Chasing the Wind Page 2

  “I’ve been helping the Cubs win another ball game. Cheering them on, you know.”

  She chuckled. Anabelle didn’t mind being responsible for dinner. In fact she loved cooking as much as she did quilting and nursing. “As soon as I pop the biscuits into the oven and put the salad together we can eat.” Anabelle turned, placed her hands on either side of his handsome face and gave him a loud smooch on the lips. His mustache tickled, but she liked it just the same. At sixty-four, Cameron could still turn the ladies’ heads.

  She wasn’t so bad either, if she said so herself. Anabelle had maintained her weight around 125 pounds, except during her three pregnancies. She had a few more worry lines, and her beautiful mop of chestnut hair had turned to salt and red-pepper—mostly salt. For sixty-two, that wasn’t bad at all. However too many helpings of her delicious Mulligan stew and she could develop a spread in no time.

  After dinner, Anabelle and Cameron played Scrabble while they watched a Miss Marple Mystery on PBS. Cameron won as usual but only because he used the dictionary to find words.

  Just before the news came on at ten, Anabelle started getting ready for bed. Minutes later, she padded back out to the living room and snuggled down next to her husband. He wrapped his arm around her and said, “According to our weather girl, it looks like we’re in for a series of storms.”

  “Hmm. I was hoping for a bit more summer weather.”

  He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Oh, we’ll still have a bit of summer, just more rain, thunderstorms and high humidity.”

  A heavy rain started just after midnight waking Anabelle from a sound sleep. As she listened to the drops beating on the awning just outside their bedroom, Anabelle wondered if her flowers would be damaged; wondered if it would be raining tomorrow morning when she left for work; wondered how Dr. Hamilton was feeling and if Jeanine Parsons, a friend from church, had had her twins yet. That got her thinking about Ainslee and her disappointment about not having a baby and Kirstie, who’d had a date.

  Kirstie had recently moved into her first apartment, a converted brick house on the corner of Oak Avenue and Kline Street. When they’d helped Kirstie move in, she and Cameron met the attorney who lived right above Kirstie and an accountant on the third floor. They were both in their twenties. Was she dating one of them? Or maybe she was going out with one of her teacher friends. Anabelle remembered the young man, Mark, who’d been sitting at the kitchen table in Kirstie’s apartment when she’d popped in for a surprise visit a few weeks ago. He’d seemed entirely too comfortable there.

  Anabelle sighed. Kirstie’s dating is a good thing, she reminded herself.

  She turned onto her right side; and a few minutes later, to her left. Anabelle did not like waking up during the night and ruminating about all the things that created a traffic jam in her brain. She finally turned back to her right side and began the deep breathing exercises she’d learned long ago in stress-relief classes. She focused on breathing, putting all else out of her mind and finally drifted off.

  For some folks, Monday mornings were a drag, having to get up early and trudge to work after a restful or fun-filled weekend. To Anabelle morning was a gift. Though she enjoyed her days off, she loved her job as Nursing Supervisor in the Cardiac Care Unit at Hope Haven Hospital. She also loved new beginnings and mornings were just that: a time to reflect and aim for new opportunities.

  Anabelle yawned and did a few stretches before heading for the shower. After drying her short, easy-to-style hair, she dressed in navy slacks and a pastel floral top. Makeup was a matter of dashing a little mascara on her lashes and blush on her cheeks—and, lately, drawing pencil lines on her vanishing eyebrows.

  She grabbed one of the half dozen lab coats that hung in her closet, made sure she had her glasses and name badge and headed out of the bedroom.

  Cameron was still sleeping and probably would be until seven when he’d have his coffee, read the paper and then go to the gym for a workout. Not that he needed a gym. Their small farm kept him busy enough. The property included two pastures and a small barn, which housed a number of cats and a palomino gelding named Rusty, owned by Heather Jones, their darling twelve-year-old neighbor. The Joneses paid them thirty dollars a month to keep Rusty in their pasture since they had no land other than their small lot.

  She smiled, not feeling the least bit jealous of Cam’s retirement. With the amount of time he spent puttering around the farm and his shop and helping Evan out with his landscaping business, he was busier now than when he’d worked full-time. But he seemed happy, and that’s what counted.

  Anabelle poured coffee from the full carafe on the coffee-maker. She enjoyed being able to set the timer the night before and having the coffee perfectly brewed and ready to drink.

  How spoiled they were getting. She smiled and set the carafe back, knowing it would stay hot for Cameron. It hadn’t been that many years ago when she’d shuffled out to the kitchen first thing in the morning all bleary-eyed to put the coffee on. Back then they’d had few choices and always bought generic coffee. Now she preferred the special roasts and usually got the whole beans to grind herself.

  Taking her Kinkade-design cup to one of her two favorite spots in the wide living room, Anabelle set it on the end table and opened the vertical blinds to the sliding patio door. She pulled open the door and breathed in the fresh, damp air. Her plants had weathered the storm just fine.

  After closing the door, she sank into the cushioned rocking chair that had once been her mother’s. Placing her feet on the ottoman, she paused to enjoy a patch of sunshine as it dappled the trees in the private backyard and turned last night’s rain into crystal droplets. Moments later clouds blotted out the patch of blue sky.

  Summer was coming to an end. By October the leaves would be turning. She still had some dahlias along with several large hydrangeas blooming. The leggy geraniums would need cutting back soon, and she needed to deadhead the roses. Maybe she’d have time after work today—if the weather cooperated.

  Anabelle slipped on her reading glasses and dipped into her basket of books and magazines. This year she’d chosen to use Oswald Chambers’s My Utmost for His Highest as her daily devotional. Starting the day in thoughtful introspection and prayer always seemed to improve her perspective on life no matter what lay ahead.

  Today, Anabelle had a hard time staying focused. Her mind kept going back and forth, from reading about prayer life to thinking about Drew Hamilton. She finally gave up reading and spent the next few moments praying specifically for the good doctor. She prayed, too, for her children, especially Kirstie and her mystery date. Anabelle determined that she would not ask. She would let Kirstie tell her when she was ready.

  After fishing a package of salmon out of the freezer for dinner, Anabelle poured an orange juice and ate a quick granola-and-yogurt breakfast. At 6:30 AM, she backed her new silver Ford Fusion out of the garage and headed into the rain.

  Wipers swished at the sheets of water but did little good. She smiled at the irony. With all the innovations made on automobiles lately, surely someone could invent a better way of clearing the window in a downpour.

  Her new sedan got around forty miles per gallon and could go about seven hundred miles before needing a fill-up. The dashboard with all its buttons and displays looked like the panel of a 747. She still didn’t know what half of them were for.

  Anabelle maneuvered the car along the familiar road, barely able to see the bulky shapes of cars and trucks. The two and a half miles to Hope Haven took twice as long to navigate as it normally did. Finally the hospital loomed ahead of her. By rote, she eased into her usual spot in the staff parking lot. Retrieving her floral umbrella with a Monet garden scene from the seat-back pocket, Anabelle waited for a few moments in hopes the rain would subside. No such luck. If she waited much longer, she’d be late. And Anabelle Scott was never late.

  She opened her umbrella and made a dash for the door. She held it open for several other staff members including Elena Rodr
iguez, her good friend who worked in Intensive Care.

  “Thank you!” Elena sounded winded. “I forgot to grab my umbrella this morning. Too much else on my mind, I guess.” Elena shook the rain from her long dark hair. “But what’s a little rain? I’m certainly not going to melt.” She laughed. “Although for a few minutes there, I was afraid I might wash away.”

  “You’re in a good mood.” Anabelle closed her umbrella and shook off some of the water.

  Elena’s dark features brightened even more. “I am. Isabel is turning five, and I am going to throw her a big party.”

  “That sounds delightful. I must say, I envy you having that darling little girl around.” Anabelle pressed the elevator button and the doors swished open.

  “I know you do.” Elena gave her an empathetic smile. It wasn’t the first time Anabelle had brooded over not having a grandchild of her own. Elena didn’t seem to mind. “You are always welcome to share Isabel with me—especially when I need a babysitter.”

  “You are too kind.” Anabelle chuckled.

  “In fact, Isabel told me to be sure to invite Auntie Amabelle first. You are her favorite person since you made her that adorable princess quilt.”

  “Well, you tell her I’m honored.” Having her quilts used and loved by those who received them gave Anabelle as much joy as making them.

  The women hurried off the elevator and to their lockers. Anabelle removed her rain jacket and stowed her umbrella. She adjusted the long chain that held her reading glasses and tucked the glasses into the upper pocket of her lab coat. Pausing at Elena’s locker, she asked, “Want to plan on lunch around noon?”

  “I’ll do my best.” Elena pulled her hair into a ponytail and twisted it into a scruffy bun. She was wearing her Finding Nemo scrubs. Elena, being a talented seamstress, made many of her own clothes. “You know how crazy Intensive Care can get.”

  “Cardiac Care as well. Let us hope for an uneventful day.”

  “Right. And what dreamworld are you living in?” She laughed at the idea.

  “We can always think positive.” Walking away, Anabelle had no illusions of a quiet day in CCU. They had at least one patient going to surgery with more likely to come as patients received diagnoses.

  “See you later,” Elena called after her.

  Anabelle took the stairs down to the second floor and turned right to go into the Cardiac Care Unit. She then crossed the hall to the nurses’ station, intending to go straight to her office.

  “Morning, Anabelle,” Debbie Vaughn, one of the night-shift nurses, called out from the nurses’ station.

  “Morning.” Anabelle paused at her door. “How was your shift?”

  Debbie grinned. “Not bad—just the usual chaos that comes with getting a new admission just before shift change. Name’s Olga Pederson.”

  “Ah.” Anabelle knew the feeling well. She’d been a nurse at Hope Haven for over thirty years, only taking leave to have her children and to care for Kirstie after the accident. “Did you get her all settled in for us?” Anabelle asked as she punched in the code for the digital lock on her door.

  “Of course.” Debbie’s grin faded. “You might want to talk to Dr. Hildebrand about getting her something for anxiety though.”

  “Sure.” Anabelle stepped inside her office and left the door open to air the small space out. The stacks of files and notes on her desk told her the weekend must have been hectic. As nursing supervisor, she kept tabs on all the patients coming and going in the Cardiac Care Unit.

  Anabelle pulled out her glasses and scanned the weekend happenings to bring herself up to date. They’d admitted a couple of patients who were sent home on Sunday. Mr. Blake had been admitted the day before in preparation for his surgery this morning. And Olga Pederson, the woman admitted at five this morning. Age 83—atrial fibrillation.

  Anabelle jotted a note about Olga’s medication on her clipboard. Heart patients often struggled with anxiety, though some had more difficulty than others. She would visit with Olga after report. Sometimes she could calm patients down and alleviate their fears by talking with them and answering their questions.

  Anabelle paused to check the schedule for the day’s surgeries. Though she worked in cardiac care, she liked to keep up on other areas as well. This morning, however, she had a specific reason. Dr. Hamilton would be doing the open-heart surgery on Mr. Blake at 8:00 AM, which meant he probably wouldn’t be out of surgery until around one. She’d try to talk with him then. Working in the hospital required a great deal of flexibility—the staff never knew what their days might bring or when they might be called into a critical situation.

  Tucking her concern for him toward the back of her mind, Anabelle took off her glasses, slipped then into her pocket and then grabbed her clipboard and headed to the unit. She checked her watch and inhaled a deep breath. Just in time for report, in which she, the day nurses and the aides would hear details about each patient and formulate care plans for the rest of their shift.

  Chapter Three

  JAMES BELL’S MORNING WAS NOT GOING WELL. Aside from its being Monday, he’d awakened late. Not a good thing. Dr. Hamilton had called him last night and asked him to assist as his surgical nurse for the open-heart. James usually worked in Med/Surg—the General Medicine and Surgery Units—but for some reason, Hamilton liked having James assist him.

  James thought maybe it had to do with the fact that he’d been a medic in the military. Plus, James had more surgical experience than most of the nurses at Hope Haven.

  Sitting down to breakfast with his wife and oldest son Gideon, who had just turned fifteen, had been like entering into a war zone. Gideon had recently returned from faith-based military camp for kids in Kentucky, where kids could play soldier and get a true idea of what the military was all about. Which explained why Gideon was up so early on a summer day while his brother was still in the sack and probably would be until noon.

  “Tell him, Jim. Tell Gideon he is not going to join the military.” With a shaky hand Fern poured a cup of coffee for James and began to carry it from the counter to the dining room table. He moved quickly to take it from her. He’d told her numerous times not to try to carry hot things, but she was determined to try. She refused to let her multiple sclerosis get the upper hand. James wished he could say she was winning the battle.

  “Mom, it’s not like I’m going to the front line. It’s just ROTC.” He rolled his eyes. “By joining now, I’ll be an officer when I finish college. And I’ll get college paid for.”

  Gideon had been interested in the military and had always enjoyed playing soldier. James thought military camp might give him a dose of reality and possibly swing him in another direction. Apparently it had done just the opposite.

  “Do we have to decide this morning?” James took a sip of his coffee. “I need to look into it before I can respond.”

  He glanced at his watch and caught the imploring look in his son’s blue eyes. Looking up at Fern, who had a plate of eggs and toast in her hand, he said. “We can talk later, okay?” He hoped the stress of this touchy situation wouldn’t worsen her condition.

  Fern had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis seven years ago. Now at forty-two, her symptoms were still come-and-go, but lately had worsened. She’d offered to cook breakfast, and so far everything had gone all right.

  “It’s always later with you.” She set a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. Her arm jerked back in a spasm. The eggs slid off the plate and onto his last clean pair of jeans.

  James pushed back the chair and jumped to his feet.

  “I’m sorry.” Fern bit her lip and, with tears in her eyes, turned away from him. “I’m going upstairs.”

  “Do you need help?” He started mopping up the mess with a napkin.

  “No. I can do this myself,” she said in a tone that indicated she was upset with him. She used the walker to get to the stairs and then turned around, going up one step at a time on her behind.

  James sighed and rub
bed the back of his neck wondering how long she’d be able to handle the stairs on her own. She’d fallen once, not all that long ago, and from then on he’d insisted she go up and down on her bottom.

  She deserves better than this. James had been meaning to get some bids on expanding the first floor and adding a master suite. Trouble was, being a nurse didn’t bring in a great salary. And recently, the nurses had taken a cut in pay in order to keep the hospital open during the last financial crunch. Fortunately, Fern’s disability check kept them afloat.

  “Dad.” Gideon placed a folder on the table. “I need you to sign the papers.”

  James focused his attention back on his son, feeling annoyed that Gideon would ask again. “Not right now. I told you I’d have to look into it.”

  “You always take her side.” Gideon tossed his napkin aside and stormed out the back door.

  James swiped a hand through his hair. He did not want to take sides at all. He just wanted breakfast which was now history. After cleaning up the mess, he gulped down his orange juice, rescued half a piece of toast from his plate and headed for the kitchen sink.

  With a wet washcloth, he wiped the remaining egg off his jeans. Knowing the toast wouldn’t hold him until lunch, he grabbed a granola bar out of the pantry and headed out the door.

  In his rush, he forgot to take a jacket, and by the time he arrived at the hospital, the rain was coming down in sheets. In the race from his car to the staff entrance, the rain soaked through everything. A large puddle remained in the elevator as he stepped out onto the third floor where he then slogged to his locker.

  Like many of the nurses who wore scrubs, James usually changed at the hospital. He preferred wearing the hospital-provided blue or green, which saved Fern and him from having to do even more laundry than they already had. He removed his shoes and set them in the bottom of his locker while pulling out his white clogs. He hung his damp jeans on a hook to dry and pulled a fresh pair of scrubs off the linen cart.