readout, then said, “It’s clear compressions were started in about a minute.” The spikes showed that clearly. “You weren’t too late.”
It struck her then that he was trying to let her know she couldn’t have done any more. His generosity, when he was sitting there blaming himself, was all the more touching. And totally unexpected after the way they had started.
“David—”
He cut her off. “I need to call the family.” He rose and strode away, looking lonely as only a doctor at a time like this could.
The phlebotomist emerged from Mrs. Alexander’s room with his cart, trundling all the blood samples to the lab. Moments later the orderlies came out, carrying away trash, pushing the crash cart with them to restock it and prepare it for another code. Then came Julie and Nancy, both with hanging heads.
“We messed up,” Nancy said as they joined Julie behind the counter and sat. “We called the code and called you, but we should have started CPR.”
“Yes, you should have.” But Krissie took pity on them, too. “I was there in less than a minute. Compressions started soon enough anyway.”
They nodded. “We never had anyone die before,” Julie said softly. “Never.”
Krissie looked at them, not knowing quite what to say. “It never gets any easier,” she managed finally. “Now just make sure Mrs. Alexander is ready to be seen by her family. I’m going to check on the other patients. If any of them awoke, they’re probably disturbed by this. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about managing these events a little better.”
Rising, she touched their shoulders in turn. “We learn from our mistakes. I still do. But there was nothing you could have done that would have saved her.”
The two girls nodded, but neither looked particularly relieved.
To her dismay, she found the boy with the broken leg, Tom Mason, wide awake and looking frightened. He was only ten. “Am I going to die, too?”
“Of course not!” Krissie pulled a chair closer to his bed. “You’re young and healthy. The person who died was very old and sick. There’s a difference.”
He nodded and allowed her to pat his hand as she sat beside him.
“I know it’s scary for you,” she said calmly. “It’s scary for everyone. But you don’t even have a heart monitor, which should tell you something.”
“Okay.”
She waited, giving him space to talk, to say whatever he needed to, but he remained quiet, as if trying to sort through things in his own mind his own way.
“Look,” she said presently, “Some people are sick and come to hospitals to die. Others, like you, just managed to break their legs jumping out of a tree, and they come here to get better. Before you know it, you’re going to be hobbling around on crutches and asking your friends to sign your cast. Just tell them not to use dirty words.”
At that, a shy smile peeped out. “Mom would be furious.”
“You better believe it. She’ll probably go get a can of white paint to cover it up. And what if she just keeps painting the rest of you?”
A tired little laugh escaped him. “She’d paint my bottom, and it wouldn’t be with a paintbrush.”
Krissie forced a grin. “You think she’d spank you?”
He shook his head after a minute. “She never hits me. She doesn’t have to.”
“Oh,” Krissie said knowingly. “The mother voice.”
“Yeah. And Dad says her looks can kill.”
“Oh, I know all about that. My mother never spanked me, either, but one look and I’d practically burst into flames or something.”
“I go hide. I hate it when she’s mad at me.”
“Somehow I think she doesn’t get mad at you often.”
“No,” he said with confidence. “I’m pretty good most of the time.”
“I believe you.”
He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “But she was mad when I jumped out of that tree. Especially when she saw my leg.”
“Probably more worried than mad.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said later.”
“Do you want me to call your mom, ask her to come in?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I’m okay. You’re right. I’m not old and sick.”
“No, you’re not.” She headed for the door, but when she got there, his voice stopped her.
“Can you leave the door open?”
She smiled back at him. “Sure. And why don’t you turn on the light on your bed and read one of those comic books. But don’t turn the TV on, okay? Not with the door open.”
“Okay.” He reached for a comic book from one of the stacks on the table beside the bed and flipped on the fluorescent light at the head of the bed. “Thanks, Miss Tate.”
“Just call me Krissie, okay? Can I get you anything? A drink? Jell-O?”
“I’m okay. Thanks.”
“Use that call button if you want anything.”
“I will.” At that he grinned, then turned his attention to the comic book.
Am I going to die, too? Outside, Krissie had to stop and lean against the wall, closing her eyes and reaching for balance. How many times had she heard that question from boys only a few years older than this one? From men, women and children. And how many times had she had to lie about it?
Am I going to die, too? The question haunted her nightmares. Bloody hands gripping her arm. Shattered bodies, shattered faces, shattered lives. Death riding her shoulder as if he were her partner.
God!
After a minute, she regained her equilibrium and was able to continue her ward check. Everyone else still slept, apparently unaware the grim reaper had paid a visit.
Mrs. Alexander’s son—a rawboned man who looked as if he had worked hard outdoors his entire life—arrived and went into the room with David, then emerged ten minutes later by himself, walking away with a tight jaw and reddened eyes. David came out a minute later and approached the station.
“She can go to the morgue now. They don’t want an autopsy.”
“But…”
“I told him we needed to do one anyway, to find out what happened. He said he doesn’t care what happened. It’s enough she’s gone, let her be.”
Krissie nodded slowly.
