his mood, Lukas walked out of the call room with a bemused smile on his face. He shouldn't be
smiling. Dr. George had apparently pulled this on him out of spite and had also probably told every other physician in the area, including the physician backup, not to respond to the drill. But he certainly hadn't told Dr. Richmond about it, and she wasn't afraid to complain. That was especially comforting after seeing Jarvis sitting with Mercy's family at the funeral a little over two weeks ago. Maybe Jarvis wouldn't get his way about everything.

Mercy came out of the call room a moment later, and Lukas watched her march toward the exit. She had taken her long, dark hair out of its customary knot, and it hung loose around her shoulders. She didn't look his way, but stalked out of the E.R. with long strides, pulling off her lab coat as she went.

“Dr. Bower.” A frowning Dorothy Wild stepped in front of him, one arm around a clipboard, the other reaching up as if she wanted to point a finger in his face. “Can we please get on with the drill now? Do you realize these people are getting paid for this? It's costing the—”

Still thinking about Mercy's actions, Lukas made an about-face and walked back into the call room to get what he'd gone after the first time. He hadn't eaten anything since his late breakfast, and it would be a while before he could get away for dinner. He needed a Snickers.

 

Mercy parked at the side of her mother's house and spied her through the kitchen window, bent over her work at the sink, her hair falling out of its ponytail. Mom never closed her curtains at night, never locked her doors and always left her keys in the car.

Sure enough, not only was the front door unlocked, it was ajar. Mom always did that when she expected com
pany, just so they'd know to come on in. Mercy pushed the door open and walked in.

“Mom?” She glanced at the clock on the living-room wall. It was eight already.

Ivy stepped into the threshold from the kitchen and for a moment stood looking at Mercy. Robert was right. Mom was in great shape for sixty-six, and she looked ten years younger. People were always remarking on how much Mercy looked like Ivy. She didn't mind. Mom was beautiful, except when she had that challenging glare in her eyes. Like now.

“No trip,” Mercy said.

Ivy nodded. “So he told you. I figured he would. In fact, I thought you'd be calling a lot sooner than this. I can't believe the lack of patient confidentiality in this town. I've never had any privacy, being married to one doctor and being the mom of another.”

“Dr. Simeon didn't call until tonight when I was making rounds at the hospital. You could've contacted me at work. I can't believe you're still planning that trip. There's no way—”

“I'm going.”

“Don't be stupid. It's dangerous.”

“Don't call be stupid. I'm your mother.”

Mercy pulled off her fake leather jacket and threw it on the sofa. Without looking again at her mother, she went into the kitchen. “What're you cooking? I'm starved. We got hammered all day. I barely had time for breakfast. I had to fly a patient out on the chopper today, and then dear ol' Jarvis up and decides to pull a disaster drill on Dr. Bower. No warning, no time to prepare. I was so mad. Guess who tried to assist and got turned down?”

“You?”

“You betcha. Jarvis has it in for Lukas.”

“Jarvis has his reasons.”

Mercy glanced at the stir-fry on the stove, picked out a piece of water chestnut, and opened the fridge. “The way I see it, Jarvis has some problems of his own he'd better get worked out before he starts criticizing others. He's had a brain glitch the past few days. Got any milk?”

Ivy sighed heavily, her impatience giving way to sarcasm. “I'm fine. Thanks for asking, dear. Joints were a little stiff when I got up this morning, but I felt great by the time I hit the treadmill. Speaking of which, didn't Dr. Simeon tell you he got an appointment for me with a big-shot cardiologist in Springfield? I'm going to see him tomorrow. Why don't we let him decide about the trip.”

Mercy put down the milk jug and turned to her mother. “I can't believe you agreed to an appointment for tomorrow. You should have known I'd want to go with you for this.”

“Why? So the doctor can talk to you instead of me? I hate that, and I sure hope you don't do it to your own patients. I don't have Alzheimer's, I'm not that forgetful yet, and I've got my own life to live, just as you have yours.”

“But this is important. I want to hear—”

“I'll take notes and let your secretary transcribe them for—”

“Cut the sarcasm, Mom. Is there something wrong with caring about your own—”

“Caring? A little kindness, a little concern for how I'm feeling about all this, would—”

“Maybe I can get Jarvis to cover for—”

“Don't even think about it!” Ivy's voice hit a few more decibels than necessary.

“No, you're right. The way Jarvis has been acting, he may feed my patients to the wolves.”

“Would you at least listen to me a minute?”

Mercy closed her mouth and watched her mother in silence for a full five seconds. “I promised myself I wouldn't do this. I wanted to be strong and supportive for you, I really did, and here I am jumping down your throat. Sorry, Mom. But really, the trip to Colorado…”

“I need the break. It's been so long since I've gotten out like this. I need—”

“It's only been two and a half weeks since Grandma died. You want Tedi and me to lose you, too?”

“Mercy, stop it! Hiking in Colorado can't be as stressful as this.”

“There's no oxygen out there on those mountains at fourteen thousand feet.”

“Oh, sure, like our group is going mountain climbing. Get real. I'm the youngest one going, and as I've already told your Dr. Simeon, Doc Heagerty will be going, too.”

“First of all, the whole state of Colorado is higher in elevation by far than the highest peak in Missouri. Second, Dr. Simeon is not mine and third, Doc Heagerty has earned his rest. The last thing he'll want is a needy patient following him into the wilderness.”

“He'll want this patient.”

“And how's he going to do you any good if you have a heart attack, or…” Mercy stopped and stared at Ivy. “What?”

Ivy held her gaze calmly. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Uh, problem?”

Ivy nodded, as if satisfied she'd managed to cut off
Mercy's word flow, if even for a few seconds. She sauntered across the kitchen and opened the cupboard for plates. “Close your mouth, or you'll catch a bee. There's plenty of stir-fry for both of us. I have some fat-free garlic bread ready to put in the oven. It'll only take a minute. You could use some healthy food for a change instead of that greasy hospital stuff.” She held her daughter's glazed stare for a moment, then continued with her preparations.

“How long has this been going on with Hugh?” Mercy asked.

“This ‘thing' is called friendship, simple as that. Hugh and I have been friends for years.”

“Yes, but when did you cross the threshold from doctor-patient friends to…you know…
friends?
”

“Since Elizabeth Heagerty died with a heart attack three years ago.” Ivy placed the food on the bar and took a stool beside Mercy. She bowed her head in silent grace as she always did.

“I didn't know,” Mercy said when Ivy raised her head.

Ivy picked up her fork. “There's nothing more to know. We're friends. Your father has been gone for five years, and some of the nightmare has faded.”

“Which nightmare?” Mercy asked bitterly. “The marriage or the death?”

Ivy poured habanero sauce on her food. “A combination, I suppose.”

Mercy remained silent for a few moments as she ate.

“Life goes on,” Ivy said at last. “I was hoping you'd be happy that I could build new relationships after…bad experiences with a previous marriage.”

“I am happy for you, really, Mom. I admire your ability to recover. I can't imagine ever even considering remarriage after the first disaster…and after Dad.” Mercy
had experienced a triple whammy five years ago, and she didn't know if she would ever recover. Not only had her father died from alcoholic cirrhosis, but she had gone through a nasty divorce and had lost her daughter to Theo Zimmerman in a vengeful double cross.

Ivy placed a hand over Mercy's and squeezed. “I haven't said I'm getting married.”

“That's a relief.”

“As for the future…” Ivy shrugged. “So what's the difference between my friendship with Hugh and yours with Robert Simeon? You two spend some time together outside office hours. If you're so set against relationships—”