Terminal (13 page)

Sean walked out into the hall. “There are a few more rooms I’d like to see,” he said. “How about we take a tour together?”

“Out!” Harris shouted, pointing toward the glass door.

J
ANET HAD
a late morning meeting with the director of nursing, Margaret Richmond. She used the time from Sean’s wake-up call until the moment she had to leave to take a long shower, shave her legs, blow-dry her hair, and press her dress. Although she knew her job at the Forbes hospital was assured, meetings such as the one she was anticipating still made her nervous. And on top of that, she was still anxious about Sean’s potential for heading back to Boston. All in all she had plenty of reason to be upset; she had no idea what the next few days would bring.

Margaret Richmond was not what Janet anticipated. Her voice on the telephone had conjured up an image of a delicate, slight woman. Instead, she was powerful and rather severe. Yet she was still cordial and businesslike, and conveyed to Janet a sincere appreciation for Janet’s coming to the Forbes
hospital. She even gave Janet her choice of shifts. Janet was pleased to opt for days. She had assumed she’d have to start on nights, a shift she disliked.

“You indicated a preference for floor duty,” Ms. Richmond said as she consulted her notes.

“Correct,” Janet said. “Floor duty gives me the type of patient contact that I find the most rewarding.”

“We have an opening for days on the fourth floor,” Ms. Richmond said.

“Sounds good,” Janet said cheerfully.

“When would you like to start?” Ms. Richmond asked.

“Tomorrow,” Janet said. She would have preferred a few days’ delay to give herself a chance to find an apartment and get settled, but she felt an urgency about delving into the medulloblastoma protocol.

“I’d like to use today to try to find a nearby apartment,” Janet added.

“I don’t think you should stay around here,” Ms. Richmond said. “If I were you I’d go out to the beach. They’ve done a nice job restoring the area. Either that or Coconut Grove.”

“I’ll take your advice,” Janet said. Assuming the meeting was over, she stood.

“How about a quick tour of the hospital?” Ms. Richmond asked.

“I’d like that,” Janet said.

Ms. Richmond first took Janet across the hall to meet Dan Selenburg, the hospital administrator. But he wasn’t available. Instead, they went to the first floor to see the outpatient facilities, the hospital auditorium, and the cafeteria.

On the second floor Janet peered into the ICU, the surgical area, the chemistry lab, the radiology department, and medical records. Then they went up to the fourth floor.

Janet was impressed with the hospital. It was cheerful, modern, and appeared to be adequately staffed, which was particularly important from a nursing point of view. She’d had her misgivings about oncology and the fact that all the patients would be cancer patients, but given the otherwise pleasant environment
and the variety in the patients she saw—some old, some gravely ill, others seemingly normal—she decided the Forbes hospital was definitely a place in which she could work. In many ways, it wasn’t dissimilar to the Boston Memorial, just newer and more pleasantly decorated.

The fourth floor was arranged in the same configuration as other patient floors. It was a simple rectangle with private rooms on either side of a central corridor. The nurses’ station was situated in the middle of the floor near the elevators and formed a large U-shaped counter. Behind it was a utility room and a small closet-like pharmacy with a dutch door. Across from the nurses’ station was a patients’ lounge. A housekeeping closet with a slop sink was across from the elevators. At either end of the long central hall were stairways.

Once their tour was completed, Ms. Richmond turned Janet over to Marjorie Singleton, the head nurse on days. Janet liked Marjorie immediately. She was a petite redhead with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She seemed in a constant flurry of activity and never without a smile. Janet met other staffers as well, but the profusion of names overwhelmed her. Aside from Ms. Richmond and Marjorie, she didn’t think she’d remember a single person to whom she’d been introduced except for Tim Katzenburg, the ward secretary. He was a blond-haired Adonis who looked more like a beach boy than a hospital ward secretary. He told Janet he was taking pre-med courses at night school since discovering the limited utility of a philosophy degree.

“We’re really glad to have you,” Marjorie said when she rejoined Janet after taking care of a minor emergency. “Boston’s loss is our gain.”

“I’m happy to be here,” Janet said.

“We’ve been short-handed since the tragedy with Sheila Arnold,” Marjorie said.

“What happened?”

“The poor woman was raped and shot in her apartment,” Marjorie said. “And not too far from the hospital. Welcome to big city life.”

“How terrible,” Janet said. She wondered if that was the
reason Ms. Richmond had warned her against the immediate neighborhood.

“Currently we happen to have a small contingent of patients from Boston,” Marjorie said. “Would you like to meet them?”

“Sure,” Janet said.

Marjorie bounded off. Janet practically had to run to keep up with her. Together they entered a room on the west side of the hospital.

“Helen,” Marjorie called softly once she stood beside the bed. “You have a visitor from Boston.”

Bright green eyes opened. Their intense color contrasted dramatically with the patient’s pale skin.

“We have a new nurse joining our staff,” Marjorie said. She then introduced the two women.

The name Helen Cabot immediately registered in Janet’s mind. Despite the mildly jealous feelings she’d had back in Boston, she was pleased to find Helen at the Forbes. Her presence would undoubtedly help keep Sean in Florida.

After Janet had spoken briefly with Helen, the two nurses left the room.

“Sad case,” Marjorie said. “Such a sweet girl. She’s scheduled for a biopsy today. I hope she responds to the treatment.”

“But I’ve heard that you people have had a hundred percent remission with her particular type of tumor,” Janet said. “Why wouldn’t she respond?”

Marjorie stopped and stared at Janet. “I’m impressed,” she said. “Not only are you aware of our medulloblastoma results, you made an instantaneous and correct diagnosis. Are you endowed with powers we should know about?”

“Hardly,” Janet said with a laugh. “Helen Cabot was a patient at my hospital in Boston. I’d heard about her case.”

“That makes me feel more comfortable,” Marjorie said. “For a second there I thought I was witnessing the supernatural.” She began walking again. “I’m concerned about Helen Cabot because her tumors are far advanced. Why did you people keep her for so long? She should have been started on treatment weeks ago.”

“That’s something I know nothing about,” Janet admitted.

The next patient was Louis Martin. In contrast to Helen, Louis did not appear ill. In fact, he was sitting in a chair fully dressed. He’d only arrived that morning and was still in the process of being admitted. Although he didn’t look sick, he did appear anxious.

Marjorie went through introductions again, adding that Louis had the same problem as Helen, but that thankfully he’d been sent to them much more swiftly.

Janet shook hands with the man, noting his palm was damp. She looked into the man’s terrified eyes, wishing there was something she could say that would comfort him. She also felt a little guilty realizing that she was somewhat pleased to learn of Louis’s plight. Having two patients on her floor under the medulloblastoma protocol would give her that much more opportunity to investigate the treatment. Sean would undoubtedly be pleased.

As Marjorie and Janet returned to the nurses’ station, Janet asked if the medulloblastoma cases were all on the fourth floor.

“Heavens no,” Marjorie said. “We don’t group patients according to tumor type. Their assignment is purely random. It just so happens we’ll currently have three. As we speak we’re admitting another case: a young woman from Houston named Kathleen Sharenburg.”

Janet hid her elation.

“There’s one last patient from Boston,” Marjorie said as she stopped outside of room 409. “And she’s a doll with an incredibly upbeat attitude that’s been a source of strength and support for all the other patients. I believe she said she’s from a section of town called the North End.”

Marjorie knocked on the closed door. A muffled “Come in” could be heard. Marjorie pushed open the door and stepped inside. Janet followed.

“Gloria,” Marjorie called. “How’s the chemo going?”

“Lovely,” Gloria joked. “I’ve just started the IV portion today.”

“I brought you somebody to meet,” Marjorie said. “A new nurse. She’s from Boston.”

Janet looked at the woman in the bed. She appeared to be about Janet’s own age. A few years earlier, Janet would have been shocked. Prior to working in a hospital she’d been under the delusion that cancer was an affliction of the elderly. Painfully, Janet had learned that just about anyone was fair game for the disease.

Gloria was olive-complected with dark eyes and what had been dark hair. Presently her scalp was covered with a dark fuzz. Although she’d been a buxom woman, one side of her chest was now flat beneath her lingerie.

“Mr. Widdicomb!” Marjorie said with surprised irritation. “What are you doing in here?”

Her attention focused on the patient, Janet had not realized there was another person in the room. She turned to see a man in a green uniform with a mildly distorted nose.

“Don’t go giving Tom a bad time,” Gloria said. “He’s only trying to help.”

“I told you I wanted room 417 cleaned,” Marjorie said, ignoring Gloria. “Why are you in here?”

“I was about to do the bathroom,” Tom said meekly. He avoided eye contact while fidgeting with the mop handle sticking out of his bucket.

Janet watched. She was fascinated. Tiny Marjorie had been transformed from an amiable pixie to a commanding power-house.

“What are we to do with the new patient if the room is not ready?” Marjorie demanded. “Get down there at once and get it done.” She pointed out the door.

After the man had left, Marjorie shook her head. “Tom Widdicomb is the bane of my existence here at Forbes.”

“He means well,” Gloria said. “He’s been an angel to me. He checks on me every day.”

“He’s not employed as part of the professional staff,” Marjorie said. “He’s got to do his own job first.”

Janet smiled. She liked working on wards that were well run by someone capable of taking charge. Judging by what
she’d just seen, Janet was confident she’d get along fine with Marjorie Singleton.

S
OME OF
the soapy water sloshed out of his bucket as Tom raced down the corridor and into room 417. He released the doorstop and let the door close. He leaned against it. His breaths came in hissing gasps, a legacy of the terror that had flashed through him when the knock had first sounded on Gloria’s door. He’d been seconds away from giving her the succinylcholine. If Marjorie and that new nurse had happened by a few minutes later, he would have been caught.

“Everything is fine, Alice,” Tom reassured his mother. “There’s no problem whatsoever. You needn’t be worried.”

Having reined in his fear, Tom was now angry. He’d never liked Marjorie, not from the first day that he’d met her. That bubbly good nature was just a sham. She was a meddlesome bitch. Alice had warned him about her, but he hadn’t listened. He should have done something about her like he’d done to that other busybody nurse. Sheila Arnold, who’d started asking questions about why he was hanging around an anesthesia cart. All he’d have to do was get Marjorie’s address sometime when he was cleaning up in administration. Then he’d show her who was in charge, once and for all.

Having calmed himself with thoughts of taking care of Marjorie, Tom pushed off from the door and eyed the room. He didn’t care for the actual cleaning part of his job, just the freedom it provided. He’d preferred the job with the ambulance except for having to deal with fellow EMTs. With housekeeping, he didn’t have to deal with anyone except for rare run-ins with the likes of Marjorie. Also, with housekeeping he could go anyplace in the hospital almost anytime he wanted. The only catch was he occasionally had to clean. But most of the time he was able to get by just pushing things around, since nobody was watching him.

If Tom was honest with himself, he had to admit that the job he’d liked the best had been one he’d held way back when he’d first left high school. He’d gotten a job with a vet. Tom
liked the animals. After he’d worked there for a while the vet had designated Tom as the person in charge of putting the animals to sleep. They were usually old, sick animals that were suffering, and the work gave Tom a lot of satisfaction. He could remember being disappointed when Alice didn’t share his enthusiasm.

Opening the door, Tom peered up the corridor. He had to return to the housekeeping closet to retrieve his housekeeping cart, but he didn’t want to run into Marjorie for fear she’d start in on him again. Tom was afraid he might not be able to control himself. On many occasions he’d felt like striking her because that’s what she needed. Yet he knew he couldn’t afford to do that, no way.

Tom knew he would have trouble helping Gloria now that he’d been seen in her room. He would have to be more careful than usual. He’d also have to wait a day or so. He’d just have to hope she’d still be on IVs by then. He didn’t want to inject the succinylcholine intramuscularly because that might make it detectable if it occurred to the medical examiner to look for it.

Slipping out of the room, Tom headed up the hall. As he passed 409, he glanced inside. He didn’t see Marjorie, which was good, but he did see that other nurse, the new one.

Tom slowed his steps as a new fear gripped him. What if the new nurse who’d been hired to replace Sheila was actually hired to find him? Maybe she was a spy. That would explain why she had suddenly appeared in Gloria’s room with Marjorie!

The more Tom thought about it, the more sure he became, especially since the new nurse was still in Gloria’s room. She was out to trap him and stop his crusade against breast cancer.