Hope for Tomorrow Page 15

  “I had a few minutes to kill before a lunchtime meeting, and I had the feeling you might be out here working.”

  “So what do you think?” he asked, looking around at the bare bones of the courtyard. “A lot left to do, but it’s coming along.”

  “It’s going to be beautiful,” Elena said, remembering how many drawings she and Cameron had sketched out before settling on a few they liked enough to present to the hospital administrators. The Wall of Hope had been her baby, and she’d also coordinated the effort to revamp the entire courtyard. As she looked at it now—nothing more than the basic foundation—the creative side of her imagined how it would look when completed and how wonderful it would be to sit out here on spring and summer days.

  “Let me show you the idea I’ve come up with for the water feature.” Cameron climbed down from the pickup. Opening the passenger door, he reached inside and pulled out a black three-ring notebook, its edges ragged, looking like it had held many a landscape project over the years.

  Tossing his dirty blue baseball cap onto the front seat, Cameron ran a hand through his gray hair. He rested a booted foot on the planter that had yet to be completed and balanced the notebook on his knee, opening it up so Elena could get a good look.

  “I was in Chicago last week and checked out a large landscape supplier,” he said. “I think I can get a good deal on some of their concrete patio tables, and they’ve got an extensive collection of water features to go in the butterfly garden.”

  Cameron took an envelope out of the notebook’s inside pocket and handed it to Elena. “I took pictures of almost all that they had, plus some of the fountains too. Why don’t you hang on to those and take a look at the pictures when you have a chance. You might want to change some of our plans once you see what’s available.”

  “Do you have a favorite?” Elena pulled out the top photo, trying to picture the fountain mixed in with the perennials Cameron would plant in the spring.

  “Yeah, but I want to see if we’re both on the same page designwise.”

  “It’s a deal.” Elena tucked the envelope into one of the pockets in her scrubs. “By the way,” Elena said, hoping she could talk Cameron into helping with the Harvest Festival, “we’ll have a special booth set up at the Harvest Festival to sell memory blocks for the Wall of Hope.”

  “Great idea.”

  “I’m glad you agree.” Elena grinned. “Think you could help man the booth? I can’t imagine anyone doing a better sales job than you.”

  “I should have known there was a catch.”

  “There’s more.”

  Cameron’s eyes twinkled as he shook his head. “Of course there is.”

  “Do you have any pumpkins and gourds we might be able to use for decorations?”

  “Close to a quarter acre. All sizes, all shapes and all colors. Want a truckload full?”

  “That would be perfect! Do you think you could drop them off at Good Shepherd next week, on Thursday morning?”

  “Not a problem. As a matter of fact, I’ve got a men’s Bible study breakfast that morning. I can probably round up a couple of the guys to help me. Which reminds me…Anabelle said you were hoping to run into Albert Varner at church.”

  “Yeah, but he hasn’t been there in a couple of weeks.”

  “Well, just in case you’re interested, Albert Varner’s Bible study meets at Ripley’s Diner Tuesday mornings at six, and from what I hear, he never misses a meeting.”

  And Elena didn’t plan to miss it, either.

  Quintessa walked around Zane McGarry’s office carrying a tray bearing cold sodas and a variety of meat and vegetarian sandwiches, deliciously made and carefully wrapped by the staff in the cafeteria. They’d made them especially for Quintessa, which meant the meat would be extra thick, the lettuce and tomatoes fresh and everything scrumptious. Not that the cafeteria’s normal food was less than perfect, but everyone liked Quintessa and went out of their way to please her.

  Elena felt a little odd sitting in CFO Zane McGarry’s dove gray leather chair behind his upscale glass-topped desk, but she was in charge of this meeting, and Quintessa had insisted.

  “Thanks so much for coming,” Elena said, happy that so many of the festival’s coordinators were able to make it. “I don’t have a formal agenda, and I want to keep this meeting as short as possible, which I’m sure none of you will mind.”

  “Works for me,” Quintessa said, sitting at a table in the corner where she’d set up her laptop, one of her fancy graphs already visible on the big screen that pulled down out of the ceiling in Mr. McGarry’s office. “If you don’t mind, I’ll get all the financial details out of the way, since it’s usually the most boring, then get into the logistics.”

  Elena took a bite of her chicken salad sandwich on thick whole grain bread, which Quintessa had ordered specifically for her, knowing that it was Elena’s favorite. She listened intently to everything Quintessa had to say, although she was thoroughly familiar with the details. Quintessa had kept her aware of every detail, sending her one concise e-mail every day.

  There were six women in the room. Two of them Elena didn’t know, probably Quintessa’s friends, but Ainslee Giffen was here, volunteering as usual, and Ginger Murphy had come too, but she was walking around the room, her hands pressed against her lower back, something resembling pain etched on her face. That wasn’t good.

  “Ginger Murphy, who’s new to our group,” Quintessa said, pointing to the very pregnant redhead, “will be coordinating the booth decorations, taking that job over from Elena. She’s already lined up volunteers, including Ainslee Giffen, our own Anabelle Scott’s daughter.”

  Quintessa introduced the rest of the ladies, then continued on, giving more details about decorations, but Elena was distracted, worried about Ginger. Trying not to attract attention, she pushed away from the desk and walked over to Ginger, putting her arm around her, trying to look like it was merely a friendly gesture, and not one of concern.

  “Are you okay?” Elena whispered into Ginger’s ear.

  “Just feeling a little dizzy.”

  “Anything else?”

  “A headache, but it’s nothing serious.”

  “Why don’t you sit down?”

  Ginger smiled. “I’d rather lie down, but there isn’t a bed in here.”

  “Why don’t I take you upstairs and put you in Candace’s care for a little while?”

  Ginger might have rolled her eyes if they weren’t already filled with pain. “You’ve got a meeting to conduct and I really need to hear everything that’s going on.”

  “I’ll update you later, but right now, let’s get you out of here.”

  Ginger didn’t argue, and she didn’t fight the arm Elena placed around her back as they walked toward the door.

  “I’ll be right back,” Elena said, when everyone looked toward her and Ginger, fear on all their faces. “I don’t think Ginger’s gone into labor, but this is a hospital after all, and since she’s here and she’s not feeling well—”

  “Just go,” Quintessa urged. “I’ll keep everything going until you get back.”

  The elevator wasn’t all that far a walk from Mr. McGarry’s office, and Elena latched onto an empty wheelchair and had Ginger sitting down, her feet up within moments. It seemed to take forever for the elevator to come, but it probably wasn’t more than thirty seconds before she pushed Ginger inside.

  A hand and arm reached through the just closing elevator doors and when they opened once again, Ainslee stepped inside. “I thought Ginger might need her purse,” Ainslee said, “and since I’m not really needed in that meeting and you are, Elena, I thought I’d stay with her in case she needs anything.”

  Ginger looked up, smiling at Ainslee, whom she’d met just before the meeting started. They had so much in common, Elena thought, and Ainslee was the first person she’d thought of when she was suggesting possible volunteers for Ginger to call. Now Ainslee was holding Ginger’s hand, giving her comfort.

>   Elena put her palm on Ginger’s forehead. She was cold and clammy and she was breathing hard—and Elena hadn’t been so frightened in ages. Pregnancy wasn’t her specialty and because she didn’t work obstetrics or labor and delivery, she felt she knew so little.

  The first chance she had, she was going to enroll in some classes. Heaven forbid this should happen to one of her friends again.

  The moment the elevator doors opened, Elena pushed the wheelchair out, never more thankful that the Birthing Unit was so close or that Candace was standing in the hallway talking with Dr. Frances Carpenter, an obstetrician and gynecologist.

  “Got a moment?” Elena asked, not caring who heard her. Right this moment, she’d accept help from anyone.

  Candace was at Ginger’s side immediately, bending down to talk with her. “What’s going on, Ginger?” Candace asked, reminding Elena that Ginger was in one of Candace’s birthing classes. God was definitely smiling down on Ginger, putting her in the right place at the right time when she needed help.

  “I know you don’t want to go back to your meeting, not yet anyway,” Ainslee said, squeezing Elena’s arm as Candace took Elena’s place at the back of the wheelchair and pushed Ginger out of the hallway. “But you’re needed in the meeting, and I can stick with Ginger.”

  Ainslee was right. Elena didn’t want to leave.

  Standing just inside the Birthing Unit, Elena watched Candace wheeling Ginger to one of the private rooms, and she knew there was nothing she could do now but worry. And she could worry anywhere. She might as well do it sitting in a Harvest Festival meeting.

  “Everything okay?” Quintessa asked, when Elena walked back into Zane McGarry’s office.

  Elena nodded, afraid she might not be able to talk through the lump in her throat. She took a sip of her diet soda, wanting desperately to tear her thoughts away from Ginger. But as soon as she got the meeting back on track again, she folded her hands on top Zane McGarry’s desk and silently prayed for her friend.

  “I’m fine, Elena. Honestly.”

  Ginger lay on her side, a few pillows at her back while she hugged another, still looking a little pale and maybe a bit frightened. Standing at the edge of her bed, Elena glanced at the monitors. Ginger’s blood pressure was low, but not dangerous; oxygen count okay. She was tempted to take her stethoscope out of her pocket and listen to Ginger’s heart, but that would be taking her worry to a whole new level.

  But wasn’t it normal to worry, especially for a woman who’d already suffered three miscarriages?

  “Has a doctor been in to see you yet?” Elena finally asked, even though she knew that emergencies were almost always responded to quickly.

  “Dr. Carpenter gave me a thorough exam and a pretty good bill of health, and Candace hovered over me like a mother hen until someone else really needed her.”

  “Any diagnosis?” Elena asked, hoping it was strictly low blood pressure and that the severe headache combined with the dizziness hadn’t been symptoms of something serious, something that could harm the baby.

  “My blood pressure was low, and Dr. Carpenter’s having some blood work done to check my iron level. But everything else looks good.”

  Elena would ask her if she was taking prenatal vitamins, if she was eating correctly, sleeping on her side instead of her back, but then she’d sound like a nagging mom. “Is Steve coming to get you?”

  Ginger shook her head. “I didn’t want to worry him, so Ainslee’s going to take me home as soon as the doctor’s seen the results of my blood work.” She laughed lightly—a good sign. “She’s determined to make me stay off my feet and eat healthier. You’d think we’d known each other for years instead of just a couple of hours.”

  “And I’m going to insist that you drop your plans to have a booth at the Harvest Festival. We can find another coordinator for the decorations too.”

  “Do you want me to be bored to tears throughout the rest of my pregnancy?”

  “I want you to be healthy.”

  Ginger wiped a few tears from her face. “Me too. More than anything I’ve wanted in my life.”

  Chapter Twenty

  PHYLLIS GETTY SLIPPED INTO THE ICU NURSES’ station. She could have been a stealth bomber, considering how silently and almost invisibly she’d moved. Was she on a mission?

  Elena had a fresh IV bag in her hands and was about to head into Mrs. Ackland’s room, when Phyllis came to a halt right in front of her. “I’ve heard a rumor about Mr. Varner.”

  Elena had heard just about enough rumors. Albert Varner hadn’t been at church yesterday morning and even though Sandy had been singing in the choir, she’d managed to avoid Elena.

  Tomorrow morning, however, Elena planned to be at Ripley’s Diner at six o’clock when the men’s Bible study group met, and she hoped and prayed that Mr. Varner would be there. Even if he wouldn’t tell her exactly what was going on, she hoped she could at least talk with him long enough to find a way to dispel all the rumors.

  Of course, there wouldn’t be rumors floating around if the hospital administrators would send out a press release or at least a notice to the staff to let them know what was going on.

  Rumors piqued everyone’s curiosity, and Elena figured she should hear Phyllis’s tale, whether it was another rumor or the plain and simple truth.

  “What’s the latest, Phyllis?”

  “Well”—Mrs. Getty’s gravelly voice lowered—“Varner’s a whistle-blower.”

  It was all Elena could do not to roll her eyes. What could he possibly know worth blowing the whistle on? “You’ve got to give me a few more details than just that, Phyllis.”

  “What I heard is”—she looked around, like a covert operative, and when she seemed satisfied that no one was watching or listening to her, she stepped a little closer to Elena—“there are some doctors at Hope Haven who’ve been implanting unapproved pacemakers and stents. Apparently Mr. Innisk is well aware of this and had allowed it to go on because it was a moneymaker, but when Mr. Varner learned the truth, he said ‘stop it now, or I go to the feds.’”

  Elena could only stare at Mrs. Getty in dumbfounded disbelief. She’d obviously watched too many episodes of Law and Order over the years.

  “From what I’ve heard,” Mrs. Getty continued, “the board fired him so he couldn’t get his hands on incriminating documents.”

  “There are a lot of rumors floating around,” Elena said, hoping to put this crazy one to rest. Mrs. Getty was such a dear, but there were times when she could be a little overzealous. “I’m sure there’s a more plausible explanation.”

  “I certainly hope so. I’ve been here a long time, and I love Hope Haven. I’d hate to see some kind of scandal blow up and put a black mark on the hospital.”

  Elena didn’t want that to happen either.

  Tomorrow morning she would get to the truth of the matter.

  Mrs. Ackland was asleep when Elena walked into her room. There had been talk about putting her in hospice care, which her daughter had agreed to, but the doctors were having trouble getting her pneumonia under control. Her lungs were failing and the pseudomonad infection she’d contracted was putting up a stronger fight than the antibiotics.

  Elena changed the elderly woman’s IV bag and added morphine, working as quietly as possible. Mrs. Ackland’s breathing was more labored than usual. Right now, Elena merely hoped she could control the pain.

  “Is that you, Charles?”

  “No, Mrs. Ackland.” Elena leaned close to her patient and gently stroked white hair off her chilly brow. “It’s Elena. Your nurse.”

  Her eyes fluttered, but she didn’t open them.

  Elena walked across the room, opening the blinds to let in some of the beautiful sunshine.

  Mrs. Ackland licked her lips. “Could I have some water? I’m so thirsty.”

  Elena lifted Mrs. Ackland’s glass and held the flex straw so she could put it between chapped lips.

  “That tastes good.”

  Elena pulled
back Mrs. Ackland’s blankets to listen to her heart and lungs, hating the abnormal whooshing sound and the murmurs.

  Mrs. Ackland opened her eyes, smiling softly at Elena. “Do you like stars?”

  “I love them.”

  “When I close my eyes I see stars.”

  Mrs. Ackland struggled for breath, her face wrinkling in pain. Without asking Mrs. Ackland if she was hurting more than usual, Elena increased the morphine drip. At this point, they were doing all they could do to keep her comfortable.

  And as Mrs. Ackland slipped back into sleep, Elena went out to the desk to call the elderly woman’s daughter. It was probably time for her to come to the hospital so she could see her mother one last time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  JAMES PACED THE FLOOR OF THE STAFF LOUNGE, A tall white Styrofoam cup in his right hand, the coffee he’d doctored with sweetener sloshing about, but his hands were steady, and not a drop spilled over.

  “Would you sit down, James?” Elena had stretched out on a sofa, taking a short break away from the ICU, just long enough to rest her legs and eat a quick sandwich. “You look like a man in an old black-and-white movie, waiting outside the delivery room for his first child to be born.”

  Candace sat at one of the small tables in the lounge, a fork full of crisp green salad with some kind of creamy dressing halfway to her mouth. When Heath Carlson waved to her with a big smile on his face from the vending machine, she gave him a small nod as her cheeks flushed slightly. She cleared her throat and jumped into the conversation. “You aren’t still dwelling on the Boy Scout thing, are you?”

  “Yeah. Who would have thought a decision like this would cause me so much angst? I’ve had to make split-second decisions in my line of work, but this scoutmaster thing is driving me up a wall.”

  “I know what your problem is, James,” Elena said.

  His head spun around to look at her. “Then tell me, ’cause I’m dying to know.”