Intertwined, p.3
Intertwined, page 3
Poor woman. A bit of humbling did everyone good, but no one deserved total mortification. Squatting, he reached for her purse, ready to help.
“No!” She bolted forward, scrambling for her items like kids for parade candy. Then, kneeling in front of her mess, she inhaled and lifted her chin. “Thank you, but I know how busy you are.” She swept her belongings aside, out of his view.
Nick knew better than to mess with a woman’s personal products. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m fine.” She waved him off with one hand while the other continued to gather her things.
Not wanting to embarrass her further, he turned to leave, casting one last glance over his shoulder. Before he made it to the end of his walk, she’d stuffed everything back in her purse and was hobbling home.
A low laugh caught Nick’s attention, and he turned to see Howie watching Rhonda. Shaking his head, he ambled over. “Still fighting her off, huh?”
Nick shrugged. “She’s just bored.”
“You know there is one way to avoid her for good.”
“What’s that?”
“Get a girlfriend.”
“Not happening, my friend. I’ve had enough relationship drama to last three lifetimes.”
Chapter 4
Halfway through Wednesday night’s Bible study, Tammy’s phone vibrated. She checked the number and frowned. Ellen. Gathering her things, she eyed the pew on either side of her. People occupied both ends, heads bowed in prayer. So much for her stealthy escape.
Maneuvering around knees and feet, she apologized her way to the aisle. More than a few heads turned.
“Sorry,” Tammy mouthed. “Gotta go.” She held up her phone, clearing the end of the pew.
Slipping into the foyer, she pulled up her missed calls. She was about to return her boss’s call when Constance, an older woman with short, silver hair, emerged from the bathroom. The two nearly collided.
Tammy stepped back. “Oh, excuse me.”
Constance frowned, her round-rimmed glasses balanced precariously on the tip of her pointed nose. “Leaving so soon, dear?”
“I’m afraid so.” Explaining the reason for her departure wouldn’t help. It’d only instigate another argument as to why Tammy needed to quit her job. Which Constance had made clear she believed was the cause of Tammy’s failed marriage, not her husband’s infidelity.
An act that, according to Matthew 19:9, gave her biblical grounds for divorce, not that she’d sought it. No, she’d tried everything to hold on to their marriage. Begged Brody to go to counseling, met with her pastor, prayed for reconciliation. But her ex wanted none of it. He’d given his heart to someone else. Three years later, the sting of his betrayal still hurt.
She started to step around Constance.
“I’ve been meaning to give you something.” The woman eyed an accent table pushed against the wall. “Wait a moment.” She grabbed a pink card adorned with a satin ribbon and handed it over. It was an invitation to the women’s tea, “Focusing Your Heart on Home.”
Why? Because she thought Tammy was failing as a mom or because she was in charge of distributing the invites?
Constance regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “You are coming, right?”
“I’ll have to check my schedule.” Still maintaining a stiff smile, her upper lip twitched. “Thanks.”
The woman’s eyes softened, and she touched Tammy’s arm. “How are you?” Her bony fingers felt like ice. “I heard . . .” She pursed her lips, shook her head.
What exactly had landed on this woman’s gossip radar? That Brody had changed girlfriends? Again? That Becky had gotten in trouble for flirting with boys during youth group? That Tylan had knocked down the blinds in his Sunday school class? When he hurled an eraser across the room during the Bible lesson?
She didn’t want to know. “I’m sorry, I’d love to chat, but,” she shifted, looking to the stairwell, “I’ve gotta go.”
The woman’s lips flattened, forming tiny lines around her mouth. “Surely you’re not going to work now. So late?”
Tammy fought to keep the bite from her tone. “I don’t know. I haven’t taken the call yet.”
“What about your children?”
“I’ve got a great nanny. But I appreciate your concern.” Her phone vibrated again, and she raised it. “Sorry.”
“Of course. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks.”
Descending the stairs, she phoned Ellen. Her boss answered on the first ring, and she didn’t sound happy. “Where are you?”
“Church.”
“I need you to go to St. Theresa’s. They’ve got a twenty-eight-year-old female who was admitted for seizures. She passed earlier this evening and has been declared brain dead. She was a registered donor.”
“Do we have any history on her?”
“It appears she may have had some sort of infection, but it’s hard to get the full story over the phone. I need you to go in.”
“Okay.” Tammy slid her phone in her back pocket and checked her watch. Looked like she wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight—again. But she could always nap while the kids were in school.
Continuing downstairs, she shot Joni, her babysitter, a text. Got a call. Meet me at the house, please.
Tammy’s phone chimed. On my way.
She texted back: Appreciate you!
Rounding the corner, she dashed out of the way as a throng of kids raced toward the drinking fountain. Others clogged the hallway, pelting one another with crumpled snack bags.
Weaving through bouncing, shrieking kids, she reached the youth room with minimal injury—only one elbow to the rib and one crunched toe.
Vanessa, Tammy’s best friend, stood near the sound system chatting with Reed, another youth worker. Becky, Tammy’s thirteen-year-old daughter, flirted with a group of high school boys.
Sighing, Tammy rubbed her temples. Again?
When had Becky become so boy crazy? No wonder Tammy landed on everyone’s prayer list.
Abran, one of the kids from the church’s bus ministry, approached with a crooked grin. “Hey, Mrs. Kuhn! Where you off to?” He nudged her shoulder with a closed fist. “Did somebody keel over tonight, or somethin’?”
Tammy chuckled and raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval. “You realize you have a morbid fascination with death, right?”
Grinning, he tapped his temple, chestnut eyes sparkling beneath a Chicago Bulls cap. “Inquiring minds, you know.”
Smiling and shaking her head, she watched him meander away, pants sagging. Teenagers.
“Seems you found an in with the youth.”
She turned to see Vanessa standing beside her, clutching a heavy tote in one hand and a box of saltines in the other.
“One of the perks of being an organ procurement coordinator, I suppose.”
Vanessa’s eyes softened. “You okay? You look a bit . . . bug-eyed.”
“Do I?” Tammy laughed. “Just cramming for time, like usual.”
“If you need anything . . .”
“Joni’s on her way, but thanks.”
“Call me.”
Tammy nodded, knowing if she didn’t, Vanessa would be phoning her by the week’s end—not to prod or pester, but to be a friend.
It took fifteen minutes for Tammy to gather her kids and get home. As expected, when she arrived, Joni was waiting for her. She was dressed in her PJs and carried an overnight bag.
Leaving the car running, Tammy jumped out to kiss her kids good-bye. “You two be good.” She grabbed Tylan’s shoulders and turned him to face her. “No games tonight, promise? Go straight to sleep.” She shot Becky a warning look. “And no dragging your feet in the morning.”
The kids mumbled their assent, and Tammy slipped back behind the driver’s seat. She paused with the door open. “Thanks, Joni. You’re priceless, you know that, right?”
“I try.” She gave a weak smile, her eyes void of their usual sparkle.
“Is something wrong?”
She didn’t respond right away. “You go. We can talk about it when you get home.”
That couldn’t be good. It’d taken Tammy almost two years to find Joni, and she was amazing. A college student studying child development, she had been such an answer to prayer. After two years of dealing with flaky babysitters, she couldn’t go through that process again. Ellen’s grace-meter was maxed out.
Without reliable childcare, Tammy would lose her job.
Chapter 5
Tammy found Nurse Lebbie in room 345 talking with Dr. Swenson, St. Theresa’s intensivist. A woman with curly blonde hair and sunken eyes lay in the bed. Her head drooped to one side, and her skin looked ashen. Three IV bags dangled on the pole behind her. The chair beside her bed was empty.
Did she not have family? A husband, sister, friend? No one should have to endure sickness alone. Waiting in the doorway, Tammy offered a silent prayer—for comfort, mercy, and God’s love to surround the woman.
Dr. Swenson tucked his chart under his arm. “Let me know when the lab results come back.” He set his jaw and exited the room.
Nurse Lebbie turned to Tammy. “Hello. Can I help you?”
“I’m Tammy Kuhn with Heartland Donation Services.” She smiled and extended her hand. “We talked on the phone earlier.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Can you take a moment to look at Ms. James’s lab work with me? I have some questions.”
The woman pursed her lips, her gaze shooting toward the hall, most likely thinking of all the other places she needed to be. With a heavy sigh, she glanced at her watch. “Yes. Sure. Fine.”
She power walked out of the room and to the nurses’ station. Tammy scurried along behind. At the counter, she waited for Nurse Lebbie to pull up the donor’s chart.
She clicked on the lab results first. Most were normal, but the donor’s white blood cell count was extremely high, indicating an infection.
Tammy frowned. “Can I see the patient’s history, please?”
The nurse nodded and pulled up a consult report from an infectious disease doctor. Tammy leaned in. The patient had been treated with Zosyn, a high-powered antibiotic. “Can I see the other consult notes, please?”
Nurse Lebbie complied.
Tammy studied the screen. The patient had experienced a number of neurological abnormalities within the past two months—poor coordination, dementia, an abnormal EEG reading.
Odd. Tammy needed to speak with the woman’s doctors.
After spending the next hour talking with various physicians, she called her administrator.
Ellen answered immediately. “Hey, what did you find out?”
“It’s not good. Although they can’t make a determinant diagnosis until an autopsy’s been performed, the doctors believe she may have had mad cow disease.” An infection no transplant center would want to deal with.
Ellen let out a long breath. “Okay.” She paused. “Call a few of the aggressive centers—Nebraska, New York, maybe Chicago.”
“Will do.”
But no one wanted to take the chance of infecting their already critically ill patients with compromised organs. The risk was just too high. Tammy’s heart ached to know lives couldn’t be saved from this woman’s death, but there was nothing more she could do. Except pray for the family and hope—trust—God would bring good from this tragedy.
Sliding her cell back into her pocket, she headed home.
She pulled into her neighborhood shortly after twelve thirty a.m. A crescent moon shimmered through a layer of smoky clouds, stars twinkling against a velvet backdrop. She eased into her garage and cut the engine. Her eyes felt like they’d been doused in vinegar; her rubbery muscles ached for bed.
Grabbing her tote filled with her laptop and organ donation release forms, she got out and shuffled inside. She dropped her belongings at the door.
The kitchen light was on, the day’s mail waiting for her on the counter. Tammy paused to sift through it. Three bills—her mortgage note among them. A flyer for a summer baseball camp—one Tylan would love to go to, if she could afford it. Except with 170,000 miles on her car, it was nearing its last leg, and her air conditioning unit had seen better days. Chewing her lip, she estimated the total of her upcoming bills and compared it to her paycheck. Close, but unless gas prices took a major dip, not likely.
Maybe if she took him to the batting cage, tossed the ball around with him a few times . . . Who was she kidding? The boy needed his dad. Speaking of . . . her gaze landed on a letter bearing Brody’s signature block lettering.
Her stomach tightened, heat climbing her neck. She pulled out the correspondence and spread it on the counter.
She shook her head. A formal business letter? Her ex had printed the date and his address in the top right hand corner. And according to the CC added at the end, he’d sent copies to both of their attorneys. As if expecting a fight. She thought of a similar correspondence sent last summer asking to take the kids to Disneyland, to which she’d conceded, only to have him cancel two weeks prior. To make matters worse, she’d been the one who had to break it to them. Tears pricked her eyes as the memory of Tylan and Becky’s sad faces.
Breathing deep, she read the letter:
I have two weeks’ vacation scheduled for the first week of August. We plan to go to Hawaii, and I’d like the kids to join us.
The man couldn’t remember to show up for a scheduled visitation on time. How could she possibly trust him to care for the kids an ocean away? Not that it mattered, since he’d cancel anyway.
Exhaling, she slipped the letter back into the envelope, folded it, and tucked it in her back pocket. She didn’t want the kids to see it. Not until she’d had time to process.
She returned to her mail pile. A gold envelope poked out from the bottom of the stack. She pulled it out and read the elegant writing—Oak Park Alumni Association. She ran her finger under the envelope flap and slipped out a gold embossed card. An invitation to her high school class reunion.
Would Nick Zimmerman be there? The thought quickened her pulse.
He was probably happily married and had forgotten about Tammy long ago.
She tore the invite into small pieces and threw them away.
Sleep beckoned.
Heading toward her bedroom, she passed the den and caught a glimpse of Joni, sitting on the couch.
“Hey.” Tammy dropped her keys into a glass bowl. “I’m surprised you’re still up. Is everything okay?”
Joni stared at her folded hands.
Tammy’s gut knotted at the strained expression on her sitter’s face. Her gaze shot to the hall. “The kids okay?”
“They’re fine. I . . .” Joni picked at her thumbnail cuticle. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Their previous conversation flashed through Tammy’s mind. “We can talk about it when you get home.” She checked the time on the DVR. “Sure. Just give me a minute to check on Tylan and Becky.”
Joni nodded.
She slipped down the hall and into Tylan’s room. Her son lay on his back, the blankets tangled around his feet. She kissed his forehead, so smooth and soft, and ran her hand across his cheek.
Father, watch over my sweet boy. Keep him safe.
After untangling his blankets and tucking them under his chin, she headed to Becky’s room. Soft music poured from the sleeping teen’s cell, still clutched in her hand. Her laptop sat opened on a stool positioned beside her bed.
Rolling her eyes, Tammy closed the computer and placed it securely on Becky’s desk, then eased the phone from her grip.
Becky mumbled, and her lashes fluttered before closing again.
Smiling, Tammy kissed Becky’s cheek. “Good-night, sweet girl.” Slipping from the room, she closed the door behind her.
She found Joni in the same position she’d left her, shoulders hunched.
Tammy sat beside her. “Is everything okay?”
The girl shook her head. “My mother’s not doing well.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” Tammy placed her hand over Joni’s and squeezed. “She started her chemotherapy?”
Joni nodded. “She’s very tired, and . . . I’m worried she’s getting depressed. That she’ll give up.” She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a wadded tissue. “She needs me.”
“Absolutely.”
“She doesn’t have anyone else. I know it’s short notice, but I really need to help her out.” A tear slid down her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Your mother is lucky to have you.” She wrapped an arm around Joni’s shoulder. “I understand.” Joni’s mom was ill—perhaps even terminal. Of course she’d need Joni with her. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so, but thanks.”
“Let’s pray.” Tammy hugged the girl closer. “Lord, please be with Joni’s mother, give her strength and peace. May they sense Your presence, and if it’s Your will, provide healing.” She held her for a moment longer, then released the girl to look in her eyes. “Keep me posted?”
Again, Joni nodded, more tears flowing. Placing a protective arm over the young woman’s shoulder, Tammy walked her to the door. The full weight of the day’s events—so much sickness, so much death—settled upon her as she watched Joni leave.
As the door clicked closed, an unsettling thought rose to the surface. Who would watch her kids? Finding reliable childcare in the best scenarios was hard enough. Her job—with its late-night calls and long shifts—made it near impossible.
What now, Lord?
The next morning, Tammy slipped out of bed a minute before her alarm was set to go off. A dull ache spread through her, her muscles tight. Spending the night stressing over her childcare situation hadn’t done her any favors.
I need coffee.
Shrugging into her robe, she plodded across the room, then paused, her gaze landing on her opened closet. The bar where Brody’s suits once hung remained empty, the shoe rack below bare.
