Arlene James - His Private Nurse

For a moment the world and everything in it stopped. The second hand on the clock of time froze as they stared into each other’s eyes. Then, slowly, he blinked and carefully extracted his arm from the loop of hers. Sinking back onto the pillow, he cleared his throat. Merrily settled the phone.

“What, uh, what time do you think I might get to enjoy that dinner?” he asked, his voice thick.

She tried to keep her tone level, normal. “Best guess, around eight.”

He grimaced and covered his eyes with his hand. “I trust you’ll still be on duty then.”

“Until ten,” she confirmed.

He said, “Good.”

Good. She tried very hard not to let that please her in any personal fashion.

“I’ll, um, be in later to perform the preop.”

He let his hand fall to his side. “Sure. Better you than Nurse Disjointer.”

Merrily ducked her head to hide her smile as she fled the room.

Katherine Lawler lifted her patrician chin and sniffed, silver hair swinging against her nape. “All I said is that it’s a pity he can’t sue himself.”

“That’s what’s wrong with this country!” Marvin, her husband and Royce’s father, proclaimed. “Everyone’s sue happy. Let the blasted insurance pay for it. That’s what it’s for. Not that it isn’t his own fault. He built the damned stairs.”

Royce groaned, wondering desperately where Merrily was with that pizza. He hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of her since he’d returned to his room nearly an hour ago. The piteous sound elicited not a glimmer from his parents.

“You sued your own partners,” Katherine pointed out.

“That was different! I had to get an accurate accounting, didn’t I?”

“You already had an accurate accounting.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

The door opened, and to Royce’s immense relief, his angel swept into the room, carrying two small pizza boxes and a brown paper sack.

“Finally!” he exclaimed on a long sigh, relaxing at last.

Her soft, muted-green gaze skidded right past him. Smiling at his parents, she left the pizza and sack on the bedside table. Briskly, she lifted the head of his bed and moved to the sink to moisten a cloth with antibacterial solution so he could clean his hand, saying, “Your postop exam was fine, so you get to eat now.”

“It’s about time,” he said, though in truth he wasn’t nearly as hungry as he thought he would be. He chalked it up to the drugs that were keeping him comfortable. He’d had a much easier time coming out from under the anesthesia this time, fortunately.

“Excuse me,” Merrily said sweetly to his parents, wheeling the lap table into place. “These little rooms get awfully crowded. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind standing in the corner over there. Just in case. He’s a little awkward with one hand.”

It was all the excuse his parents needed to beat a hasty retreat. Royce could’ve kissed her. Again.

“We’ll let you enjoy your dinner in peace,” his father pronounced, lifting a hand toward his mother.

Katherine kissed the air next to Royce’s cheek and instructed in her long-suffering tone, “Try not to hurt yourself again.”

Then they both went out the door without so much as a glance for Merrily. Glad as he was to see them go, Royce frowned. The least they could have done was spare a word of thanks for the only person around here who actually made him feel better.

“Who do I speak to about getting you a raise?” he asked, closing his eyes in gratitude. “Your timing is perfect. I was contemplating a heart attack in order to get them out of here, but I’m not that good an actor.”

Merrily chortled and dug change from her shirt pocket, dropping it into the drawer of the bedside table. “The look on your face said it all. Who were they, anyway?”

“My parents.”

Her eyebrows shot up, slender, winged things with a hint of gold in their gentle brown coloring. “I guess I should have recognized them, their photos are in the paper so often.”

“Ah, you’ve made that connection, have you?”

“Who hasn’t? Listen, I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” he quipped wryly.

“I meant, I wouldn’t have chased them away if I’d realized they were your parents.”

“I use the term loosely,” he said. “They’re no fonder of me than I am of them. Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t chase them away with a pitchfork if they didn’t want to go. Now, where’s my pizza?”

She checked the first box, closed it again and set it aside. “Here it is.” She opened the box and arranged it on the adjustable table in front of him, then opened the sack. Plunking napkins down in front of him with one hand, she reached into the bag with the other and extracted a small cardboard triangle containing the cheesecake he’d been dreaming about since he’d first thought of it hours earlier. She set that aside and carefully lifted out first one and then another foam cup with plastic lids. Next she removed two straws, peeled one and pushed it into the hole in the top of the lid on one of the drinks. Sliding the large cup close to the pizza box, she picked up the other cup and reached for her own pizza. A moment ago he’d have given his house, his dream house, for a few minutes of solitary peace. Now the idea of eating alone, of being alone, seemed singularly unpalatable.

“You’re not going?” he said disapprovingly, catching her wrist in his one good hand. He realized as his fingers closed around her delicate, finely boned wrist that he wasn’t trying to detain her so much as he was looking for that jolt, that flash of carnal recognition that he’d felt before, when he’d stuffed the twenty-dollar bill into her pocket and discovered the unexpected bounty of her breast beneath the loose coat. It flashed through him, right up his arm to the center of his chest and straight down to his groin. It jolted the cup right out of her hand and sent it spilling across his clean, dry floor.

With a small cry, she leaped back, dismay shaping her pretty little mouth into a plump O. Royce craned his neck to glimpse the pale liquid spreading across the glossy tile, then he smiled at her, moved by a mischievous imp whose presence he hadn’t felt in far too long and said, “Be glad to share.”

But she just shook her head and ran out of the room. With a sigh Royce closed the lid on his pizza. Somehow it didn’t look nearly so inviting without Nurse Merrily Gage there to share it.

“Lane, would it kill you to actually put your dirty clothes into the hamper?” Merrily asked, exasperated.

Her brother peered at her through the steam generated by the long, hot shower he’d gotten out of minutes before. “What difference does it make?”

Merrily stuffed the clothes into the hamper and straightened, brushing her ponytail off one shoulder. “It would save me the effort of picking them up.”

He shrugged and went back to combing his hair. “When you sort the laundry you’re gonna pile it on the bathroom floor, anyway.”

“That’s beside the point.”

Ignoring her, he tossed aside his comb and hitched up his jeans, admiring his bare chest in the mirror. “Hey, you ironed that red shirt of mine yet?”

“I haven’t had time.”

“Merrily, I’m going out tonight.”

“Wear another shirt.”

“I don’t wanna wear another shirt. That’s my chick-magnet shirt.”

“Then iron it yourself.”

“Yeah, right. You know I can’t iron.”

“Maybe it’s time you learned.”

He chucked her under the chin and grinned down into her upturned face. “Baby sister, that’s what you’re for.” Abruptly turning pitiful, he whined, “Come on, Merrily, I’ll ruin it if I try. You can whip it out in no time. Ple-e-ease.”

Merrily sighed. “Oh, all right, but from now on you put your dirty clothes in the hamper, agreed?”

Lane turned away. “Sure, sure. Make it quick, will you? The guys are picking me up in a few minutes.” He went out of the bathroom whistling.

Merrily bent and opened the cabinet beneath the sink. After extracting the steam iron as well as the cleanser for which she’d originally come into the room, Merrily straightened and looked around her. She’d spent the whole morning cleaning this one room, and now just look at it. Towels lay in a damp heap on the floor. One corner of the bath mat had been kicked up and left so that water pooled outside the shower. A wet washcloth that had been slung over the top of the shower dripped a trail down the pebbled glass wall. Why did she even bother? On every day off, she slaved to clean up this place, but not one of her brothers could be trusted to so much as straighten up after himself.

At twenty-eight, Lane ought to have been living on his own, possibly even married, but he wasn’t responsible enough for that. The older two were worse. Lane at least had a social life, if trolling the club scene with his equally immature friends could be called such. Kyle, at thirty, remained the next thing to a recluse. He considered himself superior to the others because he’d earned a master’s degree in English, but he hated his job as a high school teacher and had always been more comfortable with his books than people. Jody, on the other hand, had followed their father into the U.S. Postal Service, delivering mail. It was grueling work, but not grueling enough to have turned Jody into the old man he’d become at thirty-two. Since their parents had spent a large chunk of their retirement fund on a motor home and set off to see the country more than a year ago, Jody had virtually turned into their father, taking over the family home as if he owned it and attempting to order all their lives as their strict, conservative parents had done.

That proclivity created friction amongst the siblings. Jody parked himself in front of the television most evenings and issued edicts that his brothers both protested and ignored. Merrily herself operated on the periphery, functioning as housekeeper and cook while holding down a demanding full-time job of her own. The only thing the three brothers seemed to agree upon was that Merrily deserved whatever headaches and exhaustion her life brought her since she’d opted for a career instead of marriage and the protected existence of a housewife that her mother had chosen. They conveniently overlooked the fact that marriage had not really been an option for her. Even if some guy had been interested in her, he wouldn’t have braved the guard dogs her father and brothers had always become whenever anyone approached her. She knew it was their way of showing their love for her, but she also knew that if they had their way, she’d be stuck keeping house for one or all of them the rest of her life.

She’d been trying to work herself up to moving out on her own for some time now, but what was the point, really? Her own social life was nonexistent and would likely remain so. Certainly she had friends, but most of them were married with young families of their own. She was Aunt Merrily to a bevy of small children whom she often baby-sat, but their parents didn’t really have much time for her anymore, and because of her appearance it was difficult for her to make new friends her own age. She kept telling herself not to be so shy about it, but she couldn’t seem to overcome that first dismissive look she always received when she approached other adults. The only notable exception to the rule was Royce Lawler, and even he had thought at first that she was a candy striper or some other teen volunteer at the hospital.

She wondered how he was doing and suppressed a surge of guilt at having left work the evening before without checking in on him. Really, though, how could she have faced him after she’d spilled her drink all over the floor of his room? She hadn’t even gone back to clean it up. Instead she’d called housekeeping to take care of it. If she hadn’t gone in there thinking they could share dinner together, she wouldn’t have embarrassed herself like that. It was stupid, the way she’d started to fantasize about the man, especially since she would probably never see him again. Barring complications, he’d leave the hospital before she even returned to work. Disappointment welled up in her. She bit her lip, but then Lane yelled to get a move on with that shirt, and she shoved aside personal concerns to do what she seemed to do best, taking care of everyone else.