good at it, and people—people who know—recognize that I’m good at it. We’re getting a buzz going. Look, we have got to get back to work. We are never going to be ready for lunch rush.”
Tyler mutters something I can’t hear and, for a second, the breath sticks in my chest.
“No, Tyler, seriously, I mean it, we have got to get back to work. Now!”
“Mmm, I like it when you get all boss-lady on me. You are definitely getting my buzz going.”
“Tyler, no! Stop it!”
Aubrey laughs and the tension pressing in on me disappears.
“Ty, no, we can’t.”
“Oh, you know that we can.”
“We’re behind already.”
“Did you just say you want it from behind? Because we can definitely go there.”
“We’re not off in the middle of nowhere anymore at some construction site. Someone might hear us.”
“Then you’re going to have to not scream so much.”
“We’ll have to bleach the counters again.”
“Call me Mr. Clean.”
The trailer door slams shut. I leave the box of produce on a table. The lettuce will survive. I hurry now. I’m late for work.
Driving to the hospital, I stop at the four-way sign beside Parkhaven High. The marching band was picked to compete in the Grand National Marching Band competition to be held next month in Sarasota. Consequently, Shupe has them all out trooping up and down the frozen field. The white plumes on their tricornered hats bounce and sparkle in the chilly sunshine and, instead of wishing I hadn’t teased Aubrey about the hat, I just remember how happy she was swinging along behind her clarinet, part of that jolly feathered beast.
I drive away slowly, angling my side-view mirror so that I can watch the band. Captured within the silver frame of the mirror, the marchers shrink and motion blurs as I leave them behind. Soon the bright plumes become an indistinct fuzz, like the down of all baby birds. Like the soft, vulnerable fluff of the young that is bound to be shed even if the mama bird frets over the loss of every single gossamer puff.
At Parkhaven Medical Center the tall glass doors slide open and a cloud of warmth whooshes out as I step inside. The vast expanse of travertine flooring between the two banks of elevators is congested, and I have to navigate around a middle-aged woman crimping her step to match her mother’s, who is struggling with an aluminum walker. Once free of the crush at the door, I hurry past the information desk, the gift shop, the waiting area. The smell of enchiladas coming from the cafeteria makes me consider ditching the bagel smeared with peanut butter I brought for lunch.
I pass the public areas and veer off onto a hallway that opens into the old part of the hospital. The travertine gives way to beige linoleum. Fluorescent fixtures buzz overhead. I dig for the key to my office. My new office. It took two months to talk admin into setting aside what used to be a supply closet so Janis, the other LC, and I could have an office, but in the end we won.
I hang up the big, pillowy jacket that Aubrey rejected and I’ve adopted, delighted to finally have a truly warm jacket, lock my purse in an empty file drawer, and log in on the hospital’s system. I am hunting for the day’s census sheet when Janis bursts in gripping a bakery bag in one hand and holding out a clipboard with the other. “This what you’re looking for?” She is wearing, of course, animal-print scrubs. Cheetah, I think.
I take the clipboard, nod at the bag in her hand. “That looks dangerous.”
“It’s from the short fren in twenty-four twelve.” Janis uses our shorthand for “frenulum,” the bit of skin tethering the tongue to the floor of the mouth. When it’s too short, it can hobble the tongue, making nursing hard.
Janis extracts a chocolate-chip cookie the size of a minipizza from the white bag and breaks it in two. I take half, hold it up, and wonder, “Why do our patients never express gratitude through a nice bowl of edamame? Maybe a perfect cantaloupe?” After the first bite, I answer my own question, “Okay, that’s why. Because love runs on sugar and butter. What have we got?”
We review the census sheets together. Everyone that Janis has already seen that morning is highlighted in blue. Those who still need attention are highlighted in yellow.
Janis rushes through them in her haste to ask, “So?”