NYCHELLE’S HEART WAS POUNDING, and a sour taste settled at the back of her throat as David talked about the comparative merits of the two most recent cities he’d lived in. She nodded at what seemed to be the appropriate times, although she was only minimally following what he was saying.
What on earth had come over her to go on a rant like that?
But she knew what had caused her to lose her cool. David was, in her opinion, perfect father material. He was kind, calm, beautiful of spirit. The knowledge that he didn’t want kids rankled. And when he’d seemed to be denigrating parenthood altogether...
She was overreacting. Also, she was the one who had imposed the rule about not discussing anything intimate, and she had broken it.
There was no way she could continue on the way they were. Too much simmered between them. Over the last few weeks she’d grown more and more intrigued by him, had felt attraction smoldering beneath her skin. Today had fanned it into a wildfire. He was all she’d ever wanted in a man. Yet once he knew she was pregnant there would be nothing left between them—maybe not even friendship—so she wanted to get it over with. Deal with it now rather than later, as Aliya had so wisely counseled.
It was hard to find the words, though, hard to trust him with her news, even though in her heart she knew it was the right thing, and they switched over to the New River line in silence.
The loss of camaraderie was no doubt her fault, and she withdrew into herself, trying to come up with the right words to make her decisions make sense to him the way they had to her.
Finally she turned to David, still unsure, but determined to do the right thing. “Listen,” she said, having to stop and clear her tight throat before she could continue. “I feel as though I owe you an explanation.”
He raised his hand, but she didn’t let him interrupt. If he said it was okay, she’d probably wimp out.
“From when I was a little girl I loved babies and other children. The ladies who looked after Olivia and I used to call me Little Momma.”
She pronounced it Lilli Mumma, the Jamaican way, out of habit, and saw him smile.
“I would get up before school and go to check on Olivia before I got dressed or had my breakfast. It just came naturally to me. I wanted to make sure she was okay, and felt as though it was my job to ensure she was. I was even like that with Aliya—which annoyed the heck out of her, since she’s actually a couple months older than me.”
David leaned back, his intense focus on her causing distracting shivers to run across her shoulders and down her arms, as happened every time she had his full concentration.
“So you’ve wanted to be a mother from when you were a little girl?”
“Yes.” She nodded, facing him head-on rather than looking away, the way she really wanted to. Their stop was coming up. People were rising, preparing to get off the boat. There might not be enough time to tell him everything she wanted to.
“But there’s more to it than that. You see, when I was thirteen I developed dysfunctional uterine bleeding. Eventually, because medication wasn’t working, I ended up having a D&C and there was some scarring. The doctors warned I may never get pregnant.”
The boat bumped the dock and people crowded around, getting closer to the exit point. Suddenly self-conscious about airing her personal business in public, she stopped talking. David was still staring at her, and she wished she could understand his expression, but he was keeping it carefully neutral; it was his professional face, as if she were a patient.
Tension making her feel almost nauseated, she got up. “Can we finish this conversation later?”
“Sure,” he replied.
But his gaze lingered on her face, making heat climb up her neck and into her cheeks.
The family group, which had changed over to the second water taxi with them, were getting ready to disembark too, and she turned to watch them. The father had taken hold of the older kids, helping the eldest put on his knapsack and carrying the other one. Mom juggled the now squirming baby and the ubiquitous diaper bag until the older lady said, “Let me take the nappy bag,” and relieved her of it.
As the younger woman said, “Thanks, Deana,” the older gentleman reached for the stroller, which had been folded up and stowed beneath the bench.
“I’ve got the buggy,” he said.
Nychelle was about to comment to David on the older folks’ English accents when the older man straightened, stroller in hand, took a staggering step back and then collapsed.
For a moment everything seemed to slow as the elderly man fell backward, and then she heard the crack of his head hitting the bench on the other side of the water taxi.
“George!”
The older woman was a step ahead of Nychelle, and fell to her knees beside the man’s crumpled body. She grabbed his shoulders, but Nychelle held on to her hands, stopping her from shaking the unconscious man.
“Wait—”
“I’m a doctor.” David was there, bending down, already reaching for the patient’s wrist. “Let me take a look.”
“Give us some room,” Nychelle said to the woman, hoping she’d back away. When she only continued crying out her husband’s name, and wouldn’t release her grip on his shoulders, Nychelle turned to the rest of the family, who were standing as if turned to stone. “Someone help this lady up. And call 911 immediately.”
There was a flurry of activity: the younger man rushed forward to pull the distraught woman away, one of the deckhands shouted to the captain to tell him what had happened. As soon as the other woman was out of her way Nychelle concentrated on the patient. He was partially seated, slouched against the base of the bench, held up by a jut in the gunwale.
“Pulse is elevated, but strong. Respiration within normal range. Pupils responsive.” David straightened from his examination. “Stabilize his head. Let’s get him flat on the deck.”
Nychelle did as she was told, holding the gentleman’s head and neck while David supported his upper torso, so as to shift him away from the bench without risking any additional injury to his spine.
“Gently. Gently...” he said. “And down we go.”
As soon as they had the gentleman flat, Nychelle said, “Scalp laceration,” although she was sure David would have noticed the blood on the bench, and the spreading pool on the deck where the man’s head now lay.
David reached around to palpate the wound. “No obvious sign of fracture.” He straightened. “Apply pressure.”
None of the towels in her bag was clean, so Nychelle looked over her shoulder at the baby’s parents. “Give me a clean diaper. Hurry.”
The mother moved first, bending to scrabble in the bag for one, handing it over with a shaking hand.
Folding it inside out to create a pad, Nychelle pressed it to the wound, glad they didn’t need to lift the man’s head for her to do so.
David leaned closer to the gentleman. “George? George? Can you hear me?”
When there was no response, he flicked his finger on the patient’s cheek and called to him again. It was only on the third try that George’s eyelids fluttered and he moaned.
When his eyes opened a crack, David said, “Hey, there. You’re all right, but stay still for me.”
“Wh-what happened?”
Despite David’s injunction for him to stay still George made a move to sit up, and David stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Where am I?”
“You fell and hit your head. The ambulance is on its way, but I need you to stay still.” David’s calm voice had the patient relaxing, although his face was lined with pain. “Can you answer a few questions for me?”
“Y-yes.” George scrunched his eyes closed for a moment, but then opened them slightly again.
“How old are you?”
“Eighty-three,” he replied, with only a fractional hesitation before the words.
“Do you have a heart condition?”
“No. High blood pressure, though. Take pills for that.”
“Any other medications?”
“No.” He squeezed his eyes closed again, and a little groan followed his reply.
“Where does it hurt, George?”
“Have a cracking headache. And someone’s using a damned blowtorch on my leg.”
“Left or right?”
“Left.”
Nychelle was glad to hear the distant sound of approaching sirens. There was only so much they could do for this gentleman. David had asked George to move his leg, and although he could a bit, it obviously caused him a lot of pain. Nychelle suspected a broken hip and, while most people might assume the fall had caused the break, she knew that more often than not the break actually happened first, causing the fall. Many older people weren’t aware of the dangers of bone loss caused by aging and other chronic, sometimes undiagnosed, conditions until a situation like this one arose.
Having finished his exam, David offered no opinion other than to say, “The ambulance should be here any minute. Would you like your wife to keep you company until the paramedics get here? She’s been very worried about you.”
“Yes.” George’s English accent was even more pronounced than before. “Let her see I’m not done for yet.”
David looked over to where the rest of family were all huddled together on the dock. Everyone but a deckhand had disembarked in preparation for the EMTs’ arrival. “What’s her name?”
“Deana.”
Nychelle knew that with each question and reply David was testing the injured man’s mental abilities.
“Pretty name,” David said, eliciting a small smile from the patient.
When David called and gestured to Deana, the deckhand helped her back on board and she hurried over. Kneeling beside her husband, she grabbed his nearest hand.
“It’s all right, darling.” George tried to be reassuring, although his voice was weak. “Just a little fall.”
“What happened to him?” Deana asked David, her voice quavering. “Was it a heart attack?”
“The ambulance is on its way. They’ll be able to better tell you what happened when he gets to the hospital.”
“Why won’t you tell me?” Her voice rose beseechingly. “You said you were a doctor. You should know what’s happened. I need to know what’s happened to my husband—”
“Stop it, Dee.” George’s voice was firm, and he gave his wife’s hand a little shake. “Enough. The poor doc was just having a nice day out with his lady. I doubt he has a stethoscope or any other equipment hidden in his shorts, do you?”
His voice was a little breathy, and Nychelle was relieved that the wail of the ambulance had stopped. The EMTs should be there soon. The diaper was already heavy with blood, and Nychelle could see the first signs of incipient shock; George had paled, his respirations were quickening, and a touch of his face revealed he was clammy.
“It’s okay, George.” David was as calm as ever. “Deana, here come the paramedics. They’re going to need you to go back onto the dock so they can do their job.”
Instead of moving Deana added her other hand to the clasp she had on her husband. “No. I—”
It wasn’t unusual to have family members be more difficult than the patients, so Nychelle tamped down her frustration. Looking Deana in the eyes, she said, “If you truly want to know what’s happened to George, let the EMTs get him to the hospital as quickly as possible.”
Perhaps it was her tone, or the seriousness of her expression. But something got through to the woman, who bent quickly to kiss her husband on the lips and then moved back toward the dock, just as the rattle of equipment heralded the paramedics’ arrival.
“Forgive her,” George muttered. “She’s a firecracker. Always has been.”
“It’s fine,” Nychelle replied in a reassuring tone. He’d grown even paler, and was beginning to shake. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal at all.”
But she was still a bit steamed. She was used to having patients doubt her abilities—sometimes even rudely. It was part of the job, and it didn’t bother her anymore. But somehow hearing someone seeming to question David’s competence had just set her teeth on edge.
David rose, getting out of the way so the lead paramedic could take his place. As the EMT gave him a questioning look David introduced himself, then said, “Patient staggered and fell backward, striking his head. He was unconscious for approximately two minutes. Pulse and respiration are within normal range, although rapid. He sustained a scalp laceration and I suspect he also has a broken hip. With the way he fell, I’d check for neck fractures and TBI.”
The second paramedic approached with a neck brace and backboard, and Nychelle scooted away, giving her room. The first paramedic was asking David more questions as the two EMTs worked in a coordinated rhythm to prepare George for his trip to the hospital.
There was nothing left for her to do, so Nychelle got up, gingerly picking up her bag as she did so, hoping not to get too much blood on it. Standing to one side, her attention wasn’t on the paramedics or their patient. It was all on David: on his expression as he watched the EMTs fit George with the neck brace and backboard, on the timbre of his voice as he answered their questions. She was fascinated by the way his long fingers flexed, as though his capable, beautiful hands wanted to get back to helping the patient, and then by how quickly he moved to assist the paramedics lifting George onto the stretcher.
He was a man made for his profession; his desire to diagnose, to heal, was ingrained into his soul. Yet it was just one part of him—an important facet, but just one of many that added up to the most amazingly perfect man she’d ever met.
Suddenly, just as the stretcher was being moved toward the dock, he looked up and caught her staring. In that moment, as their gazes met, the chaos seemed to subside and a sense of almost surreal calm enfolded her. The spark that zinged between them couldn’t be denied even if she wanted to. It wasn’t the aftermath of the incident making her knees weak and her heart leap. It was him. All him.
The stretcher rattled past her and Nychelle blindly turned to follow its path. She vaguely registered the family milling about and hurrying off after the paramedics.
Then David was beside her.
“Let’s get out of here.”
All thoughts of their prior conversation fled. She didn’t ask where they were going—didn’t ask any questions at all. She just nodded, knowing she’d go wherever he wanted.