Emily would be forced to live much of her life on the device. If she could manage to avoid a life-threatening infection, that was.
“Poor Emily.” She had to blink back tears. “Does her family know? Tristan?”
“Her parents are patients at Trinity Medical Center, but the nurses in the ICU over there brought Emily’s mother over during the night. Emily’s father was too sick to be moved.”
The poor family. How awful to be hospitalized in different places. Especially when Emily’s life hung in the balance. “If she dies, it’s my fault.”
Rick sighed and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Naomi, don’t do this to yourself. Emily was crushed by a car. If she dies, it’s not your fault.”
Yes, it would be her fault, but there was no point in arguing. The trauma department had a monthly morbidity and mortality review, and this case would certainly be discussed, along with her performance during surgery. The best thing a surgeon could do was to own up to their mistakes and learn from them. The fact that Emily would have died without the Heartmate was serious enough.
“Naomi?” She started, realizing Rick had been talking to her, his blue eyes bright with concern. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You saved the lives of five pediatric trauma patients last night. Don’t the others count at all?” his exasperated tone grated on her nerves. “Give yourself a break, would you? Or were you responsible for the DOA on the scene, too?”
She grit her teeth, knowing he was right, even if she didn’t appreciate his sarcasm. “Yes, the other patients do count.” She pulled herself together, knowing Emily was still alive. Maybe a miracle would happen and the youngster would get a new heart, sooner rather than later. “How are the families dealing with everything?”
“As well as can be expected. As you know, both Brown parents are patients in the adult ICU at Trinity, and so is the father of the Dupont family. The Winthrop parents are here—their son was injured only because he’d gone along with the Dupont family for the ride.”
“Some ride.” She sighed. “Okay. Thanks for filling me in.”
Rick tucked his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “Are you heading back home or do you have an hour to spare?”
“I have time,” she said, wondering what he wanted to talk about. Maybe he wanted to give her some friendly advice on how to handle multiple trauma victims in a mini-disaster. Heaven knew, she could use the education.
“Great. I thought maybe we could talk about the goals for the community education committee.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “We could grab a quick lunch in the cafeteria.”
She wasn’t very hungry. Emily’s condition weighed heavily on her shoulders, but at the same time she didn’t want to keep Rick from eating, especially as he was post-call. He looked pretty good for a guy who’d no doubt been up most of the night. “Are you sure you want to do this now? You probably didn’t get much sleep last night. We can always talk about the community education plan later.”
“Believe it or not, I got about four hours of sleep between four and eight this morning.” He led the way out of the conference room, through the PICU and to the elevators. “At this point, I need to stay up or I won’t sleep tonight, when I’m supposed to.”
She knew what he meant. Being post-call wreaked havoc on a body’s sleep cycle. Stepping into the elevator beside him, she caught a whiff of his aftershave and the musky scent filled her head, teasing her pheromones. Her pulse kicked up and she took a subtle step back, hoping the distance would help. He wore a shirt, tie and smart trousers this morning, reminding
her of how great he’d looked the night before in a suit, when he’d come in to help her with the MVA victims.
She frowned, a kernel of resentment unfurling in her belly. Wait a minute. She’d given up her chance to become pregnant to help him out. How dared he use the time to go out on a date?
The elevator doors opened and she led the way into the cafeteria, telling herself to drop it. In truth, she was glad to have been there when so many trauma patients had needed her. Even if she had almost caused little Emily more harm than good. Besides, what Rick Weber did in his personal time was none of her business.
Except when he dragged her into it, by asking her to cover his call shift. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he hadn’t been on a date but at something more serious, like a funeral. She helped herself to a salad while Rick went for the barbequed spare ribs. She added a cup of soup to complement her salad, and then stood in line to pay.
“I’ll take care of it.” Rick spoke up from behind her.
She swallowed another flash of irritation. Would he offer to pay for Chuck’s lunch? Or Frank’s? Or Dirk’s? She highly doubted it.
He must have sensed her mood because he quickly handed a twenty-dollar note to the cashier. “Please. To help pay you back for covering me yesterday.”
She arched a brow as they walked to the nearest table. “Don’t think you’re going to get off that easily. I plan to make you cover one of my call nights in return. Maybe even on a holiday,” she threatened.
Rick’s laugh was a low, rusty sound and she couldn’t help but smile as she sat down opposite him.
“I’m not kidding,” she warned.
“I know.” He took a bite of his barbequed ribs, not looking too worried.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. When her curiosity got the better of her, she glanced at him. “Should I offer my condolences?”
Startled, he gaped at her. “Why?”
“I thought maybe you attended a funeral, the way you were dressed up when you came in last night.” She tried to sound casual, instead of intensely nosy.
“No funeral.” Rick stared at his plate for a long moment before meeting her questioning gaze. “I do appreciate you covering for me. I needed to spend time with a very special person.”
Her jaw dropped. What nerve! She had been right. He had used her so he could go out on a hot date.
Stabbing the lettuce and tomato in her salad with more force than was necessary, she offered a thin, brittle smile. “Glad you had fun. Who’s the lucky woman?”
“Fun might be stretching it a bit,” he said with a grimace, seemingly unaware of her ire. “But the lucky woman is Lizzy, my ten-year-old niece. Her father took off right after she was born and she needed a surrogate father to escort her to the father-daughter dance. I know a silly grade-school dance may not seem important to you, but Lizzy means the world to me and I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her to sit at home alone.”
His niece? She swallowed hard, ashamed to realize she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Not a hot date after all, but family. How could she argue with putting family first? She remembered the father-daughter dance at school. She would have loved to have gone, but her father had been too busy defending a big client at his law firm and hadn’t taken time off for such frivolities.
Her stab of resentment faded, replaced by a softening in
