Icebound (15 page)

“I’ve got a kit ready on my desk, would you grab it for me please?” Emilie asked Tom.

“Sure.” He gave Tyler one last heavy look before turning to pick up her tools and going out the door with them.

She turned to Tyler as soon as they were alone. “Try to think positively. Please.”

He didn’t answer.

J.J. came in at that moment, and she quickly filled him in on what was happening, which wasn’t much. Tom waited for her in the hall next to the door to their temporary morgue.

“Let’s get this over and done with,” she said.

“I hope we find what you’re looking for.”

“Me too.”

They entered the closet, donned gloves and gowns and went through the plastic slit. The smell of decaying flesh wasn’t much stronger than the day before, but it still took up residence in her nostrils, filling her nose with its suffocating presence.

Suddenly dizzy, Emilie gagged and she opened her mouth to breathe through it instead of her nose.

“Em, are you going to be okay?”

“I just need a second to get used to it.” She held on to the gurney with one hand then straightened up and pulled the cover off Bob’s body with the other.

She hated this. Hated to insult her friend with more trauma, but it was necessary. She had a job to do and a living patient to care for.

“Scalpel, please.”

Emilie opened up what was left of Bob’s heart, looking for something very specific. It didn’t take long to find. A huge clot, as she’d suspected.

“Clots that look like this,” she explained, “homogenous, with no settling of the cells, occur prior to death. If the blood clotted after death, gravity would cause the cells to settle, leaving the straw-colored serum on top.”

“The clot is everywhere,” Tom said, his voice pitched high in surprise. “All through the heart.”

“Even if he’d been in the best hospital in the world with the best equipment standing by, nothing could have saved him.”

Tom shook his head slowly. “It was his time.”

“Yes, and I’ve never been so glad to be right about something in my whole life.”

“I didn’t think it would be so easy to prove.”

“Heart attacks often get masked by other possible causes of death. The symptoms aren’t always the same for everyone.”

“Tyler needs to hear this.”

Emilie nodded, and together she and Tom went into the clinic.

J.J. sat at her desk reading one of her medical journals. “He won’t talk to me.”

“That may change,” Emilie said with a smile. She approached Tyler’s bed. “The accident didn’t kill Bob,” she announced.

Tyler turned to look at her, his mouth falling open. “What?”

“I just completed an examination of Bob’s body and discovered he had a massive heart attack immediately prior to the accident. If he was conscious at all, he was likely confused and disoriented. He may have been trying to find help or he may not have been aware of what he was doing.”

“Translation,” Tom put in, “Bob was dead before you hit him.”

“Before?” Tyler asked, his face pale, his lips a waxy white.

“Yes,” she said, coming around to check his pulse. “No way could you have saved him. Not even if you’d been sitting next to him in the cafeteria when it happened.”

“Holy cow,” J.J. said on a rapidly expelled breath.

“I didn’t kill him?” Tyler looked into Emilie’s eyes.

“No.”

“I didn’t kill him,” he repeated to himself softly. His body shook as he started to cry. She grabbed his hand and held on. Tom walked around to the other side of the bed and put a reassuring hand on Tyler’s shoulder.

“I wanted to die,” he said, his voice cracking with sobs.

“We know,” Tom said. “I’ve been there, and it’s a terrible place.”

Emilie met Tom’s gaze over Tyler’s head. “Avoiding your feelings never solved anything.”

Emilie and Tom called a special gathering before dinner and brought Tyler to the cafeteria in a wheelchair, as well.

As soon as everyone arrived, she handed Tom the report. “You tell them.”

“You’re the doctor.”

“But you’re the one everyone looks to.” She waved her hands to shoo him forward.

He frowned, but turned and addressed the crew. “We’ve got some news to share. Sorry it took so long, but we had to wait to complete our investigation and for permission from Bob’s family to inform you.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “The collision between the two snowmobiles did
not
kill Bob. He was already dead of a massive heart attack. Tyler is completely in the clear.”

Complete silence blanketed the room. Then someone gasped. Suddenly everyone erupted with sounds of relief. People converged on Tyler to shake his hand and pat his head, and a few of the girls kissed him right on the mouth.

Emilie grinned at Tom. He grinned back. His eyes flickered to Tyler, whose face was covered in bruises, his arm in a cast, then back to her.

She watched Tom’s smile slowly die.

He broke eye contact and raised his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Bob’s memorial service is tomorrow morning, 9:00 a.m. The family has requested his body be laid to rest here in Antarctica. He’ll be interred near McMurdo. Wear your Sunday best.”

Tom walked over to where Emilie stood next to Tyler’s wheelchair. “I’ve got eighty-five things that have to get done between now and tomorrow. Are you okay to handle him?”

“Yes.” She glanced at her patient’s relaxed face. “I think the storm is over.”

“Is it?”

Tom’s tone, heavy now with disbelief, snagged her attention and she looked at him. He met her gaze with one that refuted her statement. Tyler’s storm might have passed, but theirs hadn’t. It waited offshore, hovering, its dark clouds of doubt and heavy winds of change moving again, and the eye of the storm promised no relief.

Emilie’s smile melted, leaving her cold and bone-dry. “I’ll see you in the morning.” After the service she would take her stand and face the storm.

Tom nodded, unsmiling, and left the cafeteria.

Someone started a movie and Emilie took advantage of the movement of people to roll Tyler out of there.

“Better?” she asked as they headed down the empty hallway toward the clinic.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice frayed by the cutting edge of fatigue.

“Good. Tomorrow will be tough, but hopefully it will provide some closure.” She opened the door with one hand and eased the wheelchair inside with the other. “We all need it.”

Tyler nodded, his eyelids dropping a little. “You too, Emilie?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Me too.”

Emilie sat near the rear of the cafeteria waiting with almost the entire crew complement for Tom and the honorary pallbearers to make their appearance. Only a few whispers broke the silence.

At the front of the room one of the mechanics began to play “How Great Thou Art” on his acoustic guitar. Everyone stood. Tom paced down the center aisle with six men following him, including Tyler, pushed by Stan, also an honorary pallbearer.

Emilie watched the young man, tears rolling down his face, and wished she’d given him more tissues to shove into his cast. Her gaze moved to Tom. If only she could find a way for him to forgive himself and accept her and their baby.

Bob’s accident and death had clarified many things. Life was too short to spend it on worry. She’d wasted enough time on that already. She knew what she wanted now. Her child and Tom. A family and love. This time she would do more than fight for what she wanted. This time she would win.

The guitarist finished his song, the hum of the strings fading to nothing.

“Bob Toryton was many things,” Tom said into the silence. “A power engineer who derived great satisfaction in a job well done, a quiet man who liked to play chess and Monopoly during his off hours and a good friend. This was his second winter at the South Pole Station, but his fifth on the Ice. He worked two winters at McMurdo and one at Palmer. He loved it here. He often said that only beakers and crazies want to come here to work, and he prided himself on being a little bit of both.”

Tom paused for a moment before continuing. “In a place like this, where no one is a permanent resident, friends are the only family we’ve got. He told me he felt like a father to many of us and was even tempted to ground a few people when they didn’t follow safety protocol to the letter.”

Most of the crew laughed.

“Bob was my good friend and my Ice-brother. I miss his grin, his strong hands on the job and his gruff advice. Goodbye, my friend.”

Tom stood with his head bowed before moving Tyler’s wheelchair so he faced everyone, then sat down.

“I’m probably going to start crying like a girl again,” Tyler said. “But Emilie stuffed twenty-five tissues in my cast, so there’s no need for anyone to jump up to hand me another one.”

People chuckled then fell silent again.

“Bob is…was a good friend. I harassed him, though I wasn’t even sure why until just a little while ago. Anyone watching the two of us argue would think we couldn’t stand each other. But it was really our manly way of saying, hey buddy, I think you’re cool, but let’s not get all mushy about it.”

More laughter.

“So when my snowmobile hit his and he ended up dead, I pretty much wanted to die too. I thought I’d killed my friend.” Tyler looked at the floor for a second and shook his head, his face wet. “Emilie, Tom and even J.J. kept telling me Bob would be ticked off at me for thinking that way, and they were right. Bob never took the easy way, he took the right way. From now on that’s what I’m going to do.” He saluted Bob’s picture. “Thanks, buddy.”

Tom wiped a sleeve across his face then said loudly. “Something’s in my eye.”

“It’s going around,” someone else said and everyone began wiping their faces and chuckling.

Two more people spoke, then when no one else got up, the guitarist played a couple more songs while everyone walked up to the picture of Bob and left their goodbye letters. When the place was empty, Emilie waited at the cafeteria doorway for Tom and Tyler to leave their letters.

“I still feel like crap,” Tyler said to Tom.

“Yup.”

“You’re going to say that’s normal, right?”

“Yup.”

When they reached Emilie, she took one look at Tyler and announced, “Nap time.” She pinned Tom in place with a hard glance. “You too.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it instead.

As they walked back to the clinic, the station appeared dead to Emilie. No conversation drifting out of rooms, no music playing, no people moving from one job to another. It was like everyone had decided to take the day off.

Probably a good thing—everyone needed a rest. Tomorrow would be soon enough to get back to all the research and work. Tom helped Tyler into bed then left without even saying goodbye.

The day passed slowly. Emilie spent her time on David’s experiment, concluding that it was now ready for testing in space. The first part of her job was done.

Now what?

Just before dinner she sent out emails to two of David’s closest friends and coworkers at NASA, then shut down her computer. She stared at the dark monitor screen. Was she ready to let the project go? Let David go?

David was dead.

She repeated the words inside her head several times, waiting for the familiar wave of pain to overwhelm her, but what came wasn’t overpowering. Loss, mingled with faint regret, was all that washed over her, and in its wake, acceptance.

David was gone and it was time to move on. Time to concentrate on the future.

Emilie took Tyler to the cafeteria for dinner, and friends surrounded her patient in moments. She sat at another table, happy for Tyler but unwilling to put up with such a crowd while trying to eat. She finished her food, but lingered with a cup of coffee to watch the conversation.

J.J. and Wendy left Tyler’s side and approached her.

“We’re wondering if Tyler can hang out with us and watch the movie tonight.”

“Sure, I’ve got stuff to do in Club Med anyway.”

“We’ll bring him down after the movie is over.”

“Even better, thanks.” She left, glad to let the smile slide off her face. Keeping that smile on almost hurt.

Time to find Tom and face the storm.

He wasn’t in the powerhouse, machine shop or even the kitchen. Emilie paused near the communications room to lean against the wall, dizzy again. She needed more sleep. She needed more of a lot of things, but until this was resolved, she wasn’t going to get them.

Voices reached her ears, male voices, getting louder. Frowning, Emilie stepped closer to the door.

“I don’t care about the risks,” someone yelled. “I’m the station manager and I’m telling you a retrieval flight is necessary.”

She knew that voice.

Dread fired her muscles and she pushed the door open.

Tom sat in front of the computer, the face of the chief of human resources for Nexadren, Nick Thacker, filling the screen. “I need a reason, Tom. What’s wrong with Emilie?”

Surprise and dismay turned her stomach into a block of ice, and she gasped, nearly choking on her words. “What are you doing?”

Tom whipped his head around. “Em?”

She took an unsteady step forward and repeated, “What are you doing?”

“Em, I have to get you out of here to somewhere safe.”

“Without talking to me about it first?”

He raised a brow. “You’re not exactly impartial.”

“And you are?” She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.

“What the hell is going on down there?” Thacker asked.

“Just a little clash of opinion, Mr. Thacker,” Emilie said, shaking loose from shock and striding in front of the computer. “We’ll call you back just as soon as we work this out.” She pressed the power button and the screen went dark. She crossed her arms over her breasts. “We need to talk, Tom.”

He stood, towering over her, frowning. “You’re whiter than a sheet.”

“Stop changing the subject, dammit. We’re going to talk about this, now.” The room spun, her face became numb and a loud buzzing filled her ears. Emilie reached out to grab something solid. Her hand landed on Tom’s arm.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Emilie?”

She tried to answer him, but the numbness spread, sucking her down into oblivion.

A voice pulled at her, dragging her from the dark.

“Come on, gorgeous, wake up.”

Only one person called her gorgeous. “Tom?” She opened heavy eyes to see him bending over her with a stethoscope plugged into his ears. He inflated a blood pressure cuff around her arm.

“Eighty over sixty-five,” he reported, a furrow etched between his eyes. “Better than before.”

“I passed out?”

“Yep. Flatter than a mackerel on ice.”

She closed her eyes and winced. “Great, one more thing you can use as ammunition in your scheme to get rid of me.”

He didn’t reply, just removed the blood pressure cuff and handed her a glass of something fizzy. “Drink this.”

She frowned.

He stared at her for a moment, then sighed, his brows coming together to form a peak on his forehead. “Please.”

She took the cup and he helped her to sit up so she could sip it. “Thanks.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the double doors opened and Carol walked in carrying a tray of steaming dishes.

“She’s awake?”

“I’m awake,” Emilie answered.

“I’ll just leave this here, then,” Carol said with a quick glance and grin at the two of them. She set the tray on the desk and hurried out.

“Did you tell
everyone
?” Emilie asked him, the buzz in ears growing louder again.

“I told her you and I needed some time alone. That’s it.”

“What about Thacker?”

“I never said why I wanted you gone from the station, just that you had to go.”

“I don’t have to go anywhere.”

“You can say that with a straight face after passing out?”

“I was angry,” she said through clenched teeth. “And I’m pregnant.”

“You’re right, we need to check the fetus.” Worry compressed his lips together until they were white. He strode to a storage cabinet and pulled out a compact ultrasound machine on a rolling cart. He plugged it in and it hummed to life. “Take off your sweater.”

Emilie didn’t argue. It was time for an ultrasound anyway. She pulled off her shirt and undershirt, but left on her bra, tugged her jeans down so they barely clung to her hips, then lay down.

Tom grabbed the bottle of gel for the probe and smeared some just above her panties.

She sucked in a breath. “Ooh, that’s cold.”

A grin flashed across Tom’s face.

“Sadist,” she accused.

“
You’re
the sadist,” he retorted. “Working too hard, not getting enough sleep. I worry about you, Em. You
and
the baby.” His nose flared, his eyes flat and narrow, ready to do battle. “How in the hell can I keep the two of you safe if you won’t do your share?”

Her jaw fell open. She couldn’t help it, not after this passionate declaration of concern for her and their baby. She knew he cared, but this was more. Much more.

He placed the probe on her belly and the sound of a rapid heartbeat echoed through the speakers. Tom stared at the screen, moving the probe slightly until the complete image of the fetus appeared, the child’s beating heart clearly visible. “Oh my God,” he breathed.

Emilie’s shock lasted a full second before she laughed, a high, happy sound, her smile wide. She’d imagined how wonderful it would be to see her own child on an ultrasound screen, to hear its heart beating for the first time, but reality was overwhelming. She tried to keep her voice calm, but failed spectacularly. “I’d say the baby looks about nine weeks old.”

“Does everything look okay?” Tom sounded worried.

His question made her heart race. Swallowing her rising hopes, Emilie squinted at the screen then nodded. “Yeah, everything looks…perfect. Take some measurements. Might as well start a chart for the little one.”