patient, barely twenty-four weeks pregnant, had been experiencing what she described as twinges. Milla had sounded concerned when she told Mari that the woman’s husband was bringing her in for an exam.
“Don’t leave!” Bryce snapped before Mari could turn away. “I’ve been waiting long enough already.”
“Apparently not, Detective,” she contradicted. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Ignoring his muttered curse, she hurried down the hall toward the sky bridge to the hospital.
Waiting for her was something he had once refused to do, so it only seemed fair for him to cool his heels now.
Bryce dropped back into the chair, flipping once again through his notes and wishing he hadn’t refused that cup of coffee. He made a couple of calls on his cell phone, pacing the confines of the small office like a caged bear. Mari still hadn’t returned when he was through, so he wandered back out to the main lobby to see if he could get an idea of how long she was going to be held up this time.
Failing to spot Heather, he approached the nurses’ station. An older woman wearing a headset was seated at a computer terminal. As she slid back the glass panel, she met his gaze with a smile.
“Is Dr. Bingham back from the hospital yet?”
“I’m afraid not,” she replied, glancing at the badge Bryce held out. “One of our patients was brought to the clinic in preterm labor,” she continued in a low voice. “The poor thing had to be moved to the neonatal ICU at the hospital when her membranes ruptured. Dr. Bingham is likely to be over there for a while.”
Bryce glanced at his watch, unwilling to give up. “I guess I’ll grab a sandwich in the cafeteria,” he muttered, half to himself. “If you see the doctor before I do, tell her I’m looking for her.”
If the woman suspected his reason for seeking Mari out, she didn’t let it show. “I’ll be sure to do that, Detective. Enjoy your lunch.”
When he got back to the clinic after wolfing down a passable meatball sandwich and fries, he approached the same woman again.
“Dr. Bingham is still at the hospital, but you’re welcome to go over there and wait,” she said, pointing. “The quickest way to get there is right across the sky bridge.”
Bryce had been to the hospital on several occasions, but he’d never had a reason to visit the clinic until this investigation had begun. He thanked the woman and headed in the direction she’d indicated.
Babies didn’t interest him much, especially wrinkled preemies who looked like tiny bald men, but he needed to make sure that Mari didn’t elude him again when she got done. The sheriff had made it clear that the next time he asked about the case, Bryce better have some answers.
“Damn, but I wish he’d stayed where he was for another week or two,” Mari muttered as she gazed sadly at the tiny infant. “He’s so underdeveloped.”
If only his mother had come in sooner, the neonatal team would have had the time for more options. Medications, intravenous fluids and simple bed rest often stopped contractions, but once dilation and effacement of the cervix began, labor nearly always progressed to delivery.
No one replied to Mari’s comment.
The hospital, which served three counties, was a level three facility with a fully equipped NICU. In this case, transport to the University of Kentucky research hospital in Lexington might have saved the infant if there had been more time.
Mari was sick at heart, but she needed to be strong and keep her feelings hidden for the rest of the team. Milla, the midwife who had first alerted her to the potential situation and who was also pregnant, was obviously deeply affected by the tragedy.
The neonate had been born with severely underdeveloped lungs, heart and nervous system. Respiratory distress, seizures and intraventricular hemorrhages had contributed to the insurmountable odds. Despite the team’s efforts, the end had come quickly.
Mari’s throat was clogged with tears she dared not shed when she looked at the impersonal wall clock and conceded defeat. “Thank you, everyone,” she added softly.
Milla released a trembling sigh. A hospital resident cursed under his breath and another slammed wordlessly out of the unit.
Mari ignored them, well aware of the frustration, sadness and grief her colleagues experienced whenever this type of thing happened. Before she would be able to share those same emotions and grieve in private for poor Baby Jenkins, she had one more task left to do.
“The parents have to be told,” she reminded Milla, willing the young midwife to be strong. “Are you up for it?” If the tears glistening in Milla’s eyes were to overflow, Mari wasn’t sure she’d able to get through the next few minutes with her own composure intact.
“Yes.” Milla blinked rapidly several times. She cleared her throat. “I’m ready.”
With a silent nod, Mari led the way to the room where the hopeful parents waited. They may have been praying and were certainly hoping for a miracle to save their son. How many times had it been Mari’s duty to break the hearts of people just like this couple?
The hospital and the women’s health clinic that her grandmother had been instrumental in developing weren’t enough to save these high-risk preemies. What Merlyn County, Kentucky, desperately needed was the new research center that Mari was determined to build.
At the door to the birthing suite, she paused and looked at Milla.
“Okay?” Mari asked. She was fully prepared to intercede if the young midwife was too upset. The parents would need the compassion and support of the medical staff, not their tears.
“Yes, thank you.” Milla was dry-eyed, her voice soft but steady.
Allowing her to lead the way, Mari squeezed her eyes shut and composed herself. When she opened them again, she saw Bryce leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. He had been watching her just like a cat with a mouse.
Her gaze locked with his and her face went hot. She knew he had witnessed her moment of vulnerability, but now she sent him a warning glance before following Milla into the birthing suite and letting the door shut behind her.
The parents were huddled together on the bed, their hands tightly clasped. Mrs. Jenkins’s face was red and puffy, but when she saw the two women, her expression brightened.
Mr. Jenkins managed a wobbly smile. “How’s our boy doing?” His voice was falsely hearty.
Once again, Mari regretted with all her heart the news they brought.
“I’m so sorry,” Milla said softly. “We did everything we could, but his problems were too extensive. He didn’t make it.”
The rest of her explanation was drowned out by Mrs. Jenkins’s wrenching sobs.
Outside in the hallway, Bryce waited impatiently for Mari to come out. He wondered how much longer she intended to avoid him.
From behind the closed door, an anguished wail sliced through his thoughts like a surgeon’s scalpel. The delivery that Mari had been summoned to must have somehow gone wrong.
No wonder
