The emergency room on a Saturday night was always a madhouse.
Teenagers having a last fling before the start of school came in with broken legs and arms and collarbones. Toddlers who stayed healthy enough during the week to lay the Alaskan pipeline in subzero weather were brought in with raging fevers and mysterious rashes. Every wino in Biloxi and half the ones in Gulf Port seemed bent on self-destruction. They came in with bloody bandages around their heads, ugly bruises on their faces, and enough symptoms to make even the most dedicated doctors feel battle weary.
It was the first time he'd worked ER since he'd come back, and Paul was glad for the mayhem. He didn't have time to remember approaching the gurney that bore a small child, then looking down into the face of his own son. He didn't have time to feel the tiny hand that clung to his in that last brief moment of consciousness nor to hear the one whispered word. Daddy.
o0o
Susan had left the front porch light burning for him. The sight of that bright beacon in the darkness restored Paul's spirit. The minute he stepped out of the car into the softly scented night he forgot about the hospital emergency room, forgot about the fight against pain and death, forgot about Jean’s refusal to sign divorce papers.
His step was light as he hurried onto her porch. She was waiting for him inside the door, her hair glowing in the moonlight that streamed through the windows.
He gathered her quickly into his arms, wanting all of her at once.
"God, I've missed you."
"I counted the minutes."