AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“We’re always looking for good nurses in the OR, if you ever consider making your stay here permanent.”
Our eyes connect over the rims of our masks, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. But Drake doesn’t give me much time to analyze.
“Let’s get things cleaned up, and I’ll close the patient.”
There’s a flurry of activity as everyone assumes their roles, and I begin counting the instruments, sponges, and other tools Drake has used.
When the instruments are set aside and I’ve informed Drake of the count, I turn back to count the sponges again. You can never be too careful when it comes to the sponges. Although it’s never happened on my watch, I’ve heard about patients being stitched shut with sponges still inside of them. That obviously leads to complications.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
I stack them up and then separate each one, laying them out on the tray as I count them again.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
“Abigail?”
I glance up at Drake. “Yeah?”
“Are there eleven? That’s how many I used.”
“Um, yeah…I was just making sure.”
He looks at me for a long moment and then nods. “It’s better to be sure. Go ahead; count them again.”
I almost breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve had doctors scold me after surgery for taking too long to count the sponges and instruments. In reality, they should be thanking me for possibly saving them from a horrible lawsuit that could cost them their license and hundreds of thousands of dollars—and maybe even a patient’s life.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
This time when I count them, I touch each sponge individually, cataloging it in my head.
Drake sits patiently while I go through my ritual, seemingly unfazed by my odd behavior. Generally, when someone happens to see me during a bout of counting, I get more anxious. But it’s not like that with Drake.
And it wasn’t like that the other night when he caught me checking the refrigerator.
He has a soothing presence. With him, I feel calm.
Accepted.
When I’m confident that all of the sponges are accounted for, and there’s not a lick of unease in my veins, I report the number to Drake again.
His smile once again reaches his eyes. “Thank you, Abigail. Great job, everyone. Let’s get this patient into recovery.”
Lucy and Barbara wheel the patient out. Dr. Connor is not far behind them, and when the room is empty, Drake peels his gloves off, lowers the mask from his face, and looks at his watch.
“My shift is over in twenty minutes. Want to grab a bite to eat?”
My stomach flutters. The angels sing from above. And then the annoying voice in my head reminds me—you can’t be together.
Stupid voice.
But since when does having dinner mean we’re together? Men and women have dinner all the time without bedding each other at the end of the night. Drake and I are perfectly capable of sharing a nice meal without allowing it to lead into dangerous territory.
“I’d love to.”
