the tantalising outline of land had appeared on the horizon of an empty sea. It had been there, waiting to be discovered. Explored...and claimed as part of her own life.
The excitement had come a little later but had made up for the time lag by being a revelation of unimagined heights, and the knowledge of the ‘rightness’ had escalated because Ross felt exactly the same way. He hadn’t meant what he’d said last night. Of course it wasn’t over. Ross probably realised that himself by now and he might well be regretting those words. A break in her eight-hour shift in the intensive care unit would be due before too long and Wendy planned to use the time to go and see Ross in the ward. Telling him about Martin might remind him of just how serious a spinal injury could be and might serve as subtle encouragement for Ross to be thankful for how well he was doing—and how possible a full recovery still was. And how detrimental it could be to even threaten to cast aside their relationship.
Right now, however, she had to concentrate on her job. The mirror was not in its usual place on the bottom shelf. Wendy glanced up as another staff member entered the small room.
‘Have you seen the hand mirror anywhere, Pete? Martin wants to see what the tongs look like.’
Peter shook his head. ‘No. Sorry.’ He deposited a carton of IV cannulae on a stainless-steel bench. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for it, though. I’ve got to do a tidy and restock while my patient’s in Theatre.’
‘Martin might be going in after your patient. They’re going to check whether the fracture has been reduced by traction soon. It should be—he was up to nearly twenty-five kilograms at one stage.’
‘He’s a C6-7 dislocation fracture, isn’t he?’
Wendy nodded as her gaze wandered over the next shelf of supplies. ‘He dived into the shallow end of a pool to retrieve some toy his daughter dropped. He got transferred by helicopter last night with incomplete tetraplegia. He was stabilised with Gardner Wells tongs but there’s been signs of neurological deterioration since then so they’ve had to reduce the traction weight.’
‘Surgery’s likely, then. How’s he coping?’
‘Too well right now. I think he’s in denial.’ Or maybe he was just euphoric that he was still alive. As Ross had been for a brief period after his accident, until the spinal cord oedema had made his condition worse and he’d become too sick to think about anything much. By the time he had been well enough to be aware of where he was again, Ross had also been only too aware of reality. Being a doctor had been an added disadvantage, allowing him to consider the bleakest prognosis, the rarest of potential complications, and to envisage the worst-case scenarios available. Wendy gave herself a mental shake. She was supposed to be thinking about her patient.
‘His wife’s a mess. She was totally grief-stricken when she arrived last night. Apparently Paddy spent ages calming her down before he took her in to visit Martin. Ah...’ The handle of the mirror could be seen poking out from beneath some dressing packages on a higher shelf. Wendy stood on tiptoe but still couldn’t quite reach it.
‘Allow me.’ Peter was grinning. ‘It’s tough being a midget, isn’t it?’
‘I’m almost five foot one,’ Wendy informed him haughtily. ‘And I’m probably a lot fitter than you are, mate.’
‘I certainly wouldn’t try and compete with you on any athletic field.’ Peter handed her the mirror. ‘Any marathons lined up for the near future?’
‘No.’ Wendy tried not to sound despondent. ‘Ross and I were working on a training programme just before the accident to get us on track to do the Coast to Coast race next year.’
Peter’s face advertised his aversion to extreme physical challenges. ‘Whatever spins your wheels, I guess.’ His expression softened. ‘It can’t be easy for you guys at the moment. You’ve lost a lot more in common than most couples would in a situation like this.’
Wendy simply nodded. She didn’t have the heart to keep up with anything more than a minimum jogging routine right now. Not when the reminder of what Ross had probably lost was so painful.
‘I’m not surprised he’s been a bit down for the last day or two,’ Peter added. ‘It’s most likely only just sinking in now. The challenge of recovery is a rather different ball game from choosing to push a healthy body to phys ical limits.’ His smile was encouraging. ‘At least you’ll understand that more than anyone else would.’
‘I don’t think that’s helping,’ Wendy confessed. ‘Maybe I’m too much of a reminder. All the time we’ve had together has been spent doing physical things.’
Peter was grinning broadly now. ‘I’ll bet!’
‘That wasn’t what I meant.’ But Wendy’s smile faded swiftly. How long would it be before she and Ross could make love again? And would it ever be quite as wonderful?
‘Things will get better,’ Peter said gently. ‘Hang in there, Midge.’
Wendy’s fingers closed more tightly over the handle of the mirror. ‘I’m not sure about that. We didn’t part on a very happy note when I went to visit last night.’
‘Ah. That’ll be what they’re for.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The flowers.’
‘What flowers?’
‘I was supposed to tell you. There’s a big bunch of flowers at the nurses’ station for you. Red roses, in fact.’
‘Really?’ Wendy sounded less than excited. ‘Again? I hope there’s a card with them this time.’ She had assumed the bunch delivered last week had been from a grateful patient and the card had been lost. The teasing she had received about having a secret admirer had been easily ignored, given her concern for Ross, but it had not been particularly amusing.
‘They’ll be from Ross,’ Peter said confidently. He pulled a rubber band free from a handful of 18-gauge cannulae and added the leftover supplies to the fresh box he had opened. ‘To say sorry.’
‘Doubt it.’ A crease appeared on Wendy’s forehead. ‘I don’t think sending flowers is his style.’
‘How do you know? Has he done anything he’s needed to apologise for before?’
‘No.’
‘There you go, then. It’s classic.’
‘Hmm.’ Wendy summoned a smile as she left the storeroom. It might be classic but it didn’t fit. Ross was too much of an individual to use a hackneyed form of apology like sending flowers. Especially red roses. If he wanted to say sorry, she would have expected something like an invitation to tramp up a particularly difficult hill, had that still been possible. Now she would anticipate some carefully selected words. Just a sincere look from those expressive dark brown eyes would do the trick. However attractive it would be to confirm that Ross had not meant what he’d said, the idea of him sending red roses to do so was somehow disappointing. Wendy put off finding out and returned to her patient instead.
She positioned the mirror for Martin.
‘I can’t see the screws very well.’
‘Having
