Chapter Five
The driver hit the brakes and the van stopped abruptly. Kathleen winced in pain and Hayden squeezed her hands in sympathy. She was struck by how small they were. And cold.
So cold.
She adjusted the blanket on Kathleen’s lap, then cupped both her hands in hers.
Brian leaned forward from his seat on the bench, and said. “We just turned onto Briar Hill Road, Mom.”
Hayden glanced out the small window and saw the street unfold. It had changed so much over the years. Dirt had given way to tar and chip, and that had long since given way to paving. Houses filled what had once been empty lots. Trees that had been saplings when she was younger, had grown and now lent the neighborhood a feeling of establishment. Even though they’d long since shed their leaves, they stood sentinel, a reminder that winter would pass; that the cold would end and hotter temperatures would one day come again.
But as Hayden tried to will Kathleen’s icy hands warm, she knew that spring wouldn’t come for all of them and the thought brought a stab of pain. Hayden was growing accustomed to that particular sensation and almost welcomed it, because if she hurt, at least she knew she could still feel. It was better than the numbness that seemed to envelop her the rest of the time.
She watched as the transport van pulled into the driveway. The house hadn’t changed nearly as much as the neighborhood had. Kathleen had put a new roof on two years ago. The black and green shingles seemed to bring a breath of freshness to the house. But other than that, and an occasional new coat of paint, it looked the same as it did the first time she’d knocked on the door.
The van came to a standstill.
Brian wordlessly started to unbuckle Kathleen’s wheelchair and Hayden helped as the driver opened the door and set up the lift.
As Kathleen was lowered to the drive, it occurred to Hayden that this was it. Kathleen wouldn’t be leaving the house again.
Brian’s expression said he was having similar hard and painful thoughts.
“Bri—” Hayden got no further than his name because at that moment Olivia ran out to greet them. Hayden was struck by the fact her daughter was no longer a little girl. She was sixteen and on the verge of womanhood.
Brian leaned down and whispered, “Frightening how quick she’s growing up, isn’t it? Seems like only yesterday I was watching you run toward me from that same front door.”
“Nana.” Livie threw herself at her grandmother’s wheelchair. Hayden made a move to restrain her, to keep Livie from possibly hurting Kathleen, who was visibly tired. At the last moment, Liv slowed and with an amazing amount of tenderness, leaned over and hugged her grandmother. Her auburn curls falling over Kathleen’s shoulder, draping her.
From the house, a woman approached them. Small, squat, built like a linebacker, she waddled up to the group and knelt, so she was eye level with the wheelchair. “Hi, Kathleen.”
She stood and added, “Hayden, Brian.” All business, the woman took control of the wheelchair, pushing it toward the makeshift ramp that led into the house.
There was nothing left to do but thank the driver and follow.
“You’re sure she’s who we want?” Brian asked.
Hayden could understand his concern. Marti Striver didn’t look like an angel of compassion. But Hayden knew better.
1992
Hayden liked working nights. In order to attract nurses to the third shift, the hospital offered a new three-day, twelve-hour shift. That allowed Hayden four uninterrupted days with two-year-old Olivia.
It was the perfect solution.
But that wasn’t the only reason for working the night-shift. Hayden liked the quiet floor, the hushed tones, the slower pace when the daytime hustle and bustle had quieted to a mere whisper of activity.
Her soft-soled shoes made no noise as she walked down the hall, ready to make her rounds. It was especially slow tonight. She only had four children that she was responsible for, which gave her an opportunity to spend time with any of her charges who had trouble sleeping. She’d read a story here, given a cuddle there.
Kathleen had always said that the comforting part was the best medicine any nurse could give and Hayden tried to remember that.
She tiptoed into Sean Martin’s room. The ten-year-old was a favorite. He had aplastic anemia and needed frequent transfusions, which made him a repeat visitor to the floor. Since his initial diagnosis, his disease had progressed to leukemia, and Hayden knew there wasn’t much time left for him. Children with aplastic anemia rarely lived beyond the age of seventeen. Because Sean was still so young, they’d hoped he’d have a few more good years, but that wasn’t to be.
That knowledge, losing a favorite patient, was one of the hardest parts of her job. Her kids all touched her, but some more than others. Sean was one of those more-than patients. His crooked smile and eternal optimism endeared him to anyone who knew him.
She opened his door and found an unfamiliar woman in the room. The woman put a finger to her lips and walked into the hall without looking back, just assuming Hayden would follow.
She sized Hayden up, then nodded, as if she’d approved of whatever she’d seen. She held out her hand. “Marti Striver.”
“Hayden MacNulty.” She gave the woman a questioning look.
“I’m with hospice. Sean had a bad day and his mother was exhausted and went home for a rest. I promised to stay with him while she was gone.”
“How bad a day?”
“It won’t be long.”
Hayden knew she should be hardened to these harsh truths. Nurses were trained to maintain their emotional distance. But she wasn’t hardened, and had never mastered maintaining any kind of distance from her patients, particularly a sweetie like Sean.
“Are they taking him home?”
Marti shook her head. “They have a houseful of kids and don’t think it would work. Between you and me, I don’t think his mother can deal with watching him die.”
“You’re right, I was with her last night. She’s a basket case.” Hayden heard the derision in her voice and knew it sounded unsympathetic.
Before she could add anything to soften the comment, Marti said, “Everyone deals with pain in a different way. When you’ve been nursing a little longer, you’ll recognize that. Some people shut down, some rage, some fight, some cut off everyone and some are just basket cases. His mom’s doing the best she can, trying to keep it all together for him, for the other kids and for her husband. She can meltdown with us, with the medical staff, because we’re safe. We don’t need or demand anything from her, so she can let go of her defenses.”
Hayden felt a flood of embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like it sounded.”
Marti laughed. “Don’t apologize. I’ve dealt with more than my share of pain-in-the-ass families and patients, though more often than not it’s the families who are the biggest pains. But I try to remember the nurse’s three c’s. I don’t always manage, but I do try.”
“Three c’s?”
“Caring, comfort, curing. We can’t always manage the cure, but the other two …” She smiled and glanced at the door. “I’d best get back in.”
“I have to check the chart and then make the rest of my rounds. But afterward, can I bring you something?”
“Coffee would be nice. I’ll confess, I’m addicted. My husband keeps trying to wean me onto herbal teas, but it’s like drinking hot, colored water.”
Hayden laughed. And though they’d only chatted about coffee and the occupation they shared, Hayden sensed something about the feisty woman … she was all heart.
Hayden watched Marti wheel Kathleen into the house, Livie trailing closely behind them.
Hayden turned and nodded at Brian. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure Marti is the one we want. She’s an acquaintance of your mom’s—close enough to be familiar, but not so close that intimate care will be embarrassing. You’ll learn to love her. Everyone does.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to reach out and take her hand. But the feeling passed. They both walked toward the porch, side by side, worlds apart.
Marti had told her so many years ago that everyone dealt with pain in their own way. Hayden had seen it for herself. Some couples came together, united in their circumstance, supporting each other, strengthening each other.
And some people cut themselves off from those they loved. She recognized that she and Brian were doing just that. Each of them pulling back from the other, struggling alone with the pain. Hayden wished she could make herself—make Brian—respond differently, but the awful truth was, she didn’t know how. And she no longer had the energy to figure it out.
She followed Brian into the house, knowing that once she entered, nothing would ever be the same.