Quinn's Deirdre (24 page)

A nurse
arrived. “Quinn Sullivan?” she said. “Is someone here with Quinn Sullivan?”

Deirdre
came to her feet, Des beside her. “We are.”

“He’s
settled into our CCU if you’d like to come with me.”

Deirdre’s experience
with hospital visits had been limited to new mothers, a few routine stays with
her grandfather, and a co-worker recovering from an appendectomy.
  
She had never set foot inside a critical
care unit and when she saw
Quinn,
her hand flew to her
mouth as her eyes overflowed with tears.

His prone
body lay beneath a single cotton sheet.
 
His hands were restrained at the wrists and a tube protruded from his
mouth.
 
A nasal canula delivered oxygen
and judging by the monitor display to the side of his bed, he must be wired into
the grid.
 
Deirdre glanced at the monitor
as different colors marked his respiration, temperature, heart rate, and
pulse.
 
His eyes above the canula and
tube were swollen almost shut and bruised black, a sharp contrast to his pale
face.
 
She approached the bed and touched
his hand.
 
“Why is he tied down?”

The nurse
snorted. “He came around enough to be combative, tried to get out of bed and
kept calling someone’s name.”

“Was it
‘Deirdre’?” Des asked.

“Yes, it
was.”

“That’s
me,” Deirdre said. “Is he sedated?”

“Yes, he
is,” the nurse said. “It was doctor’s orders even before he got feisty.
 
It’s to help him heal.”

“I
understand that. I need to stay with him.”

“I’d
suggest you go home for about twelve hours,” the nurse said. “He’s not going to
wake up or be much fun.
 
I doubt he’ll
even know you’re here.”

Deirdre
slid her hand into his beneath the wrist restraints. “He’ll know.”

She leaned
over him and with extreme care, she kissed his cheek.
 
“Quinn, sweetheart, I’m here. You were so
brave.”

Des inched
closer and grinned. “By God, he hears
ye
, Deirdre.”

The nurse,
who remained, wore a skeptical face. “I doubt it,” she said, but Desmond
interrupted her.

“Look at
the bloody monitors!”

The
colored lines representing heart rate and pulse shot upward from a steady level
to peak.
 
“Quinn,” Deirdre said. “I’m
okay and it’s over, thanks to Uncle Des.
 
I love you.
 
You’ll be fine, I
promise.”

His
fingers twitched, slight and fleeting, against her hand as if he tried to grasp
it. She tightened her grip.
“Rest, Quinn, please.
 
You were hurt very badly, but I’ll stay with
you.
 
When you do wake, I’ll be here.”

A hint of
color lessened his extreme pallor and watching his face, Deirdre swore he made
a tiny nod.
 
“Look at him,” Des said, a
smile lessening his solemn expression. “Aye, he can hear ye well enough.”

Deirdre
glanced at the nurse. “I’m staying,” she said.

“All right.
 
But you mustn’t agitate
him in any way, and there will be times we ask you to step out.
 
Shift changes, any examination or treatment,
bathing him, and such are all off limits.”

“Sure, I
understand.”

One chair
rested beneath the window and after a moment, Deirdre untangled her hand from
Quinn’s to sit.
 
Desmond took up her
previous position and although he didn’t touch his nephew, he gazed at
him.
 
“He’ll do,” he said after several
minutes. “He’s a Sullivan and we’re tough.
 
He’ll come out of this and be well.”

Touched by
his obvious affection, Deirdre nodded. “Yes, he will.
 
Are you staying for awhile or do you need to
get back to the pub?”

She hadn’t
thought about County Tyrone in hours, but it was well past opening time and
with Desmond here, she wondered who had opened for business.
 
Gerry, maybe she thought or some of the other
staff, but the ladies’ restroom door would have to be fixed and the glass swept
away.
 
Desmond’s face shifted and he
looked away from her.
 
Something’s wrong.
 
He hasn’t told me everything.

“Nay,
there’s no hurry at all,” Desmond told her, but he still didn’t meet her eye.

“What
haven’t you told me? Is the pub closed?”

Des
twisted his lips together and sighed. “Aye, well it is, Deirdre.
 
And likely to stay so for
some time.”

“Why?
Because it’s a crime scene?”

“Well,
that’s a small part of it.”

“And
what’s the rest of it?
The broken door, the shattered glass,
and the mess.
 
It can all be put
to rights, can’t it?”

“Those
things, they can indeed.”

“What
can’t?”

The nurse
drew the privacy curtain and departed.
 
Maybe she sensed they didn’t require an audience for what had to be bad
news.
 
Desmond sighed again, a much
larger noise this time.

“There was
a wee fire in the kitchen, that’s all.” His voice was low, as if he hoped not
to disturb Quinn. “No one was hurt, and the flat upstairs wasn’t touched.
 
I’ll tell
ye
later,
but it might upset Quinn to hear.”

True
enough. “All right,” she said. “So you’re staying?”

“I
am.
 
I would anyway for Quinn.
 
I’ll be down in the waiting area, then.”

Des almost
became tangled in the curtain on his way and Deirdre shook her head. She
couldn’t think about the pub, not now. Quinn’s recovery mattered, little else
did at the moment.

When the
nursing staff asked her to step out for awhile, she went, unwilling but aware
if she balked, they might bar her altogether.
 
She joined Desmond in the waiting room and sat down beside him. “So,
tell me about the fire,” she said. She might as well hear it now as later,
then
she could try to figure out what kind of collateral
damage control she’d need for Quinn.

“There’s
little to tell,” Des said. “I had the men there, as ye know.
 
Big Johnny came and we talked.
 
Things got a little dodgy for a bit and there
was a wee scuffle.
 
Somehow, the gas on
the stove got turned on, but I never noticed, what with everything else.
 
And after all was said and done, Big Johnny
struck a match to light his cigar and
whomp
! A huge
fireball erupted and exploded. Thanks
be
to god, I had
the fire extinguisher in my hands and put it out.
 
But the walls are a wee bit blackened.”

Speechless,
Deirdre stared at him and tried to imagine the pristine workspace damaged by
fire.
 
Des must’ve read her face, because
he patted her hand. “Never fear, I’ve no doubt it can be cleaned,” he said.
“And besides, yer fella has good insurance on the place.
 
It might well be his chance to go back to
Ireland and take
ye
home with him.
 
Sometimes good is born out of ill, ye know.”

Everything
had changed.
 
She came back from the dead,
and now Quinn lay in critical condition with his beloved pub in shambles.
 
His livelihood had been threatened and now
comprised.
 
Deirdre’s tears welled up
again at the thought.
 
“No, I don’t but I
hope so.”

The old
man took her hand, his grip strong and tight. “Ye should know so.
 
Quinn’s fond of his pub, ‘tis true, but he
loves ye and nothing matters more to him.
 
Ye’ll see.”

Fragile
and faint, hope stirred within Deirdre, light as a feather.

“All I
want now is for Quinn to get better,” she said. “Maybe the rest won’t matter,
after all.”

And she
settled down to wait, too tired to think.

Chapter Sixteen

Four days
equaled ninety-six hours or an eternity.
 
The medical professionals kept Quinn sedated for four days, although
Deirdre soon learned he roused a little each time before the next dose came
due.
 
In those brief moments, he had
opened his eyes and looked at her with recognition.
 
He had squeezed her hand, too.
 
Each morning, the doctor on call made the
rounds and checked Quinn’s condition.
 
If
she could catch him, Deirdre asked him for the latest report and on the morning
of the fifth day, he delivered good news.

“We’ve
removed the breathing tube,” he told Deirdre. “We’re going to step down the
sedation, reducing the dose each time until by this time tomorrow, he should be
aware of his surroundings.
 
He’s
recovering well.
 
The incisions from the
surgery are healing nicely and the repairs to his spleen are holding.
 
Mr. Sullivan is a very fortunate young man,
because the damage could have been far more serious with greater complications.
He’ll be moved to a standard room on another floor this morning.”

“That’s
wonderful,” Deirdre said. Relief coursing through her body made her knees sag,
and she leaned against the wall so she wouldn’t fall into a heap. “How much
longer will be need to stay at the hospital?”

“A few
more days, as brief as two or as long as another week,” Dr. Mason replied.
“He’ll have to be able to eat, get up, take a few steps, urinate, and have
regular bowel movements.
 
Once he can do
all that, he’ll be a free man, but he’ll still need time to recover.”

“He’ll
have it,” she said.

Quinn’s
new room overlooked the vast parking lot, but if she stood in the right place,
Deirdre thought she could see the roof of the pub.
 
With any luck at all, they might be back there
soon, she thought.
 
Deirdre settled into
the worn recliner and kicked back the footrest.
 
Fatigue washed over her in a wave, and she shut her eyes for a moment of
rest.
 
When she opened them, the drapes
were drawn and the room darkened.
 
Someone
had tossed a blanket over her as she slept and she thrust it aside, sitting up
with alarm.

“Ye’ve not
missed a thing,” Desmond said from another chair. “He’s not awakened yet though
he’s stirred a little.”

Fuzzy
headed, she scrubbed her face to wake up. “What time is it?”

“It’s
after nine in the evening.
 
Ye’ve slept
much of the day.”

“I didn’t
intend to fall asleep.”

Des
laughed. “Ye were dead on yer feet and needed it.
 
Besides, now ye’ve less to worry about.
 
The doctor was in and told me the same as he
told
ye
.
 
He’ll
be home in a few days and I’m glad of it.”

Deirdre
approached the bed.
 
The swelling around
Quinn’s eyes had gone down and the bruises had lightened so he looked more like
himself.
 
Until now, the tube had blocked
access to his lips, so she leaned over and kissed him.
 
“I love you.”

Quinn
blinked and
open
his eyes, startling her.
 
He gazed upward, vision clouded, and then his
beautiful sapphire eyes cleared.
 
They
sparkled as he smiled. “
Mo chroide,”
he
whispered,
his voice hoarse from disuse. “Are ye
alive?”

A wild,
bright joy filled her.
 
Deirdre wanted to
dance, but she giggled instead. “Of course I am, Quinn, darling. And so are
you.”

“I know
that well enough,” he croaked. “Was I shot, then?”

She shook
her head and picked up his hand, cradling it in hers. “No, but they damaged you
very much.”

“Aye…” he
managed and paused. “I hurt, love.”

“I know,
but you’re much better already.”

He made a
face and winced. “Are ye safe, here?”

Desmond
answered, standing on the opposite side of the bed. “Aye, she’s safe and so are
ye.
 
I took care of the lot of them.
 
They’ll
not try to harm yer
woman again nor
any of us.”

Quinn
groped to find his uncle’s hand.
 
Des
grasped it and held it. “Thank you, but are ye sure?”

“I
am.
 
‘Tis a long tale and it’ll keep for
the telling till you’re stronger.
 
Rest, Quinn.
 
Ye’re
weary.”