soda.
Good stuff, but hospital thoughts intruded on my digestion.
At 9:00 P.M. I decided to go back to the hospital for an unscheduled
visit. See how Mrs. Charles Lyman Jones the Third reacted to that.
Black night; the shadows on Sunset seemed to be moving in slow motion
and the boulevard turned spooky nearer to the good side of town. After
a few miles of hollow eyes, Thorazine shuffles, and scary motels,
Western Peds’s child-shaped logo and brightly lit Emergency Room arrow
signaled a welcome outpost.
The parking lot was nearly deserted now. Small amber bulbs in grilled
cases hung from the concrete ceiling, casting a hard-focus glow on
every other parking slot. The remaining spaces were totally dark,
creating a zebra-stripe effect. As I walked to the stairs I felt as if
someone were watching me. When I looked back, I was alone.
The lobby was empty, too, the marble floors mirrors of nothing.
One woman sat behind the Information window, methodically handstamping
some papers. The page operator was getting paid for showing up. A
clock ticked loudly. The smell of adhesive tape and a faint but
definite sweat-spoor lingered, remembrances of stress gone by.
Something else I’d forgotten: Hospitals are different at night.
The place was as spooky as the streets.
I took the elevator up to Five and walked through the ward,
unnoticed.
The doors to most of the rooms were closed; handwritten signs provided
occasional distraction: Protective Isolation, Injection Watch/No
Visitors. . The few doors that were open emitted TV sounds and the
cricket-clicks of metered I.V’s. I passed sleeping children and others
entranced by the cathode ray. Parents sat, stiff as plaster.
Waiting.
Chappy Ward’s teak doors vacuum-sucked me into dead silence.
No one was at the desk.
I walked over to 505 and rapped very softly. No answer. I opened the
door and looked in.
Cassie’s side rails were raised. She slept, guarded by stainless
steel.
Cindy slept, too, on the sofa bed, positioned so that her head was
close to Cassie’s feet. One of her hands extended through the bars,
touching Cassie’s sheet.
I closed the door softly.
A voice behind me said, “They’re sleeping.”
I turned.
Vicki Bottomley glared at me, hands on meaty hips.
Another double shift?” I said.
She rolled her eyes and began walking off.
“Hold on,” I said. The sharpness in my voice surprised both of us.
She stopped, turned slowly. “What?”
“What’s the problem, Vicki?”
“There is no problem.”
“I think there is.”
“You’re entitled.” She started to leave again.
“Hold it.” The empty corridor amplified my voice. Or maybe I really
was that angry.
She said, “I’ve got work to do.”
“So do I, Vicki. Same patient, as a matter of fact.”
She stretched one arm toward the chart rack. “Be my guest.
I walked up to her. Close enough to crowd. She backed away. I moved
forward.
“I don’t know what your problem with me is, but I suggest we deal with
it.”
“I don’t have any problem with anyone.”
“Oh? Is what I’ve seen so far your usual level of charm?”
The pretty blue eyes blinked. Though they were dry, she wiped them
quickly.
“Listen,” I said, retreating a step, “I don’t want to get into anything
personal with you. But you’ve been hostile to me from the beginning
and I’d like to know why.”
She stared at me. Opened her mouth. Closed it.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “I’ll be okay-no problem, I promise.
Okay?”
She held out her hand.
I reached for it.
She gave me fingertips. A quick shake and she turned and started to
walk away.
I said, “I’m going down to get some coffee. Care to join me?”
She stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Can’t. On duty.”
“Want me to bring a cup up for you?”
Now she turned quickly. “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” I said. “With your double-shifting, I figured you could use
some coffee.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’ve heard you’re terrific.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dr. Eves thinks a lot of you. As a nurse. So does Cindy.”
Her arms clamped across her chest, as if she were holding herself
together. “I do my job.”
“Do you see me getting in the way of that?”