Chapter Twelve

A s they navigated the next few weeks, he and Susan found a routine juggling Audrey’s wake, sleep, poop, and eating patterns.

Lucy, who ran the ER, scheduled Reynolds’s shifts consecutively, to give him long periods off.

Susan’s foster parenting classes ran on four consecutive weekends while she managed her hospital and clinic orientation as well as completing mountains of paperwork for state-required midwife and nurse practitioner certifications.

Their siblings and coworkers helped by bringing food and providing short-term babysitting.

Even though Nate still voiced his concerns about the potentially disastrous outcome of all this, more than once Reynolds caught his brother reading to Audrey as he cradled her in his arms. All the while, Odin sat on the armrest of the couch, looking over his brother’s shoulder.

You old softie.

Motherhood immediately agreed with Susan. She glowed as though she had birthed Audrey herself. Even on the nights when sleep eluded her, she navigated this new adventure, as she called it, with class and confidence.

Not that he expected anything else.

More than once, they ended up lying in one or the other’s beds, fully clothed of course, as they spoke about their days and Audrey’s most recent cuteness factor. Then, she’d fall asleep between them or in the bedside crib.

Even with the constant mutual simmering attraction, both managed to keep it about as uncomplicated as humanly possible.

And Reynolds was about to lose his mind.

“How’s fatherhood?” Sue Westbrook, Shelly’s aunt, asked during a steady shift on Memorial Day weekend.

“It’s a hard learning curve, but we’re figuring it out.”

“It’s always a learning curve. Even when they’re teens.” Sue chuckled while juggling five things at once at the central ER desk.

“Something to look forward to.” Hopefully.

Pointing to room four, Shelly laughed, “Speaking of teens. Your frequent flyer is back.”

“What did he do this time?” He didn’t wait for an answer but walked in to find Ford Hanson sitting on the stretcher, his hand wrapped in a bloodied towel. Again. “Ford.”

“Hey! Dr. Reynolds. How’s it going?” Before he graduated high school, Ford played offensive line for one of the schools in Bozeman, taking them to the playoffs for the first time in decades. Since then, he seemed to spend more time in the ER than he did in class. “I was in the neighborhood. Visiting my grandma. Thought I’d come by.”

“Thanks for that Ford, but you don’t have to be injured to see me. What’s going on today?” He motioned for the teen to hold out his arm, and Reynolds slowly unwrapped it, revealing a bruised, bloodied, and, most certainly, broken hand.

“This friend of mine told me that he could hit a brick wall with his fist, and it wouldn’t hurt. I said he was full of crap.”

Well, I know where this is going. “And?”

“And I’m here.”

“Short and sweet. Open and close your hand if you can.”

With slow movements, Ford winced and pointed to the outer knuckles. “These two hurt the most.”

“I bet they do. Your friend going to be my next patient?”

“He said he wouldn’t get injured on account he takes some sort of karate shit and he didn’t get hurt,” Ford snarled.

Nodding, Reynolds smirked at Ford’s youthful arrogance and invincibility. “Do you know why?”

“Why what?”

“Your friend probably didn’t break anything?” Reynolds glanced at the clock. He had two hours left before he’d go home. For the first time in weeks, he’d be off for four days straight.

His heart beat a little faster as he thought about it.

“He scratched up his hand, but nothing was broken. Bastard.” Ford pouted as his University of Wisconsin T-shirt appeared to be at its stretch limit. “It’s probably because he’s like half my size. Kind of wimpy.”

Apparently, not so wimpy that he ended up in my ER. “It’s because of the way you each hit the wall.”

Ford’s eyebrows pinched. “What?”

“Usually, when people throw a punch, they come from the outside. Make an arch.” Reynolds illustrated the move in slow motion. “But your friend, he probably hit it straight on.”

“He did. He cheated!”

“No, he used the technique he learned in his classes. When you hit like you did, the smallest two fingers are going to get the biggest impact. But they have no support in the hand.” He held up Ford’s hand and pointed to the injured knuckles. “See, no support in your hand. Your friend hit straight on like they teach in many martial arts studies. The impact on these two knuckles but look. The support goes all the way down the forearm.”

When Lucy walked by, her ears perked up. “Good evening, Dr. Reynolds. Did I hear you talking about martial arts techniques?”

“Yes, Dr. Davidson. I was.”

Despite her size, Lucy could pack a serious punch since she studied kung fu and tai chi for years. First, as part of her rehab after the car accident, the Davidson siblings were in so long ago. Then as a way to stay in shape and not put up with anyone’s crap. Essential skills for a female ER doctor.

“You know about marital arts?” Ford scoffed, obviously deciding her size offered him no threat.

“Third-degree black belt,” she stated without a hint of playfulness.

Reynolds saw that same fierceness in her face that he witnessed in Susan’s when she took on Gunman Carl.

The fierce is strong with these women.

Then he silently laughed at his Star Wars reference.

“Wait! You’re the doctor who wouldn’t let me and my friends back last week. My friend fell off the truck, and broke stuff.” His upbeat mood turned angry.

Ford reminded Reynolds of those cartoon characters who shoot steam out of their noses when they don’t get exactly what they want.

Without a hint of concern, she stood as tall as an NBA all-star. “Your friend was in bad shape. We didn’t need all of you back here, getting him worked up and getting in our way.”

“But we’re his friends. He needed us there.”

“And I was his doctor. My job is to make sure he’s stable and taken care of. Not entertain all of you.”

“It was still a shit thing to do.”

“Then you wanted to hold his hand while we cleaned up the blood shooting out of his elbow? When we reset his wrist?”

Immediately, the kid’s face paled. “Not that part.”

“Or be there for the IV insertion?”

“No, I don’t like needles.”

“Or when we put in the bladder catheter?”

The kid shielded his groin. “No thanks.”

“Maybe keep his attention while I sewed up the lacerations on his face and chest?”

“All right! All right! I get it. You’re a badass.”

By now, she stood within arm’s reach, totally unfazed that this kid probably outweighed her four times over. “Thank you for noticing, Mr. Hanson. Do you have any other concerns about how I run this ER you wish to share today?”

Ford deflated as fast as the Barney the Dinosaur float did in the 1997 Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. “No, ma’am. Thanks for taking care of my friend.”

“It was my pleasure, Ford. I hope he’s recovering well.”

“Yes, ma’am. Good for you, about the martial arts, ma’am. Thanks, Dr. Reynolds. I’ll remember to punch it straight on next time my friend challenges me.”

“That’s not what Dr. Reynolds said.” Lucy leaned against the doorframe, a slight smirk to her face.

“I suggest not hitting a wall at all.” Reynolds glanced at the clock and said a small thank-you he’d be home soon.

“What’s the fun in that?” Ford rolled his eyes.

“There’s not any.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Lucy gave a wave. “And, Ford?”

“Yes, ma’am?” His answer was more reactionary than respectful.

“Make sure to keep checking on your friend. He’s got a long road of recovery ahead of him. He’s likely to get pretty depressed about what he’s missing.”

The kid rested his hands in his lap and picked at his fingernail. “Yes, ma’am.”

Reynolds smirked as Lucy exited. “You need an X-ray.”

“Dude.” Ford’s thick shoulders slumped. The subtle smell of nicotine drifted around him. “That’s my writing hand. How am I supposed to take my notes in class?”

Maybe you should have thought of that before you punched a brick wall. Long ago, Reynolds realized practical advice never made a damned bit of difference when it came to people who kept making dumb mistakes. “It’s Memorial Day weekend. Aren’t you out for the year?”

“My mom told me to stay at college because they’re selling the house. Can you believe that? Right before college, I make one stupid mistake, come home one weekend, and there’s a for-sale sign in the front yard.” He rolled his eyes. “The only place I can stay is the dorms, but I gotta take classes. I ditched class today to come see my grandma. She does my laundry.”

“Why not stay with your grandma in the summer?”

“My grandma is mean. And she smokes like a chimney. I’d rather stay in the dorms. The food is better. She only has ramen noodles and Cheez Whiz.”

“But she’s not so mean that you let her do your laundry?”

“She’s meaner if I don’t, but she makes my clothes smell like Marlboros. Gotta drive with the windows open to air them out.”

At least your parents told you where they were moving. Even now, Reynolds and Nate have no idea where their parents set up residence since Nate graduated high school. “Well, maybe you can ask someone to share their notes.”

Ford’s face lit up. “Get a hot, smart girl, to take them for me. There are a couple in my classes. I like hot, smart girls.”

So do I. “Sure, that works, too. As long as she’s interested in sharing them.”

For a moment, Ford stared blankly at Reynolds. “Are you talking about consent?”

“Not intentionally.” Although, it was good to hear the kid heard the word before. Hopefully, he understood it.

“I wouldn’t use any hot, smart girl’s notes without her consent. It wouldn’t be cool.” He air-quoted cool .

The response reminded Reynolds of Joey from Friends , when the character kept using the same hand gestures incorrectly.

Of course, Joey wasn’t six-five or two hundred and seventy pounds, but the comparison worked just the same. “None of the best people would ever use anyone’s notes without their permission. Give me a second.”

Leaving the room, Reynolds headed straight for the ER desk. “Sue, please order a right-hand X-ray to rule out a boxer’s fracture.”

“That kid is gonna meet his deductible before the summer is out.” Lucy tilted her chin toward the room. “He came in with one of his friends last week.”

“What happened?”

“Car surfing.”

“I guess Ford wasn’t the one surfing?” Reynolds checked for his pending rapid strep and a CBC in room five as the radiology tech took Ford for his films.

“Nope, but his friend was.” Lucy exhaled. “That kid was such a mess.”

“Where’s the friend now? The strep for room five is positive. No drug allergies. Let’s give the first antibiotic dose here, since the pharmacy doesn’t open for a few hours.”

“He’s recovering in Bozeman. Then he’ll go to long-term rehab.” Lucy tapped the computer screen. “He won’t make it to two-a-days come August. He’ll be lucky to be out of a wheelchair by Labor Day. Laceration in room six.”

“Damn. What did he break?” Reynolds rolled his neck from side to side, hoping he wouldn’t completely pass out as soon as he got home.

“One hip and both arms. He’s lucky he didn’t break his neck, but he landed in a field instead of on pavement, but they were going pretty fast.”

“I bet his parents were thrilled with that phone call.”

“The driver’s parents told him they were tired of his shit, and he should enlist or move out.” With a shrug, Lucy moved the pens around her scrubs pocket.

“Sometimes the military is the best option for kids who have a whole lot of energy, no direction, and zero respect for the rules.” Sue shook her head.

Lucy picked up an iPad. “For certain, Ms. Sue. Hopefully, he’ll appreciate what the army will teach him. I’ll be in room six. Dave, will you pull a suture kit and size seven gloves for me? When I get in there, I’ll know what sutures I need.”

“Be right there.” Dave, the nurse, gave a thumbs-up and headed to the supply room.

Reynolds rested his elbows on the counter and closed his eyes for a few moments.

“The circus getting to you, Dr. Reynolds?” Sue Westbrook’s fingers sailed across the keyboard after answering the ER line and texting something on her phone.

If energy were bottled, it would have Sue’s photo on the label. She seamlessly kept every aspect of the unit running as smoothly as melted ice cream on a hot sidewalk.

She grabbed a stack of papers off the printer, sorted and stapled them, and set them on the counter in front of her. “Discharge instructions. You’re off a few days, Dr. Reynolds. Got any interesting plans?”

“Four days off in a row. Gonna sleep when the baby sleeps.”

“You’ve got to, otherwise you’ll never get rest again.”

Sue motioned to Shelly when she approached the desk. “When did Freddie sleep through the night?”

“What do you mean by sleep through the night? Six? Eight hours? Twelve?” Shelly finished entering something on the iPad and placed it in the charging rack.

“More than three straight.” Reynolds pinched the bridge of his nose as the exhaustion of the last few weeks crept deeper into his bones. As prepared as he believed he was for the role of fatherhood, there was no way anyone could have prepared him for this level of exhaustion.

“Freddie started sleeping longer at night when he was about six months. The first time he slept from midnight to six, I remember waking up rested, but panicking that something was wrong. I ran to the bedside and he was simply staring at the world around him. Happy as could be.” Shelly chuckled. “Baby not sleeping well?”

“She’s fine. Doing what babies do. Susan’s amazing, though. I swear, the woman thought of everything. She’s taking care of the baby, finishing all the foster parenting classes, filling out the paperwork, helping schedule CPS visitation, and she’s getting ready for the clinic to open this week.” After all that, Reynolds wondered what the hell he was complaining about.

“Peyton’s excited about the official opening of the birthing center on Tuesday. She’s worked hard for this.” Sue patted her chest, a serene smile on her face. “If all goes well, Marietta is about to experience one epic baby boom in the next few years.”

Hopefully, Reynolds would make it through the next few hours without falling over from fatigue. “I planned to adopt as a single parent, but now, I wonder how I would have even pulled that off.”

Shelly tapped her penlight on the counter. “Things sound doable before reality hits. Parenting’s harder than it looks.”

A loud ouch from room six as the patient’s mom in room five stood in the doorway and shook her keys. The international gesture of annoyance and impatience, but one that did not make the ER staff move faster.

“How much longer before you can officially adopt?” Sue moved around the desk organizing between entering orders and answering the phone.

“We’re at almost seven of twenty-four weeks.” His heart thumped harder about the risk of Audrey leaving. He shoved the possibility away because obsessing about it didn’t help. “Still no news from the dad.”

“Twenty-five percent there.” Shelly patted him on the back. “We’re all rooting for you.”

“That we are. Cannot wait to celebrate.” Sue picked up the unit phone on the second ring.

“The Davidson siblings mentioned you and Susan are a good team.”

The siblings. Even though Lucy, Edmund, Peter, and their significant others frequently helped out, Peter still hadn’t warmed to Audrey as the others had. Plus, when they worked together, his demeanor turned stiff toward Reynolds.

Glancing behind him, Reynolds lowered his voice. “What’s the general discussion between them about all this?”

Shelly raised an eyebrow, and her eyes darted from her aunt and back to Reynolds. “You want the truth?”

No. “Absolutely.”

“Lucy and Edmund are concerned, but they say Susan looks happy so they’re going to go with it until she says otherwise.”

She looks happy? Guess my good impressions just keep on coming. “That’s two. What about Peter?”

When her lips went flat, Reynolds already knew the answer. “That bad, huh?”

She glanced toward the closed door of room six. “I love Peter, I truly do, but he’s having a very hard time. With him finding out about his kids in the past year and now Susan not acting herself as he puts it. He’s frustrated.”

“Why is Susan’s behavior bothering him this much?” He entered the prescription for antibiotics into the iPad and hit send. The desk printer hummed to life. “She’s an adult.”

“You have to understand. When that accident made him the head of the household, Susan was his rock. His stability. He said he would have lost his mind if it weren’t for her rational approach to it all.”

Over the past several weeks, Susan said little of that traumatic time in their lives, but Reynolds often wondered who her rock was during all that chaos. Because it sounded like she had no one. “I understand it was an awful time, but it’s been years since that happened, Shelly.”

“True, but the one person he could always set his watch to was Susan. Her practical, logical—”

“Responsible.”

“Yes, responsible, consistent approach to life. She put her head down and got it done most efficiently. It got them through college and the three through medical school. Made sure their mother was cared for before Charlie took over.”

The more Shelly told him, it hit him that out of the four of them, the only one who didn’t go to med school was the main caregiver. “Sounds like Susan took care of everything for everyone else, made sure the other three succeeded, and got her shit done. Now she needs their support and he’s angry?”

For a moment, Shelly stared at him, like she juggled her beloved’s words in her mind before giving a thoughtful answer. “No, not angry. Confused. And Peter hates being confused. My love desperately needs to be in control of things life throws at him. He’s learning he can’t control everything. That he doesn’t have to.”

“True that. He was such a stick-in-the-mud when he got here, but a few falls on his ass ice-skating helped humble him right up.” Sue laughed and placed the printed prescription on the counter. “He’s learning to calm down, but he’s got decades of that mindset to readjust. Give him time. He loves his sister. He loves she’s happy. He’ll come around.”

“You keep taking care of Susan and Audrey. The rest will fall into place.” Shelly patted his shoulder, and he appreciated his colleague’s encouragement.

“Thanks, ladies. I’ll keep all this in mind on my days off.” Four days off. A trio of blessed words.

“You want me to give discharge instructions and meds for the strep throat?” Shelly held her hand out as Ford came back from X-ray.

“Thank you. I’ll get Ford situated.” Reynolds glanced at his watch. “Two more hours to go and—”

When the triage bell went off again, Reynolds felt a little bit of his soul die. “Why are people coming to the ER at four in the morning?”

Sue chuckled as her half-moon glasses perfectly balanced on the bridge of her nose. “Guess the circus is still open.”