Page 4 of Crow's Haven
After allocating jobs, I pick a couple of smaller brushes for my boys and walk them through dipping their paintbrushes into the can and making long swipes along the grain. Then I pickup a large paintbrush for myself and dip it in the can. “Let’s get this job done because I have a proposition for you when we’re finished.”
The first swipe of paint hits the weathered picnic table, the brush dragging a thick black streak along the grain. I’m kneeling beside Scout, who’s already swiped eight lines of paint down the top of the table that’s been turned over on its side for easy access. He’s clearly trying to cover the whole tabletop in one sloppy swoop.
“Easy there, Scout,” I say with a grin. “Slow and steady beats wild and messy every time.”
Scout glances up, paint smudged across his cheek, and shrugs. “I’m covering more ground.”
“You’re making a mess, kiddo. Aim for the wood, not the tarp.”
It doesn’t take long until the boys have paint on their hands, smears on their clothes, and grins as wide as they’ve ever been. They dart around the table, grabbing brushes off the prospects who don’t seem to mind the extra help, and dabbing paint here and there, more for the fun of it than the job itself.
Chapter 2
Sharon
After the worst shift of my life, I get called into my supervisor’s office. Even though I’m wearing my scrub jacket, the office feels cold. Then again, that could just be the chill in my heart over losing a patient. It’s never easy, but when it’s a child it’s a million times worse. I sit stiffly in the chair across from Cynthia Brenner, our Director of Nursing. Her brass nameplate gleams on the edge of her polished desk. However, the name that catches my notice is mine. ‘Sharon Carlin’ printed in neat, bold letters across the front of the manila file that sits dead center between us. I swallow hard, realizing that’s my personnel file.
She doesn’t meet my eyes. She begins reading from what is clearly a prepared statement. “Effective immediately, you are suspended pending the outcome of an internal investigation into the death of your patient, Joshua Clay.”
My breath catches in my throat. That’s the name of the boy who died today. I frown in confusion. “Why are you suspending me? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Cynthia’s tone never wavers. “Twin Rivers Medical Center has procedures in place that must be followed. This is a simple procedural measure, Nurse Carlin. A leave of absence is not meant to be punitive, at least, not yet. Until an internal investigation is completed and the Board of Directors completes their review of the incident, we feel it’s best that you take a leave of absence.”
“Review what?” I sit up straighter, my palms flattening against the fabric of my scrubs. “I followed every protocol. You can check the chart. I did everything by the book. You can even ask Dr. Brunell. He was there.”
Cynthia exhales slowly through her nose. “We will be reviewing all the paperwork and speaking to witnesses as well as reviewing security footage. No matter what it takes, we’ll get to the bottom of this incident that occurred while this child was under your care.”
Her words feel like a slap in the face. Under your care.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell her, unable to believe that she’s insinuating that I did something to cause a child’s death.
Cynthia finally meets my eyes. Her expression is unreadable. “If the evidence suggests otherwise,” she says carefully, “we are required to notify the proper authorities.”
I blink. “The proper authorities? You mean the police?”
“If there is any evidence of wrongdoing,” she repeats, articulating her words a little slower, “the hospital will be obligated to report it.”
“But…” my voice falters. I press my lips together and try again. “Wait, why would the police be involved?”
“Law enforcement typically investigates deaths that are considered suspicious. Joshua was a very sick little boy with a severe infection, but he was getting better. His death was unexpected, so that means an internal investigation will be conducted.”
She closes the file with a flip of her wrist. “Sharon. You need to understand the severity of this. Joshua Clay was six years old. His family is extremely well-connected. The press has already called twice this morning.”
“But I did everything in my power to save him,” I point out quietly. I should be more forceful but I’m just so shocked.
“You’re free to retain representation. Twin Rivers HR will inform you when the internal review concludes.”
Representation? My stomach drops, and the little hairs on my arms rise up. I glance down to see I’m still wearing the badge clipped to my top pocket, the pediatric unit’s rainbow butterfly logo smiling up at me that seems more mocking than friendly right now.
“Sharon.” Cynthia folds her hands. “I know this information must come as a shock to you, but this meeting is concluded.”
I sit frozen for a second too long. Then I nod once and come to my feet. I don’t have a choice. Even though I’m about ten seconds from having a complete breakdown, I take off my badge, lay it on her desk and walk away. The door clicks softly behind me.
As I walk back to gather my things, memories of Joshua coding hit before I even make it to the elevator.
It all happened so fast that it was hard to get my head around the situation. He was alert and talking to me. No, he wasn’t playing with toys or making finger puppets like he had the night before. But his vitals were holding. He had a mild fever and slight tachycardia, but nothing truly alarming. I remember smiling at him, as I tucked his stuffed shark under his arm. Heasked if I’d be back after break. I told him yes. And when I came back, everything turned to shit.
I walked back into his room less than an hour later to his monitor alarm going off. I thought it was another tech glitch. The damn heart monitor in his room had been acting up all week. We’d flagged it. Biomedical was supposed to replace the battery.
