I stop at Elizabeth’s door before I enter her room. I’m awestruck by what I see. I was wrong, blue is not her color. It’s green. Definitely green.
I’m assuming she’s wearing something Mallory brought her yesterday. It’s hot today, and she’s not beneath the bed sheet, so I can pretty much see her from head to toe. Her tanned legs are crossed at the ankles and I follow the shapeliness of them until my eyes meet the frayed hem of the sleeping shorts she’s wearing. The matching top is riding up on her stomach where the monitor is strapped around her, showing off the flesh of her ribs. The top, also frayed at the hem, boasts a pattern of hearts over her left breast.
I finish my perusal of her when my gaze reaches her face, where I find her eyes glued to the television.
“Yes!” she yells suddenly, causing me to jump out of my skin.
Having been pulled out of my trance, I finally cross the threshold into her room. I look up at the TV to see what’s so exciting. Baseball scores. She’s excited over baseball scores.
Her eyes flitter briefly to mine and she smiles before focusing on the screen once again. “Highlights are next,” she says. “Want to watch them with me?”
“Sure.” I put the cups and spoons on the table next to her bed and sit down in the chair.
We silently watch the highlight reels of yesterday’s baseball games. I’m about to say something, when she sits up suddenly and cheers.
“Oh, my God, did you see that? That was a double play!” she squeals, her face beaming.
The reel plays two or three more times because I guess it’s a contender for their play of the week. A catcher for the New York Nighthawks dances backwards, tripping over the umpire to get to a high-tipped foul ball, catching it before throwing it to second base to get out the runner, who apparently didn’t think the catcher would get to the ball, so he was just walking back to the base.
“Impressive,” I say.
The program goes on to show highlights of other MLB games and Elizabeth becomes uninterested, turning the volume down before she notices the Jell-O cups stacked on the tray table. She questions me with raised brows.
“For round two,” I say. “Unless you’ve already picked your favorite.”
She smiles sadly. “I haven’t, but I’m not sure I’m up for that game again.”
Damn. I did go too far with the whole married question. But it makes me wonder just what’s going on with her. Was she upset because she is married, or because she isn’t?
“Not to worry, I’ll go easy on you.” I nod to a robe tossed over the back of the chair. “Now let’s get your robe on, I’m breaking you out of this popsicle stand.”
“Really?” Her blue eyes light up.
God, I’m going to miss those amazing blue eyes in three and a half weeks.
Wait . . . what the hell, Kyle? She’s your patient. You’re with Gina.
You are with Gina, right?
“The wheelchair you requested, Dr. Stone,” Abby says, bringing it to Elizabeth’s bedside. Then she walks around her bed and takes the blood pressure cuff out of the basket and proceeds to place it on Elizabeth’s arm. “If you’re going on an outing, we need to make sure you’re all good. And you should visit the bathroom first to make sure you aren’t bleeding.”
“Slave driver,” I say to Abby with a wink.
After Elizabeth uses the bathroom, I hand her the lightweight robe from the chair. “This is nice,” I say, running my hand over the soft material.
“I know, right?” she says. “Your sister-in-law gave it to me, along with this sleeper set and a few nightgowns. She said your mother spoils her and she had too many to wear. She even brought me a few books on what to do when you’re bedridden during pregnancy. I like her. She seems pretty great.”
“Mallory is one of the good ones,” I say. “You know, I have another sister-in-law who would love to visit you as well. And a few friends of mine, three sisters actually, who could keep you company.”
I help her into the wheelchair and then hand her the spoons and the Jell-O.
“I’m not a charity case, Kyle.” She looks up at me in a huff. “Oh, my God, did you tell them I’m homeless? I’m not, you know. I have a place. It’s nothing special, but at least it’s mine.”
A wave of relief courses through me knowing she wasn’t living on the streets.
“I didn’t tell them anything, Elizabeth. There are rules, you know. But when I was having dinner with Mallory and my brother last night, she mentioned how much she thought you were like her group of friends. Said you’d probably fit right in. She thought maybe they could each come meet you, you know, to break up the monotony. Keep you from going stir crazy.”
“I guess it might be nice to have some visitors,” she says as I wheel her into the hallway.
“Then it’s okay if I tell them they can stop by?” I ask with a hopeful grin.
She nods hesitantly. “I’m just not sure what they expect to get out of it.”
“How about a new friend?” I ask.
“Friend,” she muses mostly to herself as if it’s a foreign concept.
I push the down button for the elevator. “Elizabeth, I’m glad to hear you have a place, even if you think it’s nothing special. But I have to ask—you’ll be here for a long time, how are you going to make the rent?”
“Luckily, I paid it the day before I was admitted. That was on the second so it will get me through to the end of August.”
“What about after that?” I ask. “You aren’t working now. What’ll you do when you get discharged?” I crouch down beside her and keep my voice low. “I’d like to help. You know, just until you get back on your—”
“Kyle, stop,” she says, disapprovingly. “I’m not about to take any handouts. Besides, you’re a resident. I’ve seen Grey’s Anatomy. I know you probably don’t make much more than what covers your own rent. Thank you, but no. I’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out.”
I nod, not wanting to push her on the subject. “Okay, but the offer stands. If you get home and you realize—”
She stops my words with her venomous stare. “What about me not taking handouts do you not understand, Dr. Stone?”
Shit.
“Sorry,” I say, putting my hands up in surrender. “Not another word. I have no doubt you’ll figure it all out. You’re a strong woman, Elizabeth.”
The elevator arrives and I push her in, pressing the button for the ground floor.
“Why would you say that? That I’m strong,” she asks. “You don’t even know me.”
“Yeah, but I know people,” I tell her. “A lot of people come through the doors of this hospital. As doctors, part of our job is to read the signs, learn what they can and can’t handle. My instinct tells me that you’ve probably already handled a lot. Becoming a single parent can’t be easy, yet I’ve never heard you complain about it.”
She rubs a hand across her belly. “Not much I can do about it now,” she says. “This is happening whether I had planned on it or not. Might as well make the best of it.”
I roll her through two sets of double doors to the courtyard in the center of the hospital. All the wings of the hospital are built around the large arboretum that is lined with trees, benches and decorative sidewalks.
They can’t build hospitals like this in the city anymore. But this one was one of the original hospitals in New York, built over a hundred years ago. It’s considered a historic building, in fact, so it can’t be torn down to maximize space.
Being in the courtyard is nothing like walking around the city. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Serene. I remember spending hours upon hours out here studying for my intern exams last spring.
“Oh, wow,” Elizabeth says, as I push her down the path towards a seating area. “The flowers are amazing.”
“Would you believe the hospital employs its own gardener?”
“I believe it,” she says. “Normally these types of flowers wouldn’t grow without full sunlight.” She looks up at the eight-story building that surrounds the courtyard. “A good bit of light is blocked by the building. He must work very hard.”
“You garden?” I ask.
“Oh, yes,” she says. Then her smile falls. “Well, I used to.”
I stop pushing her when we reach my favorite bench. “This okay?” I ask.
“Perfect,” she says. “I would have picked this bench, too.”
I tilt my head at her. “Why?”
“See those flowers? They’re lavender, a calming flower. Their scent is supposed to help with stress. A lot of people spray it in their bedrooms at night to help them sleep.”
“Ahh, well, that explains it then.”
“Explains what?” she asks.
“How I passed my intern exams. I used to sit here on this bench every chance I got to study for them.”
She laughs. “How did a plant that makes you sleepy help you pass your tests?”
“You said yourself it helps with stress.”
“By making you sleepy,” she says with an eye roll.
“Oh, well whatever it was, it worked because I rocked my exams.”
She smiles. “I can see that about you. You look like you are very dedicated to becoming a great doctor. I’ll bet you’ll be one of the best male obstetricians at this hospital.”
I guffaw loudly. “Oh, hell, no. While I want to learn everything I can about delivering babies, I’ve no intention of doing it for my career. And thank God for that because my attending hates me, or rather, she hates my father.”
She shakes her head. “What? Why does she hate your dad, and why are you working on the OB floor if you aren’t going to be an obstetrician?”
“First, my dad slept with my attending—over thirty years ago, mind you. Then he left her for my mother. Guess she holds a long damn grudge. Second, my specialty is emergency medicine. The first time you came to the hospital, I was on an ER rotation. That is where I’ll spend more than half of this year. When you came back, earlier this week, I was starting my OB rotation where I’ll be for the next several weeks. I’ll also do rotations in pediatric intensive care, trauma, and critical care.”
“So, you’ll only be babysitting me for a few weeks?” She sighs and looks down at the sidewalk, biting the nail of her pinky finger.
“Three and a half more weeks, to be exact. I think you’ll more than likely deliver before I’m done with my rotation. Thirty-seven weeks is when we’ll schedule you for a C-section if it doesn’t happen before then.”
She rubs her belly protectively. “I hope it doesn’t happen before then. He or she needs more time in there.”
“He or she is getting the very best care possible, Elizabeth. Don’t you worry.”
I reach over and take the cups of Jell-O from her. “I believe it’s still my turn,” I say, handing her one of the spoons.
She looks at me wearily, with trepidation. I know she thinks I’m going to ask her the same question we ended on yesterday.
“So, Ms. Smith, never have I ever read a romance novel. And if you knew who my friends were, that might surprise you, because one of them is an author.”
Elizabeth picks up the purple container. “I’m only taking one bite, even though I’ve read about a thousand of them. What’s your friend’s name? Has she written anything good?”
“She’s pretty successful,” I say. “Some of her books have been made into movies. Her name is Baylor McBride, but she writes under the name Baylor Mitchell. My sister-in-law, Charlie, was practically raised with her and her two sisters.”
She swallows her Jell-O before her jaw hits her lap. “Shut up!” she says. “You know Baylor Mitchell?”
“You’ve heard of her?”
“Heard of her? I have several signed copies of her books.” She frowns. “Well, I used to. But, yes, she’s one of my favorite authors. Wait . . .” She looks at me all wide-eyed before bouncing around in her chair. “Don’t tell me she’s one of the sisters you were telling me about who you wanted to come visit me.”
I nod in amusement at her giddiness.
“No way.” She looks down at her robe, smoothing it onto her legs. “I mean, I don’t have any clothes. I can’t meet her. Oh, my God, Kyle. Really?”
I laugh. “Yes, really. And believe me when I tell you she won’t give a shit what you wear, Elizabeth.” I hold up my unused spoon. “Now, come on, it’s your turn.”
She tries to tamp down her ear-to-ear smile but doesn’t do a very good job of it. Damn, I love pleasing this woman.
“Um . . .” She bites down on her lower lip in thought. And, Christ Almighty, if watching her do that doesn’t do something to me. “Never have I ever written my name in the snow with pee,” she says.
I laugh, grabbing the purple Jell-O cup. “That was way too easy,” I say, before taking a bite. Then I take my turn. “Never have I ever eaten oysters.”
She looks like she swallowed a bug before she picks up the red cup and takes a bite.
“Not an oyster fan?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I never developed a taste for them, not even after having them dozens of times.”
I cock my head to the side. “Then why keep punishing yourself by eating them?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes it just wasn’t worth an argument.”
I nod in understanding. “Parents torture you with slimy sea creatures?”
“Something like that,” she says with a sad smile. “Kyle, I’m kind of tired, would you mind taking me back up to my room?”
“Of course,” I say, gathering up the spoons and cups and tossing them into a nearby trashcan.
She’s silent the entire way back to her room, making me wonder if talking about her parents is a difficult subject. Maybe they’re dead which is one of the reasons she’s alone.
When I get her hooked back up to the fetal monitor, she looks up at the TV and then back at me. “Kyle?” she asks. “Would you watch a baseball game with me tomorrow night? I mean, since you’re required to babysit me and all?”
“I’m not on duty then, so—”
“It’s okay,” she cuts me off, trying her best not to look sad. “Never mind then.”
“Elizabeth, would you shut up for a second,” I say, my lips twitching in amusement. “I was going to say that since I’m not on duty, I can stay for the whole game without being interrupted by pages and scut work.”
“I would never ask you to stay here on your night off,” she says, looking guilty. “You probably work too much as it is.”
“Watching a baseball game with my favorite patient is hardly work, Elizabeth.”
“I thought I was your only patient,” she says.
“You are. That makes you my favorite.” I wink at her.
She rolls her eyes just as my pager goes off.
“Get some rest,” I tell her. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”
“Doctor’s orders?” she asks.
“Doctor’s orders,” I say, walking out her door.
As I make my way to the nurses’ station to answer my page, I realize I’m excited about tomorrow night. And for the life of me, I can’t remember anything I’ve looked forward to as much as this.