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“Well, hello there. If it isn’t my second-favourite nurse.”
“Hello, Mr. Edwards. How are you today?” Sam grinned at the older man as he pushed the med cart into the room.
“Sorry to deprive you of Deena’s company, but you’re stuck with me today. How are you feeling?”
“Ahh, well. You know. All right for a dying man.” Mr. Edwards shifted on the bed. Every one of his movements had slowed in the last few weeks. The flesh was melting from his massive frame right before Sam’s eyes. Deep purple bags pillowed his sparkling blue eyes, but Sam knew as long as mischief still existed in that gaze, it wasn’t yet time to worry.
“Can I do anything for you?” he asked.
“As long as you keep bringing those drugs, lad, I’ll be all right.”
Sam forced another smile. When he passed over the cup of water, he used the motion as an excuse to draw the blankets up around Mr. Edwards’s chest. “You can count on me for that. It’s actually in my job description.”
“Have I shown you the new batch of pictures yet, Sam?”
“No, I don’t believe you have.”
“Do you have a moment? I know you’re a busy man.”
“For new pictures? I’ve got all the time in the world,” Sam said, and he meant every word. It was people like Mr. Edwards that made Sam feel it was all worth it. The long hours, and the lack of sleep or social life. Giving these people even a sliver of what they needed to be happy in their final days was worth every sacrifice Sam made.
Sam waited while the older man finished his cup of pills and then took his phone from under his pillow.
“Got them all here on the cell phone. Didn’t want the thing when the kids gave it to me, had no clue at all what to do with the damn thing, but now I’m not sure what I’d do without it.”
Sam chuckled. “I can relate.”
“They all send me photos on it, every day. I’ve got three daughters and eight grandkids. They all live hours away, but they keep close tabs on me. When it gets to the end... they’ll be here.”
Sam leaned over, watching as one gnarled, snub-nailed finger swiped through the photos. Kids of varying ages scrolled past, their faces smiling. Then the big heart-melting eyes of a droopy-faced black dog. Mr. Edwards froze, his finger poised over the screen. Sam glanced at his face. The sadness in the man’s eyes sent a spike right into Sam’s heart.
“If there is one thing I regret,” Mr. Edwards said, then cleared his throat, “one thing I regret is I won’t get to say goodbye to this guy.”
Sam swallowed, but any words he may have spoken remained stuck in his throat. He gave a jerky nod.
“Had him nine years this fall.” Mr. Edwards gave a bitter bark of laughter. “Won’t have too many left in him either, poor old boy.”
“I’m sure he’s had a wonderful life.” Sam’s voice was husky. He reached out to straighten the different objects on the nightstand.
“Oh, yeah, he’s living the high life at my buddy’s place, playing with all his grandchildren.” Mr. Edwards grinned down at the photo. The tip of his finger rested on the dog’s glossy head for a moment, and then he clicked off the screen.
“Thanks for taking the time to listen to an old man, Nurse Sam.”
“Anytime.” Sam held his hand out. Mr. Edwards’s large grip engulfed it. Still strong, he squeezed Sam’s between both of his. “You have a good day, Mr. Edwards,” Sam said.
Sam gathered his things and started the cart toward the door. When he glanced back, Mr. Edwards’s balding head was tucked against the pillow, his breathing gentle. Sam stepped back across the room, eased the phone between the slack fingers, and set it on the bedside table. When he was through the door, he stopped and rested his back against the doorjamb, letting his head drop. It took a few deep breaths before the band around his chest eased away.
“You all right, Stevenson?” One of the doctors stood down the hall, files in hand. He cocked his head, throwing Sam a suspicious look.
“Dr. Farley, good morning. Yes, I’m fine.”
Dr. Farley’s brown eyes went to the number on the door. Understanding dawned on his face. “Mr. Edwards.” He gave Sam a half-smile. “He’s a great guy. Did he show you photos of the dog?”
Sam shoved a hand through his hair. “Yes, just now.”
Farley bobbed his head. “That explains the look.” He clasped Sam on the shoulder as he passed. “You’re doing a good job, Stevenson.”
“Thank You, Doctor.”
***
“Hey, Sam?”
Sam turned, holding his soap-coated hands out in front of him. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got a young lady asking if you’re on shift. Came in with her father. Stroke victim.”
Sam frowned, anxiety fizzing in his chest and exhaustion weighing across his shoulders. His twelve-hour shift had ended an hour ago. “Did she give you a name?”
“Yeah.” The nurse’s lined brow wrinkled further, perplexed. “She said Chuck?”
Sam froze. His heart picked up speed with enough force that his head spun.
“Stevenson, you’re dripping on the floor.”
“Shit!” Sam plunged his hands back into the stream of water, hissing at the heat. “Is Ms. Baker all right?” he asked over his shoulder, but the nurse had already disappeared through the swinging doors of the scrub room.
Using his elbow to bang out a bundle of paper towels, Sam dried his hands. He wished there was a mirror, but he knew what he would see. Blue eyes accented by dark circles. Blond hair in disarray and long overdue for a trim. He rubbed his hand across his jaw. A trim and a shave. He’d never liked to wear a beard. It always came in two shades darker than his hair. As if the stubborn genes of his parents had done battle and then had come to a compromise.
Shaking his head, Sam turned and pushed through the door and into the bright hallway. What was he doing? Charlotte needed him, and he was standing here worried about how he looked.
“Mr. Baker is in room twenty-nine”—the receptionist’s fingers flew over the keyboard in a symphony of taps and clicks— “admitted two hours ago.”
Sam sucked a breath through his teeth. “Thanks, Mary.” His heart was pounding. He broke into a jog, his runners squeaking as he rounded a corner. Room Twenty-Nine was on his left. In the hall between him and the room, Charlotte paced until she reached door thirty-four, turned, and started back. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, her body folded in on itself as if in physical pain, the glossy curtain of her curly dark hair hiding her face.
Sam pulled in a deep breath. It had been nearly three months since he had laid eyes on her. Not even a glimpse since he had made an idiot of himself at the wedding.
She looked up then, sensing him, her face tear-streaked and blotchy. The sight of her broke Sam’s heart. A hiccupping sob broke free when she met Sam’s eyes. Without a word, she rushed straight to him. He caught her, crushing her against his chest.
“Oh, Sam.” When he finally set her down, she stepped back and wiped her nose on the cuff of her hoodie. Hours of tears had left wandering paths over her cheeks.
“I’m so glad you’re here. Everyone is asking questions, and I... I’m scared, Sam.”
She seemed even smaller than usual, somehow, as if her fear had caved her in. Fear filled her eyes, and he couldn’t help himself. He pulled her back against his chest, encircling her with his arms, wishing he could protect her.
“It’ll be all right,” Sam said against her hair. “Chuck, your dad is tough as nails, and they got him here quickly. Time means everything with a stroke.”
Her arms rose and wrapped around his waist. She nodded against his chest. “You’re right. You must be right, right?”
“Right.” He gave her one more squeeze than set her back a step, keeping one hand on her arm, tipping his head so she was forced to meet his eyes. “What can I help with? Are you hungry?”
“I guess. I haven’t eaten since this morning at work— Oh!” She clapped a hand against her brow. “Work. I have to call them. What time is it?”
“I think around midnight.”
“Midnight?” Charlotte squeaked.
He glanced around. Most of the rooms had clocks, but in an age where everyone carried cell phones, fewer of them seemed to hold consistent time. “I’m pretty good at guessing after all these years.”
Charlotte moaned and buried her face in both hands. “I can’t believe it has only been a few hours. This is a nightmare.”
“Hey, look at me.” Sam seized her shoulders, holding her still. “Why don’t I sit with him? You go leave a message for work. Wash your face and grab a hot tea and a snack. Do what you need to do to get yourself feeling a little more settled. All right?”
He could not keep himself from touching her. One hand rubbed her arm until she nodded. Worry over her well-being chased away any thought of his own exhaustion. “You can’t take care of him if you don’t take care of yourself first. It’s going to be a long night, but I’m going to be here with you the whole time.”
Charlotte sighed. “Yes, you’re right, I guess. You’ll call me, though, if anything changes?”
“The exact second it does. I won’t take my eyes off him.”
Tears filled her eyes once more when she met his gaze, but she blinked them away with a fierce scowl. “Thank you, Sam.” Before she turned away, she clasped his hand in hers, squeezing it until his knuckles protested. Then, her spine straightening, she started down the brightly lit hallway.