oh.” Linda glanced toward a huge vase filled with at least two dozen long-stemmed red roses and accenting ferns perched on the counter to their left.
“Uh oh what?” Scarlet asked.
“I told you we shouldn’t do it,” Ashley, the young secretary said, shaking her head.
Scarlet looked at her. “Do what?”
Cindy, one of her newest nurses, who’d been observing patient monitors and video feeds as part of her orientation, looked up over the counter and pointed to a rectangular golden box of chocolates, the cover askew.
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Scarlet didn’t have time to play around, she needed to get back to work after a morning of meetings and greet the family of their newest micro-preemie, baby girl Gupta, born at twenty-six weeks, one pound, thirteen ounces, thirteen inches long, who’d arrived during her absence.
“We thought they were yours,” Cindy said.
“What—?”
“The flowers. And the chocolates,” she clarified.
“Why…” would they think someone had sent her red roses, the floral symbol of love and passion, typically given by men to their wives, girlfriends, and lovers, when she practically lived at the hospital, and hadn’t had a man in her life since… Hmmm. Since…
She gave up rather than belabor the pitiful fact it’d been so long she’d require a quick browse of her calendar, from last year, or Lord help her, maybe the year before, to spark her memory. Not that she’d humiliate herself by actually looking. But in her defense, no woman could have achieved the level of success she’d managed—which benefited the hospital, its tiniest patients and their families as much as it did her—without putting in long hours on the job.
“Because the card that accompanied them is made out to you.” Linda pointed to the mini mint green envelope sticking out of the beautiful, fragrant, partially opened blooms which did in fact have her name on it. Spelled with one t unlike the famous Scarlett she’d been named after—only her mother hadn’t taken the time to get the spelling right.
Scarlet plucked the card from its plastic holder and opened it.
Dear Scarlet,
I realize you never told me your last name. I hope these get to you. Saturday night was better than I’d ever imagined a night with a woman could be.
Right there Scarlet knew the card wasn’t meant for her. But she read on…not to snoop, mind you, but to search out any identifying information on the intended recipient.
Let’s do it again soon. Good luck at your new job. Call me, Brandon
Beneath his name he’d listed his home telephone number, his work number, cell number, and e-mail address. Scarlet’s namesake must be pretty darn good in the sack. “Call down to Human Resources,” she told Ashley. “Ask if there’s a new hire named Scarlet and where she works.”
While Ashley did as instructed, Cindy grabbed the card from Scarlet’s hand and read it. “Yowza.” She used the card to fan herself then handed it to Linda.
“Mercy me,” Linda said. “You girls today.” She shook her head in disapproval.
Ashley put down the phone and looked up apologetically. “A Scarlett, with two ’t’s, Ryan began work as a unit secretary in the pediatric ER today.”
“And you all,” Scarlet pointed to each of the chocolate eating culprits while squinting her eyes in playful accusation, “ate the poor girl’s hard-earned chocolates.”
“We had help,” Linda said. “It’s an unwritten rule that chocolates at a nursing station are fair game. Dig in or don’t complain when you miss out. No invitation needed.”
“Nursing is a stressful occupation,” Cindy added. “Nurses need chocolate to help us cope and keep us happy so we can be at our caring and competent best.” She snapped her fingers. “If you give me a few minutes I bet I can find a research study to support that.”
Scarlet smiled. “What’s the damage?” She lifted the lid. One lone milk chocolate remained in the upper right corner surrounded by approximately thirty empty little square partitions. And it’d been squeezed to reveal its dark pink center.
“I told them to save you one,” Ashley said.
“We think it’s raspberry,” Cindy added.
“You like raspberry,” Linda chimed in.
Since it wasn’t in good enough shape to offer up as an ‘at least I managed to save you one’ peace offering, Scarlet popped the partially mutilated chocolate into her mouth. Yup. Raspberry. Surrounded by creamy, rich, delicious chocolate. She held off swallowing to draw out the experience. Then fought the urge to inhale and let her eyes drift closed to savor the pleasure. Pathetic. “Back to work. All of you,” she said with a few shoos of her hands.
“What are you going to do about the chocolates?” Ashley asked.
You. Not we. Because Scarlet always stood up for her staff. No matter what. She replaced the cover and flung the box into the garbage can. “What chocolates?” she asked with an innocent smile.
Her staff smiled back.
“What about the flowers?” Ashley asked.
Scarlet carefully placed the card back in the envelope, tucked in the flap, and inserted it back into its plastic pronged holder. “I’ll bring them down to the ER after I check in on little Miss Gupta.”
As far as bad days went—and Dr. Lewis Jackson, head of the Pediatric Emergency Room at Angel’s, had experienced some pretty hellacious ones over the past nine months, since finding out he was the father and new primary caregiver to his demon of a now thirteen-year-old daughter—today was shaping up to be one of the worst. Two nurses out sick. A new unit secretary, who, while nice to look at, had clearly overstated her abilities, and Jessie, taken into police custody for shoplifting at a drug store and truancy.
The one bright spot in his afternoon, whether because of his scrubs and hospital ID, or Angel’s excellent reputation, or Jessie’s difficult past year, the police officer in charge had convinced the store manager to let her off with a warning.
Lewis stood on the curb outside the police station and raised his arm up high to hail a cab. “This is by far the stupidest and most inconsiderate stunt you’ve pulled since you’ve gotten here.” And that was saying something. A yellow minivan taxi pulled to a stop. Lewis slid open the rear door, grabbed Jessie by her arms and pushed her in ahead of him.
“Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital,” he told the driver then closed the door. “Pediatric Emergency Room entrance. And if you can get us there in under fifteen minutes I’ll give you an extra twenty.”
At the added incentive, the driver swerved back into traffic, cutting off another taxi. And a bus. And almost taking out a bike-riding delivery man. Horns honked. Drivers yelled out their open windows. Middle fingers flew. A typical taxi ride in New York City.
Lewis turned his attention back to Jessie. “What were you thinking?” Leaving
