“Thank you for coming, Mr. Chance.”
“I’m glad to help.”
“Yes, your wife said you would be.” Nancy clasped her hands and steepled her fingers under her chin. This was her serious pose, and Raylyn had seen her strike it on many occasions.
“How may I be of service, Mrs. Bryant?” asked Mr. Chance.
“As you know, our ward cares for the most serious of cases. The wounded soldiers who come to us often don’t make it. Occasionally, however, we have a miracle in our midst, a soldier who against all odds pulls through.”
Raylyn studied the pattern on the tile floor and worked to hide her surprise at the visitor’s British accent.
As the conversation continued, she wondered, Why am I here? I know this already.
Nancy continued, “We have a soldier who recently rose from a coma.”
Raylyn sucked in a swift breath.
“For no apparent reason the soldier awoke. Within days therapy ensued, but the soldier has shown little progress.”
“May I ask why you need me? It seems more like a job for professionals.”
“The doctors claim this patient should be dancing through the halls on his new prosthetic leg. They can find nothing else physically wrong with him. We thought maybe if you spoke with him, perhaps invited people from your support group…”
“Of course. I’ll help in any way I can.”
Raylyn waited to be addressed. She gnawed on her lip. Nancy had forced her to take her normal time off, then as soon as she’d arrived for her regular shift, Nancy had dragged her into her office before Raylyn had had a chance to visually search the ward. What patient was Nancy talking about?
“Mr. Chance, if you’ll wait outside, someone will escort you.”
Raylyn discreetly watched as Mr. Chance limped out of the office.
Her musings about his injury were interrupted when Nancy explained, “That was Mr. Rory Chance, multi-millionaire, ex-British soldier, married to the famous Hannah Baker.”
“Uh-huh.” Raylyn couldn’t swallow. She’d read all about Rory in the tabloids, before and after his incident.
“He was injured in a military excursion and lost a leg. I believe…”
Raylyn couldn’t wait a moment longer to find out why she was in the boss’s office. She finished the story. “He was sheltered in a South African monastery when he rescued Hannah, his future wife, from human traffickers. Now the gent helps injured military men integrate themselves back into society.”
Nancy’s brow became a straight line, and Raylyn felt heat rush to her cheeks. She smoothed hair away from her face. “Sorry.”
Nancy relaxed her jaw. “I guess you want to know why I called you in.”
“Yes.”
“Raylyn, do you remember Jack?”
Raylyn tensed; her heart thumped madly against her ribs. Please Lord, let him be okay. “Yes.”
“While you were gone—”
Bells rang and alarms blared. Nancy and Raylyn jumped to their feet and rushed to the nurses’ station, their conversation completely forgotten.
“It’s bed five!” shouted the monitoring nurse.
They rushed along the aisle, but before they reached the bed, another nurse cut the machine and drew a white sheet over the patient’s face.
****
Raylyn sat in the cafeteria and nursed a cup of coffee. Bed number five had housed Jeffery Todd. He’d been twenty-three years old and newly married, and now he was gone.
A sniper’s bullet had penetrated the young man’s neck while he’d served U.S. military forces in the Middle East. Jeffery had arrived at the Grace Community Military Hospital in a coma. The doctors had retrieved the bullet, but the damage had already been done. The prognosis — only a miracle would save him.
“Miss Morrison?”
She swiped at her tears and looked up. “Yes?”
“They’ve been paging you.”
Her pager danced across the table. She pocketed it, tossed her coffee, and rushed to the stairwell. She took the stairs in a run, only stopping when she reached the ward’s door. She punched in the special key combination and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the door to swing open.
“Where have you been, child?” asked Nancy.
Out of breath, and holding her rising chest, she said, “In the cafeteria.”
“Oh, well. Here are your charts. After your shift, we need to finish our conversation.”
Raylyn dropped her jaw, but Nancy had moved away. Fighting rising anger, she grabbed the paperwork and hurried to her desk. Finished charting, she strolled through the two rows of beds.
She shuddered to a halt. Fighting the tremble in her voice, she asked a nurse opposite her, “Where’s Jack?”
“Oh, he’s gone.”
Fear squeezed her heart like someone held it in a vise. She clutched the nearest bedframe for support. “Gone? Where?”
The nurse pointed upward. Raylyn covered her mouth and gasped.
“Don’t worry. He’s in a much better place.”
Hot tears burned her eyes. Raylyn covered her mouth and ran from the room. In the stairwell, she stopped and bent over as sobs racked her body.
Eyes closed, she envisioned the last time she’d seen Jack. He still lay in the bed, the sheet covering his remaining leg. His short black hair was growing longer by the day. The color had seemed to return to his cheeks, and she’d imagined one day he would wake up and walk around.
Tears coursed along her face and dropped onto the stairs. She swiped them away, but they continued. She laid her head against the wall.
“Why, God? Why?” she whispered, the words echoing in the empty stairwell.
No answer came. Raylyn fisted her hands. She couldn’t take it anymore. She just couldn’t stand the thought of losing another patient.
She stalked back to the ward, gathered her charts, carried them to Nancy’s desk, and dropped them. “I want to be transferred.”
Nancy lowered her pen and removed her glasses.
“I need to see the success stories. Just for a little while,” begged Raylyn.
“No.”
Raylyn blinked. “What?”
“I know you think you need a break, but you’re the best nurse I have. So let me present another solution to you.”
Raylyn nodded and prepared to listen.