Love's Healing Touch
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Nevertheless, when he walked in that day at 3:00 p.m. for a double shift, he knew she was there.
Ana gently probed the leg of the crash victim. She couldn’t feel anything odd. Of course, the swelling didn’t allow for a complete manual examination. “X-ray,” she shouted and turned to glance over her shoulder.
He was there. Fuller. Getting ready to transfer the victim to a gurney so the other orderly could push the gurney of another patient into its place.
His presence made her feel a little giddy.
Get a grip, she lectured herself.
“Dr. Ram'irez,” said an RN. “You have another patient.”
“Thanks, Olivia.” She dried her hands and held them out for the nurse to slide the clean gloves on her.
The entire night passed in the same way, patient after patient rolling in, being attended to, then moving on. Between those emergencies, she enjoyed the tantalizing glimpses of Fuller transporting patients or checking with an EMT or picking up a patient’s chart. As she did with everyone, she nodded to him or thanked him or got out of his way so he could take the gurney to surgery or a room. At midnight, her aching back forced her to lean against the wall and stretch her muscles. Fuller hurried past, this time giving her a smile, much to her surprise.
He had a great smile. Too bad she didn’t see it more. Or, maybe it was a good thing. If he smiled more often, she might behave more foolishly, if that were possible.
During a lull a few hours later, she decided to take a nap. She had two choices. The first: she could hurry over to the on-call rooms on the fifth floor of the east wing. Narrow little places, each with a bed and little else. The problem was, every time she took off her shoes, settled in the bed and pulled the covers over her, her cell rang. Walking all the way over there wasn’t worth the trouble.
So she decided on the second choice. She headed for the sofa in the break room and hoped she didn’t have to pull rank to get it. Fortunately, she got there first. When she was almost asleep, the door swung open. She knew it was Fuller. How? She still couldn’t figure it out.
She opened her eyes a slit to see if she was right. She was.
As she watched, he stepped into the room and watched her with a gentle expression, one that didn’t fit the Fuller she knew, the Fuller who seldom spoke to her. It must be the dim light that allowed the deviant thought that Fuller might look at her in that way, caring and—oh, certainly not—tender.
After a few seconds, he backed out and closed the door silently. She sat up. What had just happened? Quickly she halted the absurd tangent her brain had taken off on. Tenderness in Fuller’s eyes? Ridiculous.
She had to stop thinking about the orderly. It was not professional. He was not the man for her.
But something inside her didn’t agree, and she was left to wonder why he’d looked at her like that.
Driving home, Mike could barely keep his eyes open. Not the safest thing to do when he was driving, but the extra money from those long double shifts allowed him to breathe more easily. For the first time since college, he had a small savings account. For the first time in weeks, he felt there might be better times ahead that didn’t consist of constant work, that held the promise he might be a doctor someday.
Not that doctors had easy lives, but they had partners to trade off with, got paid a good bit more and didn’t have to do the scut work.
“Orderly,” he imagined himself saying in some far-off day when he was Michael Robert Fuller, M.D. “Transport this patient to X-ray, then check on the woman bleeding in Trauma 8. And while you’re there—” He almost smiled. Life was getting better when he could see a little humor in the situation, when he felt there might be a future for him in medicine.
He turned onto his street in time to see Tim ride away in his friend’s car. Where were they going? He didn’t have a job yet. He’d ask Tim later where he’d gone, if he remembered, but he wasn’t worried. This was too early in the day to get in trouble, even for Tim.
Pulling Francie’s car into the drive, he got out and stretched. He waved down the street toward the neighborhood kids waiting for the school bus as he walked across the lawn and onto the porch. It was hot already, even though it was only late May. That was central Texas.
He unlocked the front door, shoved it open and took a step inside. Silence surrounded him, the usual situation with Tim gone except normally his mother was drinking coffee and reading the paper in the kitchen when he got home. Today the door of her bedroom was shut and a line of light glowed from beneath it. Was she sick?
He knocked and said, “Mom, are you okay?”
When she threw the door open, the dazzling light from her smile and several lamps made him blink.
“I’m magnificent, dear. Look at this.” She swirled and gestured around her.
The blast of brilliance made him stand still for a moment. Then he took three steps inside and blinked in an effort to take the scene in.
On the wall to his left, his mother had painted a view of a meadow with two women walking through it. Vibrant green grass and a dazzling sky filled the entire area. On the wall in front of him, she’d begun to paint a pond with gauzy water lilies floating on its shimmering surface.
Wearing one of his shirts and old jeans smeared with paint, his mother stood in the middle of an amazing blaze of beauty.
“I see you’re Claude Monet today,” he said stunned by the joy in his mother’s face and the glow of the painting on the walls. Mixed with all this was the realization this was a rental house for which he’d signed an agreement: all plans to paint had to be approved by the landlord. He didn’t think the landlord would appreciate the swirling glory on the walls, but it was too late to worry now. He and Tim could paint over it before they moved out.
Walking to the center of the room, he allowed the paintings to fill him with joy. “When did you decide to do this?”