The Wedding Planners of Butternut Creek (19 page)

For a moment Gabe said nothing. Looked as if a huge piece of rubble had whomped him in the head. “Your sister’s at the high school? But she’s too weak and sick to work here, right?”

“She demanded to come with me.” He shook his head. “No one messes with Hannah once she’s made up her mind.” He paused. “I hate to ask you, but I really worry about my sister. Would you check on her while you’re up there? See how she’s doing?”

Gabe looked around. He didn’t want to leave. He loved this kind of work but the thought of a serious infection with high mortality rates motivated him. With a nod, he automatically headed toward his truck, saw he’d never get it out of the lot even if it still started, then turned toward the highway headed for the high school.

The run took him nearly ten minutes. For the first few minutes, the sun rose behind him and he felt its warmth on his back. After a few blocks, he turned to watch it. He’d seen sunrises all over the world, but they seemed different in each place. Here, little by little, fingers of light spread across destroyed houses and buildings to color the piles of rubble with a gentle yellow touch. With the passing seconds, the illumination added a softness not seen in the glare of the emergency lights and made the chaos less stark, as if it all were part of the cycle of nature.

As the sun painted vacant streets with light and shadows, he began to run again, feeling warmth from a sun-kissed breeze on his back. During the next eight minutes, Gabe realized he wasn’t in as good a shape as he’d thought. He gasped for air the last few blocks.

He had to admit he wanted to see Hannah, see what she looked like in her natural element. The thought of her made his heart beat faster. Of course, that could just be another sign that he was really out of shape.

By the time he arrived at the parking lot, Gabe had to lean over and gulp in air. His breathing slowed; he entered the building, and walked toward a table with a handwritten sign taped to it:
ADMISSIONS AND INFO
. Three women sat there: two tiny and one who looked like she could’ve played on the line at UT. The large woman wore a badge that said
DESDEMONA
.

“I’d like to see Dr. Jordan, please.”

Desdemona glanced at him. “Ouch. I can see why.” She spoke in a soft voice. Despite the gentle tones, he bet she could keep order if someone tried to make a break for the gym. “Why don’t you go in the restroom,” she added, pointing, “and clean yourself up a little? Then come back and do some paperwork. When you finish, we’ll get you in to see someone as soon as possible.”

When Gabe looked at himself in the mirror, he understood all the gasps. His face was smeared with dried blood; a little still leaked from cuts. He rinsed off as much as he could without opening up any lacerations. He looked slightly less hideous. He washed his hands and used a towel to scrub lightly around his neck.

Finished, he returned to the hallway, picked up the clipboard of paperwork, and flipped through the five pages. Probably impossible to get inside without that. He glanced at Desdemona, who kept her eyes on him. He filled them in, then pulled out his driver’s license and insurance card and handed them to the women.

“I’d like to see Dr. Jordan, please.”

“She’s busy now.”

“Her brother told me to ask for her. He’s working downtown. Said she had the background I needed, knows about cuts and infections and stuff.” When the women continued to stare at him, he added, “She’s an epidemiologist, you know.”

“Oh.” The small woman named Marcella studied him with an eyebrow lifted. “You think that laceration requires an epidemiologist?”

“Her brother said so. I’d hate to die.” That statement probably laid it on a little thick.

Marcella nodded, added several numbers to an index card, and handed it to him.

“Go inside and hand this to Abraham, the man standing by the door. He’ll get you settled in the right place.”

Before Birdie arrived at the thrift shop, bedlam had filled the parking lot. Within minutes, she’d taken charge and organized everything. Now cars pulled in on the north driveway to leave food, clothing, and bottles of water as well as bags of groceries and piles of blankets. Volunteers carted all donations inside to separate and organize, then carried boxes of the sorted goods out the south door to load into a caravan of vehicles leaving for San Pablo. Birdie stood in the center of the movement, pointing and shouting and making order from chaos—exactly what she loved most.

Once traffic was moving well, she handed the duty over to Ralph and went inside. Winnie had done a good job of assigning jobs to volunteers. Ouida and her girls sorted toys. Mercedes and a group from the Methodist Church packed paperback books in small boxes. In the grocery area, several from the primitive Baptist Church out on the highway put together meals and stuffed them into sacks. At a back table, Bree separated clothing into boxes by age and gender with several of her friends. Mac toted stacks of jeans and shirts to the table from shelves and racks.

Blossom, sweet but completely ineffectual here, fluttered around, making every effort to help with little success. She didn’t completely understand what people in an emergency needed. This morning she’d showed up with several bags of groceries, which included artichoke hearts and a tin of anchovy paste. Birdie wanted to ask her why she thought anyone in an emergency situation needed them but didn’t. She hated it when Blossom’s soft eyes filled with tears.

Instead, Birdie said, “Blossom, take that carton of canned fruit out to Ralph’s pickup.”

With a smile, Blossom followed orders.

“How are you doing, Ouida?” Birdie asked. “Where’s your husband? Working in Austin today?”

Ouida shook her head and grinned. “No, he went with Sam to San Pablo. Guess church is good for him. I’d never have thought he’d rush into a messy emergency like this but as soon as we got home from the storm cellar, he called Sam and set it up.”

“Have any more boxes, Miss Birdie?” Father Joe said from the door to the parking lot. “We need some of those little ones.”

“I’ll bring ’em right out.” With a nod, Birdie headed into the storeroom. She pulled a dozen broken-down boxes from behind the shelf and picked up a pair of scissors and a roll of tape from a basket. As she turned to leave, she heard voices at the table where the girls worked.

“So how are you and Hector doing?” Birdie identified the voice of Angela, the tall spiker on the volleyball team. “Sweet, sweet Hector.”

“We’re fine.”

Birdie recognized Bree’s I-don’t-want-to-discuss-this voice. Angela obviously didn’t.

“Tommy John Schmidt told me he saw you two kissing in that deserted hallway behind the gym. Is that true?” Angela said.

“Tommy John should keep his mouth shut,” Bree stated.

“Were you?” Angela pushed.

“Shh, Angela. Don’t say anything. Yes, I kissed him, but that’s all. You know I wouldn’t do more than that. Hector doesn’t expect it. He’s a good guy.”

Birdie let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Why not? He’s hot.” That sounded like Becky, the girl with the killer serve.

“Because I won’t. I’ll never get pregnant before marriage because I don’t believe in fooling around.” After a pause, she added, “Don’t tease me. I know I’m a goody-goody and I accept that. Besides, if that happened—” Bree’s voice broke. “If I got pregnant, it would mess up our lives and break my grandmother’s heart. I couldn’t do that to her. Now,” she continued, “I have a box of clothes for boy sizes seven to twenty. Anyone have something to put in here?”

Birdie leaned against the wall and felt like crying. Oh, she was so proud of Bree. At the same time, she felt bad. She hadn’t realized how much she must have harped on their mother for Bree to say those words. No, she didn’t want either sister to end up pregnant too soon or unmarried, but she hadn’t ever wanted to put their mother down.

“Hey,” a man shouted. “We need blankets, quilts, whatever you have. We’re going to pack a truck with ice.”

She didn’t have time to even think about anything Bree had said, not now. Birdie had a town to rescue. She gripped the boxes, grabbed an armful of blankets, and headed outside to hand it all to Father Joe. In the parking lot, she checked on all the activity. Winnie made lists of what volunteers had loaded into each truck as Ralph guided vehicles in and out of the driveways. Mercedes stood by the front door to direct the volunteers.

And Blossom smiled sweetly and waved her pretty plump hands at everyone.

Hannah paused for a moment and took a deep breath. Energy filled her, but how long would it last? No sleep, working for hours, but she still felt good and would push until she didn’t.

“Hey, sweetheart.” She knelt in front of a girl about five or six years old with wide, frightened eyes. Lacerations covered her arms, face, and legs.

“Did the nurse clean up all those cuts?” Hannah asked in the gentle, soft voice she used for the frightened and suffering and the very young.

The child nodded.

“I see your name is Yolanda.” Hannah checked the chart in her hand before she studied the cuts on the girl’s face and legs. “Yolanda’s a pretty name.” She looked around. No parent close by. With another glance at the chart, she saw that Yolanda’s father had been admitted to the hospital a few hours earlier.

“How did you get here?” Hannah asked. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s with my little brother,” Yolanda explained in a whisper so soft Hannah had to lean way over to hear her. “My aunt Melanie brought me in. She’s sitting with a friend now.”

Hannah glanced around, searching for someone who might be Yolanda’s aunt, when her eyes found…oh, dear, no…Gabe, sitting in the line waiting to see a doctor, his face crusty with blood.

She hadn’t expected to see him
here
, on her turf, where she felt comfortable and secure. Adam had said both he and Hector were fine.

Why should the presence of her brother’s friend make her feel unsafe?

Stupid question. She knew. The man made her breathless with absolutely no scientific basis for her reaction. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start hyperventilating. Hard to take care of patients after passing out.

She dropped her gaze back to Yolanda and modulated her breathing. “Can you show me where she is?”

Yolanda waved, and a heavyset woman with dark braids left a chair and came toward them.

For the next five minutes, Hannah concentrated on Yolanda and asked her aunt a few questions about the girl’s health.

“Yolanda, I need to check your blood pressure,” Hannah said as she wrapped the cuff around the girl’s upper arm. After watching the gauge, Hannah said, “Very good. One twenty over seventy-five.” Moving her stethoscope, she said, “Now. I need to listen to your heart and lungs. Take a deep breath, please.”

After listening, she tapped on Yolanda’s chest, palpated her abdomen, and peered down her throat. “Sounds good, Miss Yolanda.”

The little girl giggled. “I’m not ‘Miss’ Yolanda.”

Hannah smiled. “Well, whoever you are, almost everything looks fine, but I’m hearing a little wheezing.” She looked at the aunt. “Has she ever had trouble with asthma?”

“Don’t believe so,” Aunt Melanie said, and Yolanda shook her head.

“I’d like to keep you here for a few hours. First, we’ll draw your blood for some tests, and clean and dress out your cuts. While you’re here, we’ll take your temperature and listen to your lungs every hour. You might have inhaled something, so I want to monitor you.”

“All right,” Aunt Melanie said. “Her daddy got her into a closet and shielded her, but he got a couple of broken bones when the ceiling fell in. When she’s ready, we’ll visit him, then I’ll take her to my house.”

“And her mother and brother?”

“They were at the grocery store. Whole thing fell in on them. They’re in X-ray over at the hospital. They think everything’s okay, but they hurt. Lots of bruises.”

When Yolanda left her area, Hannah glanced at the waiting area surreptitiously, or so she thought. Gabe waved.

Surely he wasn’t waiting for her, was he?

L
ips pursed, Hannah looked as if she’d swallowed a pickle when she saw him. As Gabe watched her watching him, her eyes became slits.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think she wasn’t happy to see him. Actually, he knew she wasn’t happy to see him. Her consistency constituted a challenge. Why did this woman dislike him?

He enjoyed the fact that at least she’d displayed some kind of emotion when she’d seen him. A negative reaction, sure, but she had noticed him. She also had an interesting expression in her eyes. Even if it looked like the glare she might give to the gangrenous toe of a diabetic, at least she didn’t completely ignore him. Yeah, that felt like real progress. Maybe in a year or two she would only snarl when he approached.

“You’re next for Dr. Jordan,” Abraham said, after the medical staff had seen a dozen more patients.

He ushered Gabe toward her station.

Gabe could almost hear the gears turning in Hannah’s head and her heels digging in, but he knew she couldn’t come up with a reason not to treat him. She was a doctor, sworn to do no harm and to help all people, even those she didn’t particularly like.

Then Abraham took a good look at him. “Hey, aren’t you Flash Borden. Played for UT and the Rockets?”

He nodded and smiled even though he hated that nickname.

“Never forgot the three-point shot you hit to win the championship. Had to be fifty feet away.” The man shook his head in wonder.

“Sit down,” Hannah said with her back toward him, pretending, he thought, to straighten her tools. But when she glanced at him and studied his face, Hannah Jordan, MD, took over. She took a couple of steps toward him, put her fingers on his chin, gently turned his face toward the light to scrutinize it. “What happened?”

He shrugged because he hated to discuss injuries. “Window broke.”

“What did you do? Bury your face in the shards?”

“When the tornado hit, the window broke before I found cover.”

She lifted one of his eyelids and shone a penlight into it. With a nod, she studied the other. “You covered your eyes. They look fine.”

“Yeah,” he said, showing his brilliant conversational skills.

“But the part you couldn’t cover—your forehead, your chin, your ears and neck…” She studied each as she talked. “They have deep cuts. You should’ve come in hours ago.” She lifted his chin carefully and touched his cheek lightly. “Several of these are going to need stitches.”

He refused to pull away but that last contact hurt.

“I’m going to have to clean all the lacerations. It’s going to hurt because there’s so much dried blood.”

She wasn’t kidding. It felt like sandpaper scrubbing at his wounds, but he would not react to the anguish. He refused to emasculate himself as he usually did with Hannah.

After five minutes of torment, she stopped and said, “Take your shirt off.”

“Hardly the place, Doc.” He grinned at the same time he knew he sounded corny and desperate and not a bit amusing to a medical professional.

“Very funny.” She hadn’t laughed. No, she folded her arms. “You’ve got blood on the back of your shirt.”

“I probably…”

“Take your shirt off,” she said in a tone that probably made everybody she dealt with do exactly what she said.

He bet everyone in the gym—staff and patients and volunteers alike—had started to unbutton their shirts when they heard her command.

So, of course, he took his shirt off. He didn’t want to, but, in this situation, she was the boss. Besides, his back did feel scratchy and painful.

He tried to wiggle free of the shirt but couldn’t. He guessed dried blood held it in place because it hurt to pull it away.

“I’m going to have to cut it off,” she said.

Might as well. He couldn’t wear it again anyway.

He watched as she took blunt-ended scissors and disappeared behind him. When she’d finished cutting, he heard a ripping sound and pain exploded across the right side of his back, where she’d ripped it off. Fortunately, as much as he screamed inside, it came out more like a whimper. Not a macho whimper. He didn’t think those existed. More like a little boy who’d watched his mother walk away. That had hurt.

“Sorry,” she said in a voice that held not one note of apology. “I’ve learned that quick and unexpected usually is less painful.”

At the moment he opened his mouth to disagree, she ripped the shirt off the left side of his back. “Ouch,” he shouted. Better than a whimper except that everyone who wasn’t comatose turned to stare at him.

“Okay, let’s wiggle your arms out of the sleeves,” she threatened him.

Oh, he didn’t believe she
meant
it as a threat, but she wasn’t the one who’d nearly had the top three layers of skin pulled off.

“No,” he said quickly before she could even lay a finger on his sleeves. “I’ll do it.”

While he slowly removed the remains of his shirt, she stood behind him and leaned across the examining table to scrutinize the wounds. She punched him and rubbed her fingers across his back, very pleasant if not for the excruciating pain he refused to acknowledge. Then she began cleaning the wounds, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from sniveling.

“I know this must hurt like crazy,” she said. “But the blood has dried and I almost have to chip it off.”

“Does hurt a bit,” he said through his clenched jaw.

Finally finished with inflicting torture, she said, “Okay, lie down on your stomach.”

When he did, with a gentle touch this time, she slid her hands across his back. “Don’t think you’ll need stitches on any of these. I can close them with butterfly bandages.” She took a step back. “After that, I want you to take off your jeans. I’ll put up a privacy screen, then ask Dr. Fritz to—”

“No.” Hard to be tough when lying flat on his stomach, his face in the pillow and his words garbled, but he made the effort. “My legs are fine and so is everything else down there. I know. Nothing hurts. No blood on the jeans. Do what you need to do so I can get back to work.”

“You really should…”

He pushed himself up, turned, and sat on the side of the table. “Hannah, you can be tough and stubborn but no one in the world can outstubborn me when I’m determined. No one,” he added to spell this out clearly to her.

“Coach…”

“Doc, I’m the patient. I’ll sign a release if you need it, but all I want done is a couple of bandages and a few stitches.”

Her chin lifted a little as she watched him through narrowed eyes. “As a doctor…” When he didn’t say anything, she said, “Okay, but I’m not going to clear you to work in the rubble.” She tapped her finger on his chest, and her gaze didn’t waver. “You have far too many open wounds to allow you to immerse yourself in that pit of infection.”

When she described it that way, he realized he no longer wanted to return. “Okay.” He lay on his stomach. “Just take care of my back and my face.”

“I need an assistant and a dressing tray,” she called. After she cleaned his back again, Hannah pressed on several dressings. Then she said, “I’m going to find a surgeon to do the stitches on your face.”

“I don’t want a surgeon,” he sat up and stated clearly and forcefully. “I want you to do that.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I know how to do sutures but not like a surgeon. I could stitch up a cut in your arm, but not on your face. I don’t do that well enough for it to heal invisibly.” She held her hand up. “I’m not being snarky when I say what I’m going to say.” She paused and tilted her head. “Okay, maybe I’m being a little snarky but you really don’t want me to do this. It’d be a shame to mar all that beauty.”

“No, not snarky at all and I don’t care. I’m not as wrapped up in my amazing good looks as you think I am.”

She opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. Finally, she snapped, “Okay. You win.” With that, she waved toward an attendant and said, “I need a nurse, lidocaine, and a suture kit.”

“I don’t need lidocaine.”

“Let’s pretend I’m the doctor here. Are you with me on that?”

He nodded.

“You can be brave and manly if you want, but I’m still going to deaden the area before I start. Shrieks of pain distract me and scare the other patients.” She took the syringe from the nurse, filled it, and began injecting the lidocaine around each cut.

It wasn’t pretty and he felt deep gratitude that she had ignored him when he’d requested not to have painkiller. He didn’t want to repeat stitching up the cut next to his lip ever again. Or the one over his eyebrow.

“I’m going to give you a shot of antibiotics as well as a tetanus shot. Don’t suppose you know when you had your last one.”

He shook his head. “Probably while I was playing ball.”

“You are not to be around patients until I clear you, either. Too easy to pass on an infection or pick one up.”

An hour later, Gabe sat at a table in the middle of the library, now being used as a makeshift cafeteria after the real cafeteria had been turned into the hospital overflow. He picked up the sack of peanuts he’d bought at the vending machine and poured it into his Pepsi. He preferred Royal Crown Cola but that was hard to find. He jiggled the bottle, only a little to mix the flavors, then took a long, crunchy drink.

On restricted duty, he repeated to himself. No contact with patients until cleared. No working in rubble until cleared.

He took another drink and looked around. Plenty of books, but he’d come here to work.

Couldn’t leave with his truck in bad shape. He’d have to find something to keep busy and feel as if he were helping. He stood, finished off the Pepsi, and tossed the bottle into the trash. He bet he could talk Desdemona into giving him something to do.

After spending the morning doing office work and entering information on computers, he wandered into the library again and grabbed a few sandwiches. As volunteers entered for lunch, each grabbed a bottle of water from an ice chest and gulped half of it down immediately. Within a few minutes, a few of the Butternut Creek group wandered in. Gussie dragged her arm over her forehead while Sam’s and Adam’s shirts were wet with sweat and plastered against their bodies. Only George looked as if he hadn’t done a lick of work.

“Take another.” A volunteer shoved a plastic bottle of lukewarm water at Gussie. “Don’t want to get dehydrated.”

Once they were through the line, Gabe waved for them to join him.

“Why didn’t you come back to work?” After he set his tray down, Adam scrutinized Gabe’s face.

“They have me shuffling papers here because your sister won’t let me near patients or rubble. Too many open cuts.” Gabe shook his head. “I’m afraid to cross her.”

“Me, too,” Gussie said. George nodded agreement. “I bet Dr. Hannah Jordan is a very tough lady.”

“She actually mentioned that fungus you warned me about,” Gabe said.

Adam nodded. “I know my zygomycosis.”

“And she said I’d scare people looking like this.”

“My sister has a great sense of humor.”

“Yeah, she’s a laugh riot.” Gabe shook his head. “Anyway, I’m not doing anything worthwhile yet, not until she clears me.”

Adam glanced around. “Where is my sister?”

“Still seeing patients, I guess. Hector’s around someplace. He and his new basketball buddies have been transferring patients.” Gabe picked up a fork and started on the huge piece of pecan pie.

“Good.” Adam attacked his spaghetti. “If you see him, tell him I’ll pick him up about five to head home.”

“He won’t want to come,” Gabe said.

“He’s got school on Monday.”

They ate in silence for nearly a minute before Gussie asked, “How long are you staying, Gabe? Maybe you could bring him tomorrow.”

Gabe shook his head. “I already called the superintendent, told him I’m staying all week or as long as they need me here. And I don’t have transportation because my truck doesn’t run.” He studied the gang from Butternut Creek. “Y’all look like you worked hard.”

“After all those hours of work, I looked around. Rubble still covered every inch. Didn’t seem as if we’d accomplished a thing,” Gussie said. “There’s so much devastation.”

“You know who’s a great worker?” Adam asked. “George. He doesn’t look like it and I have no idea how he keeps his jeans clean, but he’s amazing.”

George reacted to the praise with a quick grin.

“We moved to a residential area to clean up downed trees and limbs after the heavy equipment came,” Gussie said. “George used the chain saw to cut up the big pieces.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Sam said. “George sliced them into the most precise pieces I’ve ever seen. Every branch cut to the exact same length.”

“George cut while we stacked pieces along the curb for pickup,” Gussie said.

“Where’s Hannah working?” Adam asked.

“Triage in the gym. They’re pretty busy there. People keep coming in as emergency workers make it farther out in the county and find more damage and injured people.”

Finished with her lunch, Gussie said, “I’m going to throw some water on my face and wash up a little.” She stood, picked up her tray, and headed off.

“Me, too.” George moved toward the men’s restroom.

Before Gabe could stand, Adam said, “Don’t leave. I really need your help. How long has Hannah been working?”

“You know. You dropped her off here before you came to where I was.” He glanced at his watch. “So about nine hours?”

“Nine hours straight? No break?”

Gabe nodded.

“She has no idea how to take care of herself.” Adam leaned forward on his elbows and dropped his forehead on his hands. “I’m going to have to leave in a couple of hours. She has no idea how to slow down. I know she’s going to wear out if someone doesn’t step in.”

Adam looked up at him with such an earnest expression that Gabe knew exactly what his friend wanted. Instinct made him want to leap to his feet and run as fast as he could. Friendship kept him in the chair.

“While you’re here, would you watch over my sister?”

Gabe cursed, inside. Even though he’d known Adam was going to ask this, he’d hoped he’d been mistaken. “You’ve got to be kidding. She’d no more allow me to tell her what to do than…than…” He had no idea how to complete that comparison.