Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,14

face. “Since the accident I’ve been unable to sleep, so my doctor prescribed a sleeping aid. I always make certain Brandt is settled before I take the pill.”

So if he were to fall out of bed or need something, you wouldn’t know it until the following morning. Ciara shook her head as if to banish the thought. Throughout her nursing career, she had been taught that it was always and only about the patient.

“Is he eating?” she asked, changing the subject.

Leona filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stovetop range. “His appetite is improving.”

“What do you mean improving?” Ciara asked.

“During his hospital stay he’d refused to eat, so they fed him intravenously. Since his return, he has been picking at his food.”

“Who cooks for him now?” she asked, continuing her questioning, and watching Leona as she moved comfortably around the kitchen, opening cabinets, drawers and removing china and silver.

“I ordered frozen entrées.”

Resting her elbows on the countertop, Ciara cupped her chin in the heel of her hand. She decided to reserve comment on the frozen meals. Her mother, Phyllis Dennison, was a registered dietician and abhorred processed food. If it wasn’t made from scratch, then it didn’t end up on Phyllis’s table.

“The pantry and refrigerator are stocked, so if you want to make something for yourself, then please feel free to do so,” Leona continued as she placed a bottle of honey and a sugar bowl on the countertop. “If you prefer ordering takeout, then just call the building’s concierge. You do cook, don’t you?” she asked without taking a breath. “I’m only asking because most young women nowadays are so busy with their careers that cooking isn’t as much a priority as it was years ago.”

A hint of a smile played at the corners of Ciara’s mouth. “My mother is a registered dietitian at a nursing facility and my roommate is a chef. Thankfully I’ve learned to prepare more than a few dishes.”

Leona dropped several teabags into a teapot and added boiling water. “Good for you. I have some scones that go very well with tea. Perhaps you would like some?”

“No, thank you.”

She wanted to tell Leona Wainwright that she was on duty and sharing afternoon tea with her patient’s mother was not a part of her job description. However she had to go along with it. Private nurses were well paid—and in Brandt Wainwright’s case, extremely well paid. Ciara estimated her stint with Brandt would probably last two months, give or take a week. Once the casts were removed and he could bear his own weight, then her assignment would be over. After that, her plans included taking two weeks off to visit with her mother in upstate New York before returning to Manhattan for her next case.

Leona poured the tea into fragile, hand-painted china cups, adding a teaspoon of sugar to hers, while Ciara opted for honey. The two women sat sipping tea in comfortable silence until Leona said, “I hope you don’t get the wrong impression of my son. I’ve never known him to be so rude—”

“There’s no need to apologize, Mrs. Wainwright,” Ciara interrupted. “I’m more than familiar with—”

“Please call me Leona. I always think of my mother-in-law as Mrs. Wainwright.”

Ciara smiled over the rim of her cup. “Okay. As I was saying, there’s no need to apologize. Brandt’s anger and frustration aren’t unique to his type of injury. I’ve had patients who’ve gotten depressed and refused to eat, talk or even try to do their rehab.”

Leona leaned closer, her brow knitting in concern. “What did you do?”

“I recommended a psychiatric evaluation. Some are prescribed antidepressants, but it was usually enough to get them to open up about their feelings of helplessness or loss of independence.”

“Do you think that’s what wrong with Brandt?”

“I’m a psychiatric nurse, not a psychiatrist. Your son is a professional athlete, and that means that his body is integral to his self-image. The fact that he can’t use his legs would affect him more than someone who sits behind a desk for seven or eight hours a day. I don’t think Brandt is as depressed as he is frustrated that he needs help with his most basic needs.”

“I pray you’re right, Ciara. Seeing Brandt in physical and emotional pain is more than I can bear right now.” Leona’s eyes filled with tears.

Ciara’s hands tightened around her cup to prevent her from reaching out to comfort Brandt’s mother. She wanted to remind her that her son had survived a