Page 33 of The Fault Between Us
chapter 19:BRIDGET
Beckett hung up the telephone at the nurse’s station. “Emergency coming in on the ambulance.”
“What is it?” Bridget asked. She’d fumed all day about her idiotic little sister. Where could Frannie be? And what was she supposed to tell Dad? She’d put off calling him for days and felt terrible about it, but what was she supposed to tell him—that she was failing to keep her promises to him about both Claire and Frannie?
Beckett wrote down the call time on a clipboard. “The connection was terrible. All I got wasyoung woman picked up in the North Loop. Do you have any idea where Dr. Sampson could be?”
“I’ll find him,” Bridget grumbled. Her feet were killing her and her head was pounding as she trudged up the stairs to the patient rooms. Why couldn’t Dr. Sampson stay in his office like a normal physician? Instead, he wandered among the patient rooms—playing cards, pushing wheelchairs through the halls at breakneck speeds, fooling around like he was a kid. She’d walked into a patient’s room one day to find him juggling bandage rolls. Of all the things. It wasn’t how doctors should conduct themselves.
Not to mention, he’d played that terrible prank on her with the elk.
“What are you doing?” Beckett asked her yesterday afternoon when they’d gone outside to get a breath of fresh air.
“I’m avoiding eye contact so he doesn’t charge,” Bridget answered, her head angled carefully away from the elk that insisted on lying outside the doors of the hospital. Beckett broke into a fit of laughter, hardly able to catch her breath as Bridget’s face burned with humiliation.
If Dr. Sampson wasn’t a doctor, she’d tell him just what she thought of him. She found him reading aloud to the broken tibia in room six. “Incoming ambulance, Dr. Sampson.” She checked her wristwatch. “If you don’t mind.”
He raised his brows at her tart tone. “Thank you, Reilly,” he answered, then smiled at the little boy in the bed. “We’ll have to wait until next time to find out what happens to Tom Sawyer.”
Bridget didn’t wait for him, but hurried downstairs to stock the supply cart before the ambulance arrived. She looked up to find Larkin watching her put the thermometers in their alcohol cups and braced herself for a caustic remark. Since she’d arrived, she’d had nothing but corrections from the senior nurse.
“Excellent work,” Larkin said this time.
Would wonders never cease? The supervising nurse’s expression remained severe. “Unlike some of these nurses who don’t know the meaning of the wordprofessionalism.” She cut her eyes toward Finch, who was flirting with Dr. Sampson in the hallway as they waited for the ambulance.
“Thank you, Nurse Larkin,” Bridget said, standing up and straightening her shoulders. “That means a lot to me.” Since she was suddenly on Larkin’s good side, she took the opportunity. “I’m hoping to get a position at Mayo Clinic this fall,” she said. “I do hope I can count on a good recommendation.”
Larkin’s thin brows went toward her widow’s peak. “If you continue to do your job at the high level I’ve observed.” Her gaze sharpened on Bridget. “Have you ever considered working as a traveling nurse?” Larkin asked. “It is quite prestigious and the pay is first-rate.”
Bridget wasn’t about to tell Larkin that her favorite novels were about traveling nurses having adventures in exotic places. Larkin would think her as bad as Finch. Not to mention, even if she wanted to gad about the world, Dad would never stand for it. “It’s something to consider,” she replied evasively.
The wail of the ambulance siren sounded, then abruptly cut off. The ambulance driver and his assistant came through the back doors with a gurney.
“What do we have, Jim?” Dr. Sampson was at the patient’s side.
“Young woman,” the ambulance driver said. “She was picked up by a family and fainted in the car. They found a ranger and called it in. She’s been in and out since we got her.”
Bridget helped the ambulance driver transfer the woman to the table. She had matted sandy hair and a childlike face. A faded floral dress hung on her slim frame.
Dr. Sampson began an examination. “Reilly, get her vitals.”
Bridget felt her forehead. “Skin pale and clammy. Breathing rapid.”
Dr. Sampson held the girl’s hand. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Beth,” the girl answered in a weak voice. “Beth Henshaw.”
“We’ll take good care of you, Miss Henshaw,” Bridget said briskly. “Tell me, can you see me clearly?”
She squinted. “You’re a little blurry.”
Bridget nodded. “Are you experiencing any pain?”
“My head hurts.” She looked like she might lose consciousness.
Dr. Sampson listened to her heart with his stethoscope and Bridget took her pulse, watching the second hand of her wristwatch as she counted. “Slightly elevated,” she reported. She noted the patient’s pallid skin and sunken eyes. Possible dehydration. “Is there someone we can call, Miss Henshaw?” Bridget asked. “Your family?”
“No,” the question seemed to alarm the young woman, and she clamped her hand on Bridget’s wrist. “It’s notmiss,” she corrected. “It’smissus, and it’s my baby I’m worried about. Please.” Her voice gained in strength as did her grip on Bridget’s wrist. “Is my baby going to be okay?”
