“Should probably have a lot of things, but he’s stubborn.” I liked Mr. Brennan. He was sharp, opinionated, and determined to maintain his independence even as his body insisted otherwise. He reminded me of half the people in this town, actually.
The drive took seven minutes through streets lined with autumn colors that were just starting to peak. Hollow Haven in October was something special, all gold and crimson against the backdrop of pine-covered mountains. I’d moved here two years ago specifically because the beauty of the place felt like it might balance out the weight of carrying everyone’s emotions everywhere I went.
It helped. Sometimes.
We found Mr. Brennan on his front porch, sitting propped against the railing with a neighbor kneeling beside him. The neighbor, Mrs. Milton from next door, looked relieved when she saw us pull up.
“He won’t let me call his daughter,” she said as Emma and I approached with our gear. “Says she worries too much.”
“She does worry too much,” Mr. Brennan grumbled. His face was tight with pain, but his eyes were clear and alert. “And before you start lecturing me, Vance, I already know I should have called sooner. The vertigo hit, I went down, and I’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes trying to decide if my pride or my hip hurt worse.”
I knelt beside him, already assessing. Alert, oriented, obviously in pain but managing it with the kind of stoicism that came from seventy-nine years of life. “Going to guess the hip won.”
“By a narrow margin.”
“All right, Mr. Brennan. Let’s get you checked out. Can you tell me exactly what happened?” I pulled on gloves while Emma set up the backboard behind me.
“Came out to get the mail, got about three steps, and the world decided to spin sideways. Grabbed for the railing, missed, went down hard on my left side.” He winced as I gently palpated around his hip. “Heard something pop. That’s not good, is it?”
“Could be a lot of things. That’s why we’re going to get you to the hospital and let them take pictures.” I made eye contact with Emma, who was already preparing the stretcher. “I’m going to start an IV for pain management before we move you. It’ll help.”
“Will it make me loopy?”
“Probably a little.”
“Good. I hate being sensible all the time.” He paused, then added, “And yes, you can call Margaret. But tell her I’m fine and she doesn’t need to drive up from Boulder tonight.”
“I’ll tell her you’re being well cared for and she can call the hospital for updates,” I said, which was diplomatic and also true. I administered the pain medication and waited for it to take effect, watching his face relax slightly as the edge came off.
Moving him was delicate work. Left hip, possible fracture, elderly patient with brittle bones. Emma and I worked together with the kind of practiced coordination that came from doing this hundreds of times, getting him onto the backboard and secured with minimal movement to the injury site.
Mr. Brennan bore it with remarkable patience, only hissing once when we had to shift his hip angle to get him properly positioned.
“You’re doing great,” I told him as we loaded him into the ambulance. “We’ll have you at the hospital in fifteen minutes.”
“That new doctor still working there? The one with the terrible bedside manner?”
“Dr. Morrison has excellent clinical skills.”
“That’s what people say about doctors who can’t talk to patients.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll make sure to mention you’d prefer someone chatty.”
The drive to Hollow Haven Regional Hospital was smooth, and I spent it monitoring Mr. Brennan’s vitals and keeping him talking. One of the first things I’d learned in this job was that people healed better when they felt heard. When someone actually paid attention to them as humans instead of just problems to solve.
“You’re good at this,” Mr. Brennan said as we pulled up to the emergency entrance. “Making people feel like they matter.”
Something in my chest went warm but uncomfortable. “That’s the job.”
“No, it’s not. Lots of people do this job without giving a damn about anything but the paycheck.” He studied me with those sharp eyes that probably missed very little. “You actually care. That’s rare.”
“Or maybe I’m just nosy,” I said lightly, deflecting the way I always did when someone got too close to seeing the truth.
“Maybe.” But he didn’t sound convinced.
We transferred him to the ER team, and I spent the next twenty minutes doing paperwork in the ambulance bay. Emma went to restock the rig while I filed the incident report, documented medications, and updated Mr. Brennan’s care records.
My phone buzzed with a text from my station captain:Good call on the Brennan transport. His daughter already called to thank us.
