At three-thirty a.m., Gilly went through the shift change notes, updating Aubree Wright, the nurse who worked the next shift, with everything that had happened over the last twelve hours. “Ina Crawford’s sister brought her in around six. Ina was having breathing problems, so I called Dr. Blackwood. He admitted her as a precaution. She’s in Room 4. I sent Marabelle home, though, to get a good night’s rest. She’ll be back first thing to check on Ina. Around eight, Archer Gates brought his mother in complaining of stomach pains. Since this is her fifth bout, Dr. Blackwood had me call Dr. Nighthawk in to assess her situation.”
“Does that mean she’ll need surgery?” Aubree asked, knowing Gideon Nighthawk was the brand-new surgeon hired within the last month out of Chicago.
“Probably. Down the road,” Gilly replied with a yawn. “Sorry. I’m running on my last bit of caffeine and I’m ready to drop into bed.”
“Then go on home. I have it from here,” Aubree assured her, brushing back a mop of raven-black hair. “What’s this in the log about a fifteen-month-old?”
Gilly smiled, recalling Delaney and her pop. “Skittish new daddy. Don’t be surprised if he comes back before dawn. I wrote down his name.”
“Simon Bremmer,” Aubree muttered, reading the details of the visit. “Are we talking about the same cute guy, a mop of brownish-blond hair, soulful blue eyes that look like they’ve seen the world but want to keep it all a secret, stands about six-one? That guy?”
“Six-two,” Gilly confirmed.
“I’ve seen him at The Shipwreck a couple of times. He doesn’t have a baby.”
“He does now,” Gilly underscored before another wide yawn took over. “I’m outta here. You have the bridge, Miss Aubree.”
After clocking out, Gilly darted over the walkway to her ancient Subaru Outback, a 1998 dark blue station wagon with enough miles on it to have traveled around the world six times or more. But as long as Wally Pierce could keep it running, it would get her around town and that’s all she needed.
She never went anywhere, never traveled very far from her base. Where was there to go with an active toddler anyway?
On automatic, as if the Outback had a mind of its own, she headed to her little one-story Craftsman at the corner of Crescent Street and Tradewinds Drive. It was more like a caretaker’s cottage that she’d recently painted sea-moss green with white trim on the shutters. It had three tiny bedrooms and only one bath, but it had the original working fireplace in the living room and a decent-sized front porch.
When she’d bought it from Logan Donnelly, he’d insisted on redoing the inside before she moved in. That was fine by her. A first-time buyer didn’t argue when someone wanted to knock out a few walls and open up the floor plan. The house might be small, but it had new flooring throughout and new appliances in the kitchen.
She turned into the longish driveway that led to a one-car detached garage. This was the only thing she really minded about getting off at four a.m.---the eerie darkness right before dawn that seemed more intimidating than any other time of night. She knew that made her sound like a Nervous Nellie. But a single mom had to be careful. She always dreaded getting out of the car and making that long walk to the back door. Or rather the dash running to the back door. She never walked at this time of night, she ran.
After getting inside and flipping on the lights, she looked around the kitchen at the tidy counters and spotless sink. One thing about having Mom for a babysitter, the former pediatric nurse hated the thought of dirt or clutter. And it showed. The stove gleamed and the cabinets were always neat with everything in its place.
Her mother, Connie Grant, now worked as Dr. Blackwood’s receptionist and day nurse. She’d taken Sydney’s place so that Sydney could go back to work at the hospital on the day shift and do what she did best---emergency medicine. Sydney went on duty at seven, handled any trauma cases or serious medical issues that cropped up during the day, assessing their situations, and stabilizing the patients until Quentin or Gideon could arrive.
Three nights a week, Connie babysat Jayden at her house, which was just down the street. Gilly would normally grab a few hours of shuteye until Connie dropped Jayden off around eight-thirty on her way to the doctor’s office. That meant that three days a week Gilly survived on four hours of sleep or less. If she was lucky, she might catch an extra hour and a half when Jayden went down for a nap. Otherwise, it was hands-on the minute little Jayden walked in the door.
Some days if she just couldn’t keep her eyes open, she’d cart him over to the Community Church and let their day care program do the job. Jayden went there anyway Monday through Wednesday during that void from three-thirty to five-thirty in the afternoon when Gilly left for work and Grandma still had two hours left at the doctor’s office. Afterward, Connie would pick him up, feed him, and get him off to bed.
It was a tough schedule, a weird workaround that might drive others up the wall. But for Gilly and Connie, they made it work. That’s why she considered herself fortunate to have her mother’s help. She knew other moms who weren’t as lucky.
For now, she carried that charmed feeling with her into the bedroom where she peeled off her scrubs, crawled beneath the covers, and yielded to bone-tired fatigue.