HEALING HEARTS
Chapter One
Bonnie was falling. No amount of scrambling was going to
change anything. When she lost her balance, her left foot flew
out in front of her. As rocks rolled underfoot, her right foot
twisted, letting her whole weight come down on her bent ankle.
Crack. Crack.
Two distinct sounds--like breaking half-rotten sticks across
her knee. Detached as a casual spectator, she absorbed the import
of those sounds. No one had to tell her what happened--she'd broken
her leg, both bones. Crack. Crack.
I don't believe this is happening. She shifted enough to pull
her crumpled right leg out from under her bottom, stretching it
in front of her. As the foot flopped sideways, pain lanced up
her leg. She set her teeth and willed away the engulfing black,
fought down the sour nausea burning her throat. I can handle this.
Bending and reaching, she straightened her foot and held it
in place with both hands. When the pain eased, she looked around,
not sure what she sought. Maybe just to take stock.
The spring sun poured gentle heat on her back--but that would
vanish as soon as the sun set, in a few short hours. Here at some
8,000 feet above sea level, nights were cold, even in April. In
the scrubby oak and juniper trees around her, the cheery chirps
of sparrows sounded ironically peaceful.
She'd ended up in the bottom of a hollow, where a bulldozer
had once cut along the side of the hill. Dust raised by her fall
settled, leaving a musty, acrid scent in her nostrils. Her seat
was a jumble of rocks, most of them sharp-edged, adding to her
discomfort.
Question was, could she move? No question. To be found, she
had to move. Crawling proved easiest, the least painful way. She
eased onto her knees and then shifted first the left leg forward,
next the right. It hurt, some, not intolerably. She inched along
for ten feet or so until she found a flat rock that made a better
seat. Bracing her foot against another rock, she rested a few
minutes. She forced herself to breathe in a deep, even rhythm
to regain a degree of calm.
Below her perch, a litter of sticks were scattered downslope,
the residue from a dead manzanita bush. Practicality set in. If
she could immobilize the injury, moving wouldn't hurt nearly so
much. She tore one strap off her day pack, ripped her bandana
in two, and added her belt to the collection of ties with which
to bind several of the straighter, stronger sticks around her
ankle and foot.
The resulting splint was clumsy, not the neat job she normally
did as an Emergency Medical Technician. But she usually had better
materials to work with, and didn't have to pretzel herself around
to splint her own leg.
Whuffing out a last deep breath, she shook her head in rueful
acknowledgment. Dumb, Bonnie--hiking alone. You know better. How
are you going to get yourself out of this?
She had an excuse, but excuses were like belly buttons--everybody
had one. Mostly it was about Dad. Putting him in that so-called
home hurt worse than her leg, but she couldn't leave him alone
anymore. He didn't even recognize her much of the time now or
recall his own name. His worsening illness seemed to steal her
ambition, almost her reason for living.
The gnawing anguish had driven her out of the little house
they'd shared for the past thirteen years. It chased her up onto
the rocky slopes above Rio Vista, Arizona and finally urged her
to seek relief in the freedom of the open air, the exhaustion
of a brisk climb. Who'd guess she'd fall, breaking bones? Now
her first worry was how to get out of here.
She stretched the splinted leg in front of her and looked
off into the distance. Past the straggling bushes around her,
the view held a blue expanse of sky lightly dotted with a few
small clouds and rimmed with a jagged line of darker blue mountains.
"The land of room enough and time enough." She'd
read that once, years ago, and the phrase stuck in her mind. Arizona
was like that, lots of space, lots of time. Now too much space
and maybe too much time. How long before she could reach the road,
before anyone would come along?
The road, such as it was, couldn't be more than a couple hundred
yards below her; she hadn't climbed that far. But assuming she
could get back down there, would anyone come by? At midweek, students
from Southern Arizona University and soldiers from Fort Cochise
were not out in droves as they would be on a weekend.
Even if she could reach the road and her car, there was no
way she could drive the ten-year-old SUV down the mountain. The
vehicle had a stick shift and a stiff clutch. She couldn't manage
both brake and clutch with her left foot, let alone the gas pedal,
too. She fought the tendency to panic. One thing at a time. The
first thing was to reach the road.
Attaining that goal took her a long hour, an exhausting and
painful hour. She scooted some, crawled and wriggled, tried to
hop--bad idea. In her downhill struggle, she tried everything
but walking. That she could not even begin to do.
When she finally got to the road, she was dirty, scratched
and trembling from exhaustion and shock. She took her canteen
out of her dangling day pack and drank deeply, ate a couple of
stale granola bars and told herself she felt better.
There was a CB radio in her old Blazer, but the vehicle sat
parked a quarter mile or so away, at the official trail head.
She couldn't go that much farther. In fact, she'd reached the
end of her endurance, right here, right now. No more going at
all.
The left knee of her jeans had worn through, the skin inside
the tattered denim scraped raw and sore. The other knee was little
better. Her injured ankle felt tub-sized, swelling inside her
old Army boot and the makeshift splint. The broken bones throbbed
dully in rhythm with her heartbeat.
What next? Nobody knew where she was. Most of her partners
on the evening shift of the Rio Vista Fire Department Station
2 Ambulance Squad were also off duty today. Since she hadn't planned
this expedition, she hadn't told a soul where she was going. For
all anyone knew, she was either home or at Peaceful Manor with
her dad.
She fought another wave of nausea, reminding herself again
to stay calm. There had to be a solution to her problem if she
could just think things through. Pondering the possibilities,
she didn't recognize the sound at first, a dull, low, growl that
came and went.
Finally she did--a vehicle was coming up the steep, winding
road to the Copper Countess Mine and the head of the Crest Trail
of the Platina Mountains. In no more than five minutes, although
it seemed like an hour, an old pickup truck came into view.
A weak wave of relief swept over her followed by a twinge
of concern. She was in no shape to defend herself if the driver
proved unfriendly--or too friendly. She muttered a swift prayer
that neither would prove true.
Even after she sighted the vehicle, it seemed to take forever
to reach her. She'd perched on the side of the road, her good
leg dangling into the bar ditch and her injured one propped against
a ragged chunk of wood. The short log seemed out of place, probably
dropped by one of the professional woodcutters who harvested oak
and juniper to feed fashionable fire places in town.
The truck, driven by a grizzled man wearing a jean jacket
and a battered gray cowboy hat, pulled up beside her and stopped.
"Howdy, Missy. You got a problem?"
She nodded, forcing a wry grin. "Sure do. I was hiking
up above here. Some rocks rolled out from under me and I fell.
I broke my leg, right at the ankle."
"You up here all by your lonesome?" The man looked
shocked, surprised. "How'd you get from where you fell to
here?"
"I crawled and scooted and stuff--to get to the road.
I knew nobody would find me up there, at least not before they
saw the vultures."
A subtle hint of admiration softened the old man's weathered
face. "Well, reckon we better get you down to the hospital.
Let me go turn around. I'll be right back."
The road down was so rough and twisting, even the best driver
could not avoid some very heavy jostling on the route. Bonnie
held on tight to the arm rest and braced her left foot, keeping
most of the shock off the injury. I'm just feeling pressure, not
pain. She made the words a silent mantra. I can handle this.
* * *
The whole emergency room crew at Vista Hospital knew Bonnie.
Ann Hannigan, the charge nurse, was even one of her instructors
in the Nurse Practitioner program at Vista Community College.
Ann came into the cubicle where the orderly had wheeled Bonnie's
chair. The tall redhead stopped, hands on hips, shaking her head.
"What have you gone and done now, Bonita Verdugo? I never
expected to see you in here as a patient, for Pete's sake!"
"I hadn't planned on it, myself," Bonnie admitted.
"I guess I pulled a dumb stunt, if you want the truth."
She quickly described her accident.
"Well, Dr. Bertini will be around in a few minutes to
take a look. Meanwhile, let's get you down to x-ray so he can
see what kind of damage you've done."
Dr. Bertini. Bonnie's insides clenched at the name. Oh, he
was a good doctor--the best orthopedic and sports medicine doctor
in the county, but he had an attitude that wouldn't quit. She
hated every bone in his good-looking body.
What had he done to earn everything he had which she lacked?
Especially the wealthy family that made medical school an option
instead of an impossible dream. Everyone said he was a skirt-chasing
playboy, so he couldn't deserve all he had and apparently took
for granted.
She'd done her shifts here in the ER during training, both
for the EMT credentials and now as part of her nursing courses.
Of course she'd encountered Dr. Bertini more than a time or two.
Maybe the rest of the students went gaga over his great bod, movie-star
face and tidy bankroll, but not Bonnie Verdugo! She didn't knuckle
under to his arrogant, demanding manner, either. Seeing her helpless
like this, he was bound to razz her, and she'd hate every minute
of it.
Still, she'd done a real job on her leg. If she wanted to
walk again, to be able to return to work, she'd need his skill
to help her.
* * *
Dr. Jerry Bertini shuffled out of the operating room, shedding
his mask and gloves. Five major surgeries in nine hours, starting
at eight this morning. Two legs, one hip, one elbow and one arm
smashed into splinters. Why couldn't people learn to keep their
bones in one piece? If they ever did, he'd be out of work, but
there was little danger of that. Between the crazy scrapes the
college kids and GIs got into, the auto crashes, and the normal
childhood mishaps, he could clone himself twice and still be busy.
In the doctor's lounge, he shoved quarters into the soda machine,
grabbed the cold can that clattered down, and sank onto the closest
of the sagging chairs. He dozed off before he finished the cola,
only to be startled awake by the intercom. Hearing his name, he
had a hunch it wasn't the first time he'd been paged. Oh hell,
another one.
By the time he reached the ER, he was wide awake again. He
finished the lukewarm soda and chucked the can. Ann Hannigan had
the x-rays ready for him, already clipped on the light box. She
was a good nurse, not like most of the giddy young girls, too
immature and irresponsible for their profession.
He studied the film for a few seconds. Nasty break. Tibia
and fibula both, almost in a line, angling upward from the outside,
just above the ankle. The ends of both bones were pushed down,
distorting the muscle and over-stretching the ligaments and tendons.
Surgical reduction. No other option, really. He crossed the hall
to the cubicle where this as yet nameless patient waited.
He recognized her at once--Bonnie Verdugo, the prickly, opinionated
little chicana EMT. She looked up as he swept through the curtained
door, chocolate-flecked hazel eyes sparking defiance. Beneath
her dusky tan, she was pale, stress and tension visible in the
tightness of her lips, the pinched look to her nostrils. All considered,
though, she was dealing well with the shock and pain. They had
her on an IV already. Good.
Enjoying the unusual chance to have this particular woman
at a disadvantage, he folded his arms and observed her for a silent
moment. Of all the female EMTs and student nurses he worked with,
she was the only one he could not reduce to tears or simpering
giggles with a few choice words. Now, he couldn't resist a jibe.
"Well, if it isn't Ms. Super-EMT herself. How does it
feel to be the victim?"
"Like a bad day at work. I wouldn't be here if I had
a choice."
Her husky voice held the same go-to-hell independence that
blazed in her eyes. Fidgeting in the wheelchair, she twisted the
end of her long braid. The slight tremor of her hand revealed
her anxiety.
He snorted. "Just like jail, ninety percent of the people
end up here due to their own stupidity. Unless some old lady ran
you down with her wheel chair, I'd bet you're in the same boat."
"Hiking accident," she ground out. "I slid
about eight feet and lit on my bent ankle. A nasty break, isn't
it?"
He nodded. "Nasty, but fixable. I've got to do an open
reduction--put some hardware in there to hold everything in place
while the bones heal."
She huffed out a breath, looking everywhere but directly at
him. "My insurance ought to cover that. They don't make exclusions
for stupidity, last I heard, or clumsiness. I just want to be
back on both my feet as soon as I can."
"Be a walk in the park. You'll be hiking again in no
time." He glanced at his watch. "When did you last eat?"
She looked up at the clock on the wall, mentally counted.
"About 2:30, two granola bars up on Platina Ridge. Almost
five hours now."
"Okay. I'll go set up so we can get that surgery done
this evening."
Jerry turned from the room, feeling her gaze boring holes
in his back all the way down the corridor. That's one tough little
lady. Got a chip on her shoulder bigger than New Jersey, but a
lot of gumption in a small package. Make that a small easy-to-look-at
package.
Dirty and hurt, bundled in one of those ridiculous floppy
gowns, she was still all woman. Hardly bigger than a half-grown
kid, but nothing childlike about her. He'd heard she had to fight
for everything she had, too. Well, there were worse ways to get
there, and it certainly made you value what you achieved.
His own progress hadn't always been easy, but he wouldn't
trade his M.D. for the top post in Grandpa Bertini's Boston law
firm. And he could never have reached that pinnacle until the
old man, Dad and brother Joe were all gone, even if he had taken
that career route. Medicine was better, anyway.
Here every case was a special challenge--to undo the damage
and make someone whole again. He was never too tired to feel a
thrill at that. No, he'd made the right choice, maybe for the
wrong reasons, but still the right choice.
Bonnie was already under anesthesia by the time he prepped
and went into the OR to do his job. On the table she hardly raised
a ridge under the blankets, folded back from her leg to bare it
from the knee down.
His weariness fell away as he took the scalpel and made the
first cut. With the oxygen mask hiding most of her face, with
her tough mouth silent and her busy form still, he could forget
who he worked on. There were only flesh and bone to be repaired,
tasks his hands knew with total, intimate familiarity. He bent
to the work, tiredness, sassy women and all else forgotten.
The surgery took just over an hour. This time, when he left
the OR, he left the hospital. He prayed he wouldn't get called
back tonight. Exhaustion had caught up with him again. He drove
home slowly, grateful the car almost knew the way by itself.
* * *
Bonnie came awake all at once, cotton in her mouth and hunger
gnawing her stomach. Struggling to sit up, she found she could
before the recovery room nurse gently pushed her back.
"Take it easy. You're still a little foggy. Bet you'd
like a drink."
Bonnie nodded, finding her mouth stiff and clumsy, words refusing
to shape themselves. The first few sips of citrus soda tasted
like elixir of the gods. She wanted more. Within a few minutes,
the nurse wheeled her out of recovery and down to a semi-private
room on the floor.
She ate a dry tasteless sandwich and polished off a second
soda before she settled down for the night. Too much noise and
light and bustle to sleep very well, but she napped in snatches
until morning. Now her main desire was to get out of here, to
get home and be left in peace.
"Hospitals are no place to be when you're sick,"
someone had once quipped. Now she understood. The atmosphere was
anything but restful.
By midday, her nerves were frayed to threads. The therapist
had been in and showed her how to use the walker. She'd been back
and forth from bed to the bathroom twice and found she could handle
things. When an aide brought in her lunch, she asked the only
question on her mind.
"When can I get out of here?"
"Dr. Bertini makes his rounds right after lunch,"
the aide said. "If he agrees, I expect you can leave this
afternoon."
"Gracias a Dios! This place wears me out!"
The aide grinned. "Not much fun, huh?"
Bonnie mumbled a curse. "No fun at all!"
When Dr. Bertini arrived, he all but ignored her. He glanced
at her chart, spoke briefly to the nurse and left before Bonnie
could question him. She fumed. Who did he think he was, treating
her like a piece of furniture? I'm his patient, for Pete's sake.
Don't I even rate a 'How are you feeling today?'
The nurse, one Bonnie did not know, turned back to her, teeth
bared in a patently false smile. "Well, are we all ready
to go home?"
Her cheery kindergarten teachers' manner grated. Bonnie struggled
to respond civilly--not easy. Being nearly helpless made her feel
insecure, on top of which she was thoroughly uncomfortable. She
wanted a shower, which she couldn't have, some real clothes, and
something other than tasteless hospital food.
"I woke up ready," she grumbled. "The sooner
the better."
They started on the paperwork. There seemed to be enough to
fill at least one drawer in a file cabinet. Bonnie answered the
questions. She was not allowed to write herself but had to wait
while the nurse took everything down. At this rate, she'd be here
until midnight.
"And who's going to come get you?"
"I'll have to call a cab. My car's up on the Platinas.
Aye de mi, I'd better call over to the station and have someone
go get it before the Forest Service has it impounded."
"There is someone at home though?"
If she'd thought fast, she would have lied, but perhaps the
pain killers had dulled her wits. "No, I live alone."
"Well, is there someone you can call. Someone to come
stay for a couple of weeks?"
Bonnie shook her head, a sick feeling building inside.
"We can't release you until proper arrangements are made.
You'll either have to go to a convalescent home or have someone
with you at all times. At least until you get the regular cast.
We have a list of people who work as live-in care givers. We can
call someone for you and make the initial arrangements."
"No way! I won't have some stranger in my house. I can
manage."
"We can't allow that. Hospital policy says . . . ."
"Shove hospital policy! I want to go home!"
Immoveable object and irresistible force, head to head. The
nurse was not about to give in, and neither was Bonnie. Another
aide came to the door, peered in cautiously, wide-eyed anxiety
painting her face.
"Is something the matter? They can hear you clear down
at the nurses' station."
The nurse let out a sharp, exasperated sigh. "If he's
still on the floor, go get Dr. Bertini. Maybe he can convince
Ms. Verdugo she's in no condition to go home alone."
Available in html, Rocketbook, REB, MSReader,
Palmpilot, Pdf
ISBN 1-931742-16-2 (e-format)
Download: $5.00
Diskette in the mail: $6.00
Trade paperback is available $11.95 + $3.00 shipping and handling
Available from Treble
Heart Books
