Page 65 of Deprived No More

“I keep thinking about that text. It said, ‘I know you want me. I can see it in your eyes.’ Olivia, he has the most penetrating stare when he makes eye contact with me. It’s unnerving.”

“Kat. I think you have to consider this could be him. Is there a way to talk to him to make sure he hasn’t gotten his signals crossed? Maybe he thought you were interested too.”

Tapping the pad of my finger against my bottom lip, I consider this. But it feels like this could backfire. He works with my husband. If I attempt to communicate with him, it could look like I’m doing something behind Nick’s back. What’s more, if things don’t turn out well, it could impact Nick’s job. He’s already unhappy working with Holden. If I mention my concern to Nick that Holden could be the source of these texts, he could snap. After the incident in the parking lot, it doesn’t look like it would take much for the two of them to go at it.

“I think I’m going to block the number. So he sees I’m not engaging.” Looking at Olivia, I expect to see some sort of nod in agreement. This is a solid plan.

“My only worry, Kat, is that if he stops communicating, you might not figure out who this is. Talk to Nick and take your phone to the police.”

She’s right. I’m sure she’s right. I thought I could handle this on my own last time, and look where that got me.

Taking one last sip of my coffee before heading to work, I place my napkin on the table and take a cleansing breath. “I’m going to tell Nick tonight. I just need to take care of one thing first.”

“Are you going to reach out to this guy he works with?” Olivia asks, concerned.

“No. I need to see Mark.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

Kat

I can’t believe I’m doing this.After completing all of my outstanding charts, I grab a cup of hot tea and return to where I’ve been seated.

The doctors’ lounge at St. Luke’s is split into two sections. On the left is a small buffet, an industrial-sized coffee station, refrigerators housing prepackaged meals and drinks, and an assortment of tables for dining. To the right is an open room with seating for a quick breather between patients or an impromptu meeting with peers. Along the perimeter, there are computer stations for those needing to chart in a quiet atmosphere.

The hustle and bustle of the emergency room can make documentation difficult to complete in a timely manner. Typing in this space without constant distractions is much more efficient. With the paperwork out of the way, I take a deep breath and search for Mark’s chart. I’d never consider opening it to locate his whereabouts had he not been my patient. I’d never compromise his privacy in that way, even if he violated mine by coming onto my property and harassing me. Yet, I provided care and plan to use the opportunity to check on him. Sure, my real reason is to confront him. But, heck, he owes me that much.

Locating his chart, I open the file and look through the nursing and EMS notes to find which skilled rehab facility referred him to the ER. I could open his demographic information and search for an address, but I feel that could be giving me more information than I really want in my head. Would I really want more information on where he lives now or how his life has been? I’ve been tortured enough by the small glimpse I’ve already seen.

Hanover Rehab.I know exactly where that is. It’s been a long time, but I recall transporting residents from this facility to the emergency room when I volunteered with Jake and Melanie as a paramedic.Jake. We’ve received countless patients from this rehab center over the years.

Gathering my bag and courage, I make my way for the door.

Pulling into the parking lot of Hanover Rehab, I glance around. It’s an older establishment but it looks like it is in fair condition. The lawn is well-manicured, and there’s a small pond with a fountain out front. Hopefully it’s visible to some of the patients who are staying here. Suddenly, a goose darts from between two parked cars and splashes into the water as if it’s running from the police. Or maybe simply a bath as I don’t see anyone out here.

As I make my way toward the entrance, I notice two older gentlemen seated in wheelchairs under a gazebo. It appears to be a cigarette break for the two as thin trails of white smoke curl over their heads as they sit silently. I recall Mark used to smoke on occasion. A vision of him seated with these two older gentlemen makes me shudder. But only because he’s still a young, virile man. Whether he’s continuing to send texts to me or not, I struggle to let go of the friend I once knew. My disappointment for his lot in life is now at war with the anger and resentment I still feel.

As I approach the reception desk, I notice a middle-aged black woman with a bright smile and a somewhat quirky-looking brunette with her hair in mismatched pigtails seated in the back corner. “Hi. I was wondering if you could help me. My name is Katarina Barnes. I’m a physician assistant in the ER at St. Luke’s hospital. I took care of one of your patients and wanted to stop by and check on him. Would it be okay if I visited?”

“Why certainly. I have to say, in all the years I’ve worked here, I’ve never seen anyone come by here from the hospital. The rehab doctor is about the only one I’ve seen come here. Who were you coming to see?”

“His name is Mark. Mark Snow.”

Instantly, the head of the pixie in the corner pops up, and I notice both of them staring at me in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, miss. But Mark was discharged back home several days ago.”

“What?” Suddenly, I’m awash with frustration that I’d managed to get my courage up to confront him, only to realize it was all for naught.

“Once he returned and began the antibiotics, his leg started to improve. Since nothing more serious was found to be causing his symptoms and he was improving, he was discharged back home.”

“Oh.” I guess it was an infection. Looking up, I notice the brunette is gazing intently at me. I can’t help but squirm. Am I making a scene? “Okay, then. Thank you for your time,” I say before turning for the door.

As I head for the car, I can’t help feeling a bit dejected. I shouldn’t. This was probably a terrible idea. The universe is probably trying to save me from myself.

“Miss? Katarina, is it?” A voice comes from behind me. Spinning on my heel, I notice the young woman who’d sat behind the reception desk running toward me. She appears even more eccentric now that I see her at her full height. She’s wearing a white lab coat over hot pink scrubs and purple Crocs that I normally see Garrett wear in the garden. Upon closer inspection, little multicolored emblems are attached to the holes of her Crocs. Why does this pretty girl dress like she’s eight?

“Yes.”

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