The Sunflower: A Novel (2 page)

There are times, it seems, that God throws a cosmic switch that moves the tracks beneath us, hurling our lives headlong in a new and uncertain direction. Of these times just two things are certain: It’s best we don’t know what’s ahead. We can never go back.

PAUL COOK’S DIARY

CHRISTMAS DAY, 1999

ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA

I’ve got to move to Arizona,
Paul thought as his wipers struggled to keep up with the snow. He had underestimated the intensity of the storm; the blizzard had hit a little after noon, just after Christmas supper. He had left the warmth of the fireplace and his fiancée’s arms around two, allowing nearly an hour for what was usually a thirty-five-minute drive. It was almost half past three as he pulled his Porsche off the snow-packed streets into a reserved parking space behind the E.R.

He hurried in, brushing snow from his shoulders as he entered the back door and walked to the locker room. Inside the room another doctor was changing into street clothes. He glanced up as Paul entered, relieved to see his replacement. “You made it.”

“Barely,” Paul said, removing his parka. “The roads are crazy.”

“You should see the E.R.”

“Bad?”

“Like a Wal-Mart on the Saturday before Christmas. Except everyone’s sick or bleeding.”

“And why are you leaving?”

“I’ve already put in a double shift. I’m the walking dead. For the last four hours it’s been just me and Garrity.”

Paul hung his coat in a locker, slipped off his shoes and pants and pulled on a pair of scrubs. “Where’s McVey?”

“Down with bronchitis.”

“Convenient.” Paul slid his shoes back on. “What are we seeing today?”

“Usual Christmas joy—suicide attempts, family brawls, accidents from all those new toys they got to hurt themselves with. And your usual snow-blower incidents.”

Paul shook his head. “I’ll never understand what possesses someone to stick their hand into a snow blower.”

“I started my shift with an eight-year-old with a candy cane stuck up his nose. Makes you wonder how our species has survived at all.” He pulled on a ski parka. “How’s that gorgeous fiancée of yours?”

“Mad that I had to work on Christmas.”

“Don’t worry. Some day she won’t care.”

“That’s the day I’ll start worrying.”

He smiled wryly. “I’ve seen your fiancée. Get used to worrying.” He walked to the door. “Take care.”

“Drive carefully. And Merry Christmas.”

“Maybe next year,” he said.

Paul stowed his pants in the locker, shrugged on his white coat, then went to work. The center of the E.R. bustled with activity as nurses and techs crowded in and through the same small spaces. Paul hailed them. “Merry Christmas all.”

The charge nurse looked up from her terminal and sighed with relief. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it. Merry Christmas, Doctor.”

“Merry Christmas to you.”

Marci, an R.N. with red hair and a freckled complexion, walked by wearing a hair band with velvet antlers. She stopped and smiled at him. “Merry Christmas, Dr. Cook.”

“Merry Christmas. Which reindeer are you?”

“Vixen,” she said, tilting her head.

Paul smiled as she walked off.

“More like Rudolph,” the charge nurse said snidely.

From where he stood, Paul could see the waiting room with its display of seasonal decorations: paper snowflakes hand-cut by children from a nearby elementary school and potted poinsettia plants scattered throughout the room, their leaves bright crimson against the dull gray of wall and carpet. In one corner of the lobby was an artificial Christmas tree decorated with white lights and strands of pink metallic beads.

In the waiting room the chairs were all occupied and people leaned against walls or sat on the carpeted floor. A long line had formed in front of the triage desk.

Paul squirted antibacterial lotion on his hands and rubbed it in. “Looks like we’re a little busy.”

The charge nurse looked up at him. “You think?”

He walked back to the patient charting room. Dr. Aaron Garrity was sitting at a computer terminal dictating from a chart. He stopped mid-sentence, shutting off the computer’s recorder.

“Hi, Paul. Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks. You too.” He clipped a radio to his belt. “It’s just us today?”

“Outgunned as usual.”

Paul crossed the room to a computer terminal flashing the names of admitted patients. “What have you got?”

“Four fevers, a wrist-slasher, two overdoses and a woman whose husband didn’t like Christmas dinner so he cracked her skull…”

Paul frowned. “Peace on earth, good will to men.”

“…and a man who stuck his hand in a snow blower.”

As Paul looked over the screen, a nurse walked in.

“Hi, Dr. Cook.”

He looked up to see Kelly, a petite young nurse with an infectious smile and blond hair. Kelly was both competent and pleasant and he was always glad to see her on his shift.

“Hi, Kell. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. I’m glad you made it safely. How were the roads?”

“I would of made better time with a dog sled.”

She smiled.

“Who else is on call?”

“Marci, Ken, Jean, Paula, Gary and Beverly.” She touched his arm. “We have a woman with a laceration in H, it’s only level four, but she keeps getting bounced back. She’s been here for almost three hours.”

“Probably lost her Christmas cheer by now.”

“She’s been surprisingly patient, but I feel bad for her. I’ve cleaned up the cut and put on a temporary bandage, but she needs sutures.”

“Do you have her chart?”

“Right here.” She handed him a clipboard. “She cut herself slicing the Christmas ham.”

He examined the chart. “How big is it?”

“The ham?”

He looked up and a smile rose on his lips. “The laceration.”

Kelly blushed. “Sorry. About two and a half centimeters.”

“Let’s go see her.”

The woman was twenty-something, dressed in black, tight, low-slung jeans and a long-sleeved pink T-shirt. She had darkly lined eyes and spiky, brunet hair. She was sitting upright on the examination table, holding a gauze pad around her finger. The blood had stained through the bandage and she glanced up nervously as he entered. He greeted her with a warm smile. “I’m Dr. Cook. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long.”

“It’s okay. It’s really busy.”

He walked to her side. “I understand you decided to serve your finger for dinner.”

She slightly smiled. “I was cutting a ham and the knife slipped.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three hours ago. I came as soon as it happened.”

“Let’s take a look.” He gently pulled back the bandage. The laceration was about an inch long and looked like it went clear to the bone.

“You’re pretty brave. I’d probably be howling about now. Before I give you an anesthetic, I need to see if you have nerve or tendon damage. I want you to extend your finger like this.” He held his forefinger out in demonstration. She obeyed.

“Now hold it stiff, don’t let me bend it.” He pushed down on the top of her finger, which she successfully resisted.

“That’s good. Keep holding it out and I’ll check blood flow.”

He squeezed the end of her finger until it was white, then released. It quickly turned pink again. “Blood supply is good. Just one more test.”

He took the paper clip from her chart and bent it out so its two ends were extended. “Close your eyes.” He touched her finger with the two prongs. “How many points do you feel?”

“Two.”

He moved it down her finger.

“And now?”

“Two.”

“Good. You can open your eyes.”

She examined the paper clip. “That’s pretty high-tech equipment you’ve got there.”

He smiled. “Nothing but the best for my patients. Kelly, get me three cc’s of two percent plain Xylocaine.”

Kelly had already prepared for the shot. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” He took the syringe and turned back to the young woman. “You missed all the vital stuff. So all I need to do is sew you up and send you home. Let me have you lay your hand down, palm up. I’m going to give you a digital block to numb your finger.”

She turned away as he slid the needle into the palm of her hand. She said, “I feel so dumb. I work at a floral shop and cut flowers all day and I’ve never had an accident.”

“Accidents happen. Dumb are those who do it on purpose.” He took the needle out. “Just one more.”

She bit her lower lip as he slid the needle back into her palm. She asked, “Do you see many suicides?”

He nodded. “Especially this time of the year.” He stood, breaking the needle off into a disposal pack. “It will take a few minutes for that to numb. I’m sorry to make you wait again, but I’ll be back in just ten minutes. Promise.”

“Thank you.”

He walked back to the charting room and wrote down the details of his visit, then scanned the screen for his next patient. Another nurse, Ken, was inside the room. Paul asked him, “Have you seen Mrs. Schiffman in G?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

“Let’s go see her.” He grabbed a chart and walked to the fourth door. A blond woman in her mid-thirties lay on her back. She was wearing a hospital gown and her foot was elevated about five inches off the bed. Her husband, a red-faced, barrel-chested man with a beard and a large belly sat next to her reading
Car and Driver.
He looked up as Paul and Ken entered, his face screwed up with annoyance. “It’s about time someone came. Doctors think their time’s more valuable than everyone else’s.”

“We’re a little busy,” Paul said, then turned to the woman who was clearly embarrassed by her husband’s temper. “Hi, I’m Dr. Cook. How did you hurt yourself?”

“I was carrying my boy out to the curb when I slipped on some ice. I think it’s broken.”

He examined her leg. An enormous bruise blackened her ankle, which was swollen to almost twice its normal size. He felt around it, pressing in spots. “Does that hurt?”

“Yes.”

“And here?”

“Ow! Yes.”

“Sorry.” He turned to Ken. “Let’s get a complete set of X-rays on this.” He said to the woman. “I’m guessing that you have a type A fracture of the fibula. In English that means you’ve broken your leg. But we’ll need X-rays to be sure. Have they given you anything for the pain?”

“No.”

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Valium.”

He lifted the chart and wrote on it. “Ken, let’s give her ten milligrams of morphine with fifty milligrams of Phenergan IM.” He touched her arm. “I’ll see you when I get the X-rays back.”

“Hey! You’re not leaving?” the man said.

“There’s nothing I can do until I see the pictures. But Ken will take good care of your wife for now.”

The woman flushed but said nothing. The man grumbled as they walked out.

“Sweet guy,” Paul said. “Let me know when the pics are up.”

“You got it.”

“And take this, please.” He handed the chart to Ken, then walked back to room H. The young woman smiled as he entered.

“I told you I’d be back. Are you numb?”

She nodded. “As a brick.”

He smiled at her choice of words. “Good. The miracle of Xylocaine—greatest discovery since the bikini.” He took a suture pack from the cupboard. “Let’s sew you up and get you out of here.” He sat down next to her and pulled on some latex gloves. “All right, lay your hand on this.” He guided her hand over to a padded armrest. “Just relax. First I’m going to apply a small tourniquet. Fingers tend to bleed a lot and that makes it hard for me to see.” He rolled a small rubber ring down her finger. “You’ll feel some pressure, a little tugging, but you shouldn’t feel any pain.” He hooked the needle through the flap of flesh. She jerked.

He looked up. “Did you feel that?”

“Sorry. I’m just a little jumpy.”

“Try to hold still.”

“Sorry.”

He hooked the needle through the opposite flesh and tied the first stitch.

“How many stitches will this take?”

“Six or seven.” He sensed her anxiety. “You’re a florist?”

“Yes.”

“Where do you work?”

“Hyde Floral. It’s just a few miles from here, on Ninth.”

“Across from the Honda dealership.”

“Right.”

“I’ve bought your flowers before.”

“Cool. Your next order’s on me.”

“Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Lily Rose.”

He looked up. “Really?”

“I know. It was my grandmother’s name. Lillian Rose. I get razzed about it every day at work. I guess I’m in the wrong line of work.”

“Or the right one.” He pulled a thread up and tied it. “It’s nice to meet you, Lily. Though next time we’ll meet at your place.”

“No argument here.”

“Whom were you cooking for?”

“My family. We get together once a year to remind ourselves why we stay away from each other the rest of the year. If you’re off soon, you’re welcome to join us.”