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Maybe she understood Mom better than she let on.
Not that she was still hung up on the past. She was happy, she’d gone out with plenty of guys and slept with a few (though not as many as she let people think).
But there were a lot of nights in the past couple years when she lay in bed at night, wondering if she’d ever find anyone who made her feel...special. The way Lucas once had.
Exactly four minutes had passed since she arrived. Maybe she’d go see if Jeremy Lyon was on call. He was always good for a chat.
She walked through the E.R. to the main part of the hospital. Faith’s niece, Abby Vanderbeek, was on the front desk, volunteering no doubt, earbuds in place as her thumbs flew across her phone.
“Hey, Abby,” she said to the teenager. “Is Jeremy working today?”
“Oh, hey, Colleen,” Abby said without taking out the earbuds. She tapped a few keys. “No, sorry. It’s Dr. Chu. She’s new and schizo, so beware.”
“Poop. Any patients I might know?” Colleen asked. Who knew how long Calvin would need Mom to stand guard?
“I’m not supposed to tell,” Abby said. “Confidentiality and all that.”
“I’m covered by HIPAA, since I work part-time at the nursing home.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Have you seen Goggy and Pops over there?” Abby said, asking about her weirdly named great-grandparents.
“No, they’re not in my wing. I heard your grandmother complaining about the food, though. I hid.”
Abby smiled and hit a few more keys. “Let’s see...how sick do you want them?”
“Very sick. That way I can be an angel of mercy.”
“Dude. You’re so awesome. Okay, I can fix you up. Joe Campbell’s in for dialysis. You know where that is?”
“I sure do,” Colleen said. “Thanks, beautiful.”
The dialysis unit was on the third floor of the hospital, same floor as the intensive care unit. Last year, Gramp had been here for a week with pneumonia (almost managed to die that time before his pesky and amazing immune system saved him), and Colleen had seen Joe. After she’d gotten Gramp settled and he’d fallen asleep, she’d ventured over to say hi.
She hadn’t known him too well back when she was with Lucas, but Joe and Bryce had been a father-and-son fixture at the far end of the bar until six months ago.
Being a bartender—thebartender—made her privy to all the town gossip. She’d heard that Joe’s wife, the pinched and snotty Didi, hated going to his appointments, and Bryce seemed to be in denial about his dad’s condition. Joe was often alone during these long, quiet stretches when his blood was cleaned and rotated back inside him.
So yes, she’d visited. Dialysis took a long time, and it was boring. Three or four times a week, four to six hours at a stretch. Joe was always happy to see her.
She peeked into Joe’s curtained area. He was awake. “Time for your sponge bath, Mr. Campbell,” she said in her sultriest voice, getting a most rewarding grin from him.
“Which Mr. Campbell are you referring to?” came the voice behind her.
She jumped.
Lucas.
Of course. He raised an eyebrow at her and sat down next to his uncle, a paper cup of coffee in his hand.
He hadn’t shaved today. Or yesterday, maybe. And what was it about that? Did they teach this to men in Man School?Don’t shave, fellas. Chicks love that, wondering how it would feel to have your scratchy face in all sorts of places—
“Lucas, it’s you,” she said, aware that she hadn’t said a word. “I was referring to your much handsomer uncle. Hi, Joe! How are you?” She leaned over and kissed him, and he patted her hand.
“It’s nice to see you, sweetheart. I hope you brought me some of your amazing margaritas.”
“Wouldn’t they kill you?” she asked.
“But what a way to go.” He smiled. “You remember my nephew, of course.”
