HER BABY'S SECRET FATHER (12 page)

Jaynie had cried and blubbered as if she was giving her child to an orphanage when it was time to leave. Saying goodbye to Tara was even harder than saying goodbye to Terrance.

But, like remembering how to ride a bicycle, she slipped into the role of charge nurse the minute her crisp uniform and sensible white shoes entered the pulmonary ward and the distinct smell of hospital entered her nostrils.

Several nurses rushed to greet her, as though she were a celebrity. They hugged each other, and Jaynie shared her photographs of Tara with them, sending the ladies into cooing and squealing spells.

Well, she is adorable.

Using good old-fashioned common sense, Jaynie assigned herself to be the medicine nurse. She’d tackle total patient care another day. Today she’d push the gray cart on wheels to every patient’s room, and distribute medication as directed by their personal physician’s orders.

After end-of-shift report, she delivered everything from antibiotics, to bronchodilators, insulin to IV piggybacks, to the patients on the ward. The routine only allowed time to think about Tara once or twice an hour.

At lunch, after using the breast pump, she called home to check in on how Tara and Mrs. Bouchet were doing.

“Everything is peachy, sweetie. Quit worrying,” Mrs. Bouchet said in a friendly tone, just before sneezing. “Tara is a wonderful baby. We’ve got her right on schedule.”

“What do you mean
‘we’
?” Sudden concern that Mrs. Bouchet had brought a friend over developed in her worrywart head.

“Why, that nice young man who lives in your backyard. Terrance and I. He heard Tara fussing in the kitchen while I was defrosting your breast milk, and he tapped on the door.”

Jaynie gasped and bit her tongue. “Ouch.”

“What was that dear?” Oblivious, Mrs. Bouchet continued. “He has quite the way with your baby.” She sniffed. “Said he always helps out.” She blew her nose.

Jaynie worried that the woman might be coming down with a cold, and wanted to snatch Tara away from her germs.

“Oh, and I let him use your shower. I hope you don’t mind.”

Are you crazy!

Knowing she had to be diplomatic, Jaynie stayed calm. “Mrs. Bouchet, please don’t let him into the house again. I should have been more honest this morning. He isn’t my friend, and he doesn’t really live there. He’s my ex-boyfriend and has no business camping in my backyard.”

After a suspended silence, Mrs. Bouchet said, “If you say so. But I have thoroughly enjoyed his company—and he’s easy on the eyes, too, if you know what I mean.” The woman chuckled, and Jaynie imagined her over sixty-five years old chins jiggling.

Going back to work, Jaynie gave out more medicine. She assisted other nurses with treatments for ventilator patients, along with tracheostomy care, and inserted a couple of intravenous lines. She thought about Tara more, and in between worked on staffing schedules for the following month. Before she knew it, it was time to go home.

She drove her car into the driveway of her house, grateful that Terrance wasn’t in view. Thank God she had tomorrow off and he would have to work.

Her homecoming with Tara was sublime. The infant’s little eyes tried their best to focus on her face. And when Jaynie spoke Tara’s tiny tense body relaxed. The obvious recognition of child to mother was a boon to Jaynie’s lagging spirit.

Having changed into more comfortable clothes after work, and ready and eager to nurse her baby, she waved goodbye to Mrs. Bouchet and prepared to sit in the rocker.

Thoughts of her and Terrance doing wild and wonderful things in that very seat caused her to change places. She chose the couch, where the pleasant trickling of water over rocks from her indoor fountain could be heard the best. That Feng Shui really had made her house more of a home, she marveled, and fought back the urge to run to the bathroom.

After a long and pleasant nursing session, Tara drifted off to sleep and Jaynie scurried to the shower to refresh herself. She lit a lavender-scented candle, stripped naked and reached inside the shower stall to turn on the water. A note had been taped to the spigot.

Jaynie splashed water from the faucet onto her face, and groaned.

As soon as Jaynie had finished bathing, she closed all the window shades on the back part of the house, and wished there was a reference guide on how to handle a situation like this.

The next morning, up at six for a cup of herbal tea before Tara woke, Jaynie saw Terrance emerge from the tent. Dressed in jogging shorts and tank top, he caught her watching.

Dang!

Before she could look away, he grinned and waved at her through the window, running down the driveway and onto the street. She lived a good eight miles from Mercy Hospital, but that distance would mean nothing to a health nut like Terrance.

Jaynie imagined all the nurses by the panorama window in the pulmonary ward, waiting for his usual entrance. If they only had a clue what had transpired over the last six weeks, they’d have a gossip feeding frenzy. Thank God Jaynie could trust Kim to keep her mouth shut.

Tuesday started with the same old grind: nurse Tara, greet Mrs. Bouchet, cry and leave for work. The only difference today was that Terrance would be on the job, too. She dreaded the possibility of seeing him there.

Just before seven a.m., Kim came shooting through the double doors. Late again, she waved at Jaynie, whirled around and made a beeline for the nurses’ lounge.

Some things never change.

Except Kim looked happier now than Jaynie had ever seen her. Her color was good, she’d put on a few pounds—in the right places—and her eyes glowed with contentment. Jaynie marveled over what love could do for a person, and bitterly remembered how sweet it had been with Terrance for a few weeks. Immediately she put up her guard. Until he left to start medical school it would be a hard, cold fact that he worked at Mercy Hospital, too, and she’d just have to get over it.

At eight o’clock, he rounded the corner to the second floor. Sure enough, he’d assigned himself to the pulmonary ward. Jaynie couldn’t stop the spurt of adrenaline. Her heart raced and she grew winded.

He walked right up to her and smiled. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

How dare you ask how I am?

A flush warmed her cheeks. Steeling herself against his kindness, she answered curtly, “I’m fine,” and brushed past him with an intravenous bag in her hand. Quickly she tamped down the urge to treat him like a friend, and strode away.

She could feel his eyes on her back and fought the impulse to turn around.

Don’t even think about it.

She’d get past this helpless feeling of love if it was the last thing she ever did.

Jaynie’s eyes met with Kim’s, which squinted with concern, and then Jaynie noticed several other nurses looking on. Perhaps Kim hadn’t been as trustworthy as Jaynie had given her credit for. She glared at Kim, who quickly looked away, guilty as charged—like a child getting caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Damn. They all know.

Jaynie entered the nearest patient room and pretended she needed to do something of importance. The old gentleman there opened his eyes and watched her bite her lip and squint.

“You look like you could use some cheering up,” he said, in a winded voice.

Realizing she wasn’t alone, she looked up and smiled at the man in the hospital bed, who battled the last stages of emphysema.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Mr. Stein.” She walked closer to him. His color was off, and the oxygen saturation interpreter clipped on his finger registered below eighty-nine percent, setting off the monitor. The loud beeping reminded her of Tara’s apnea device, but in this case it wasn’t a false alarm.

Mr. Stein grew more short of breath. He struggled to inhale, his bony shoulders lifting with each attempt. Jaynie’s first response was to increase his oxygen, but she knew with emphysema patients it would only trap more air in his lungs, preventing him from taking in a deep breath, so she left it at one liter.

After readjusting the pulse oximeter on his finger, to make sure it wasn’t reflective of cold hands and poor circulation, the saturation dropped even more. She moved the bedside table over his hospital bed and helped him sit up and forward, placing his arms across two pillows on the table. Knowing the position would help open his lung expansion and hopefully allow some air inside, she waited for results.

“Do some pursed-lip breathing, Mr. Stein,” she suggested, and puckered her own mouth while he slowly exhaled against the pressure of his lips. If he could get some of the trapped air out, he’d be able to take in more oxygenated air.

The saturation reading dropped to eighty-seven.

His lips were faintly discolored, the fine capillaries on his face looked blue, and his eyes tensed with concern.

One last attempt to readjust his pulse oximeter proved fruitless. The loud beeping continued as Mr. Stein’s oxygen declined.

Answering the equipment alarm, Terrance brushed into the room, greeted the patient, quickly assessed the saturation levels, and fished some vials out from his lab jacket. After setting up a handheld nebulizer for Mr. Stein, he kept busy.

Jaynie watched while Terrance worked, calmly and efficiently, like the expert he was. He did have a gift and he should pursue medicine, even if it meant moving to another state.

His long, lean runner’s body moved with an ease and purpose that she admired against her will.

While holding Mr. Stein’s hand for moral support, she read the patient chart and realized he was a DNR— do not resuscitate—and had requested never to be put on a ventilator.

Unconsciously, she grasped his hand a little tighter. The old gentleman nodded his head appreciatively as a silent understanding passed between them.

“After the breathing treatment, I’ll do some postural drainage,” Terrance said. “We’ll get that stubborn mucus out of your lungs.”

The patient looked grateful. Jaynie could see his skinny shoulders relax while Terrance auscultated his lungs and then checked his pulse. He looked at Jaynie and nodded, assuring her all would be well. Only then did her nerves unwind.

She left the room and stood outside, considering how dreadful it must be for Mr. Stein to know that one day he would slowly suffocate from his disease…and die.

After a long percussion session, and a symphony of coughing and throat clearing sounds, Terrance emerged from Mr. Stein’s room victorious. He sought out Jaynie with intense hazel eyes.

“Well, he’s back up to ninety percent oxygen saturation, and feeling a heck of a lot better.” Terrance raised a clear specimen jar of discolored sputum. “I think he may have developed an infection. I’ll run this to the lab for some cultures.”

Quickly averting her eyes—sputum had never been something Jaynie could tolerate looking at—she pretended to have an unnatural interest in the syringe she held. She flashed a glance at Terrance and said, “Thanks for your help.” Curt. To the point. Then she moved away, so as not to encourage any further conversation.

Morbid thoughts seemed to color the rest of her day on the ward filled with respiratorially challenged patients. The only bright spot was thinking about her daughter, and how she longed to go home to hold her in her arms.

At the end of the day, though tired, she walked briskly to her car in the employee lot, eager to get home. Opening the door, she heard someone running up behind her.

“Jaynie, wait.”

It was Terrance.

She refused to turn around, just stood there shaking her head. When he came up behind her, she spoke. “Please leave me alone. I can’t deal with this.”

He whispered over her shoulder. “I’m not going away. I just want you to know that.”

She felt his breath warm her neck and reacted against her will. She’d changed her clothes in the nurses’ lounge, and pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and now she felt chills run down her spine.

Damn him.

He sped off in his jogging shorts and running shoes, as quickly as he’d come, leaving her more confused than ever. Why make a promise he knew he could never keep—
I’m not going away
—when his plans were to quit working at the hospital and attend out-of-state medical school? Why torment her with hope? She ran her hand across her neck and got into the car, turning the ignition.

All men went away. Ask her mother. She’d tell the truth. Jaynie remembered everything just like it was yesterday. The men would wander into Mom’s life, make themselves at home, and then, just when she and her mother had gotten used to them, pack up and leave. And when Jaynie had given her long-term boyfriend the ultimatum to marry or move…he’d left, too.

She shook her head, quickly becoming distracted at the sight of Terrance in his skimpy running trunks sprinting down the road as she passed in the car. For all she knew, considering traffic lights, he’d probably beat her home.

Ten minutes later, when she parked the car and found Papa Gino, Terrance’s cat, on her doorstep, she about screamed.

No! You may not weasel yourself into my life, Terrance.

The first thing she did, after greeting her baby with a big kiss, and before Terrance arrived in her backyard, was once again close all of the window shades.

What I don’t see can’t hurt me.

Feeling content that she was standing her ground, she went about her evening routine, trying with all her might to pretend that the man she loved wasn’t camped out in her backyard.

* * *

A loud blaring sound drove her from the pleasant dream she was having about a handsome man with strong arms carrying her away to paradise.