Sunset Bay Sanctuary Read online

  But no, a cloud of soft white hair appeared in the gap between the bushes.

  “I’m fine, Elsie,” he said. “Sorry if I woke you.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, at my age sleep is a gift you take when it arrives but you never count on it. Are you well?”

  He nodded, but stopped halfway through. “Nightmare,” he admitted.

  Elsie shook her head. “The bane of an intelligent mind. Can be hard to turn off, can’t it?”

  He gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah. You could say that.”

  “Stay right there.”

  Her head disappeared back between the leaves.

  Aiden put his head in his hand. She wasn’t going to leave him alone, was she?

  A minute or two later, she came walking briskly through his gate.

  “It’s rhubarb,” she said, holding out a towel-draped plate. “I’d have brought you a glass of milk, too, but I took the chance that you’d have some of your own. It’s not a cure for nightmares—Lord knows if it was, I’d be a millionaire—but I’ve found that mental agitation can leave one’s belly feeling hollow, especially in the wee hours. It’s hard enough to sleep, without a hollow belly along with the insomnia.”

  She set the plate on the low table next to him on the porch. He tried not to be resentful of her familiarity with his place; it was probably identical to her own.

  “Now, I won’t keep you. Eat, Aiden. Then go back to bed and allow your mind to do what it needs. You know what they say, if you can’t beat them, join them. Even if they are demons.”

  She left, waving away his thanks, making her way carefully down the cobbled path.

  He brought the plate into his kitchen and pulled off the towel. A half pie, in a ceramic dish decorated with bluebirds and flowers. Chunks of rhubarb glistened from where it spilled out the sides of the pastry.

  Aiden’s stomach growled.

  He didn’t want pie. He didn’t want sympathy or nosy neighbors or a friendly, white-haired lady who would be one more person to miss when he left.

  Garret had adored pie.

  He went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of milk. He cut a small slice of pie and ate it standing up at the table. Then he cut another one.

  He didn’t want to be rude.

  Chapter Six

  “My wife dragged me here after my second heart attack, determined to show me there’s more to life than work. I came home, cashed in my pension and we’re now living the life to the fullest. Sanctuary Ranch helped heal my heart.”

  —Edward and Janice Coster

  Before leaving at the end of his shift, Aiden did a quick scan of his cases to ensure he hadn’t neglected any paperwork. He considered checking in on the Abrams girl, now on the pediatric ward. The mother and younger child had been discharged but it might be good for him to see Jessica, remind himself of the favorable outcome. See if he could internalize it, make it more real than the disaster he’d imagined.

  “Dr. Mac,” said one of the nurses, an energetic redhead. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Sure.” He glanced at her name tag. “Thalia? Is that short for something?”

  “Nathalia.” She made a face. “My parents wanted the H in there because they were convinced before I was born that I was a boy, and they’d already named me Nathan.”

  “Your poor parents,” he said. “Made their biggest mistake before you were even born. Where do you go from there?”

  “Um, how about poor me who had to listen to that story my whole childhood? It’s a wonder I don’t have gender identification issues. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the new mom from the other day. Sage Welles.”

  “Sage? Why? What’s wrong?”

  Thalia rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, pushing her bangs aside, making them stand on end. “She’s being discharged to Sanctuary Ranch and someone needs to do a home visit.”

  “Sanctuary Ranch,” he said. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

  “It’s a local resort. More of a dude ranch, I guess. They make people work there, like on a real working ranch, I guess. Horses, goats, chickens, an organic garden, that sort of thing. Anyway, Olivia Hansen, the one who brought her in, does foster care.”

  Hansen. Haylee’s aunt. His pulse quickened as an image of the tough-talking blonde sprang into his mind.

  “We need someone to approve this placement as appropriate for a high-risk mother-infant duo,” Thalia continued, “and you’ve been elected.”

  Ah. The joys of being in a small town.

  “Surely that’s a job for a social worker.”

  Thalia rolled her eyes. “You know how understaffed CPS is. Don’t worry, there’s no rush. Olivia takes kids in all the time, so it’s a rubber-stamp situation. The only difference now is the baby.”

  “Surely there are better places for girls like this? Group homes or something?”

  “I’m just the messenger,” said Thalia. “You’re the man in charge so the buck stops with you. I’ll leave the paperwork in your box at the nurses’ station, okay?”

  Aiden touched his finger to his temple. “Aye-aye, skipper.”

  * * *

  When he got home to Beachside Villas, all Aiden wanted was to inhale a sandwich, take a long, hot shower, and crash. Surely tonight he’d be tired enough to sleep.

  “Aiden? Is that you?”

  The quivery voice reached him before he got his door unlocked. She sounded upset.

  He pocketed his keys and crossed the lawn between their cabins at a jog. He found Elsie standing in the doorway, gripping the frame. As soon as she saw him, she beckoned him into her cabin.

  “You are a doctor. Could you come see Anton? Please, I think something’s wrong.”

  Her hands fluttered in front of her lined face like moth wings.

  He took her elbow as he passed, and gently led her inside. Anton sat at the table, looking at a puddle of tea dripping into his lap. The broken cup lay on the floor.

  “Hello, Anton,” said Aiden. He took the man’s hand. Cool, but not clammy. Pulse normal. “How are you feeling?”

  Anton blinked and looked up into the corner of the ceiling. He said nothing. The corner of one eye drooped more than the other.

  “Does he have high blood pressure, Elsie? Heart disease? Diabetes?”

  “No heart disease. He’s got diabetes but I gave him a glass of juice and it didn’t help. He got very tired suddenly so I made him some tea but then he dropped the cup and started saying nonsense words. I couldn’t understand him. What’s wrong?” Elsie gripped her hands together, the blue-veined skin thin and fragile-looking.

  He bent forward to smell Anton’s breath. No telltale scent of ketones.

  “Can you lift your hands for me, Anton.” He raised his hands as example. Anton mumbled something unintelligible. “When did this start, Elsie?”

  “Just before you got here.”

  Aiden grabbed his phone and dialled 911. “Send an ambulance to cabin three, Beachside Villas,” he instructed dispatch. “This is Dr. McCall. My neighbor is having a stroke.”

  The medics arrived in under five minutes and in another ten, Anton was on his way to the hospital.

  As the sound of the sirens faded into the dark, Elsie stood on the porch, alternately gripping and smoothing the thin fabric of her dress. A small crowd had gathered in the lane in front of her cabin, but she looked tiny, frail, lost, and very alone.

  Aiden wasn’t on call tonight; Will Spencer would be looking after Anton. But Anton wasn’t the only patient.

  He put his arm around Elsie. “We’ll follow them in my car,” he said, and helped her into the passenger seat.

  “Will he be all right?” Elsie asked.

  “We got to him quickly,” said Aiden. “He’s got an excellent chance.”

  It was odd, being on the other side of the emergency room curtain, so to speak. It wasn’t his case, but everyone understood his interest and made sure he was apprised of all the information. They were gratefu
l that he was supporting Elsie and explaining everything to her.

  Two hours later, he brought yet another cup of tea to Elsie. She looked like she might blow away in a stiff wind.

  “I’ve got good news, Elsie,” he said. “The treatment is working. In fact, he’s asking for you. Shall we?”

  Tears filled her eyes and she clutched his arm as Aiden led her to her husband’s room. He pushed a chair up close to Anton’s bed and helped Elsie sit. She grasped her husband’s hand, brought them to her face, and wept.

  Aiden’s throat tightened as he watched the raw, aching devotion between them.

  “Dr. McCall?”

  Will Spencer stood in the doorway, a serious expression on his face.

  When Aiden saw the test results, he understood. Anton would recover from the stroke, but it didn’t matter.

  “Would you like to tell her or should I?” asked Will.

  “Let her get some sleep first,” he said. “There’s no need to distress her any more tonight.”

  He drove Elsie back to the cabin, and saw her to her door. Bette Davis, the little white dog, jumped up against his legs, licking at his fingers. At least Elsie wouldn’t be entirely alone tonight.

  “Is there anything else you need?” he asked.

  She took his hands in hers, then reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve been a godsend tonight, young man. I can’t thank you enough. My Anton will be coming home. There’s nothing else I could possibly need.”

  Which would be worse, he wondered, to go a lifetime without experiencing this, or to know exactly how precious and rare a treasure you were about to lose?

  That’s what love does. It breaks you.

  * * *

  He drove home, kicked off his shoes and was asleep in minutes. But at some point, he realized he was in the nightmare again. This time it began with blue sky strewn with gauzy clouds. A winding road, the white lines running pat-pat-pat through black asphalt. A red car, hugging the curves, the ocean glinting silver on one side, sharp gray rocks on the other.

  “Faster, faster.”

  Laughter bubbling from the backseat.

  “Faster, faster, Mama!”

  Something dark lurking on the cliff above them, watching, waiting, muscles bunching, strength gathering.

  He saw the dark thing, tried to reach it, chase it, break its predatory gaze, but his limbs were caught in concrete, his throat filled with ice.

  The joy-filled ride continued, oblivious to the growing threat above. There was no escape, nothing but water and rock, black and white, and a red car going too fast and not fast enough.

  A tight corner, a sharp burst of glee, and the smiling thing leaped, black teeth dripping.

  Crash!

  Aiden awoke to a hoarse yell. Damp sheets twisted around his chest. He tore them away and staggered onto the floor, then cried out as the smiling thing sank rotten fangs into his foot.

  “No!” he shouted.

  Great plumes of air rushed into his lungs and his pulse hammered his eardrums as reality returned.

  He hobbled to the wall and hit the light switch. Glass glittered the floor next to his bed, a bloody footprint in the center.

  He’d knocked over the bedside lamp.

  * * *

  Aiden lifted the cold coffee carafe in the staff room the next afternoon, poured a cup of black sludge, looked at it, sniffed it, and dumped it in the sink. More caffeine this late in the day would not help his chances of sleeping tonight.

  “Knock, knock,” said a voice at the door.

  Aiden looked up to see a dark-eyed woman peering in at him, a wing of sleek, dark hair falling across her smile. It was Gayle Chen, from Human Resources. She’d been on the hiring committee, had participated in the interview and given her psychological assessment, which was only appropriate, under the circumstances.

  “May I come in?”

  Aiden pushed back his chair and got to his feet, hoping he looked more energetic than he felt.

  “Of course.” He gestured to the only other chair in the room. “How are you, Ms. Chen?”

  Her gaze was steady and friendly but she definitely had an agenda of some sort.

  “Please, call me Gayle,” she said. She crossed her hands in her lap, resting them on a folder he hadn’t noticed her carrying when she came in. “How are you settling in?”

  Instantly his guard came up. “Very well, thank you.”

  Gayle nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  They looked at each other without speaking for a long moment. Aiden had no intention of being the first to break the silence. She’d come to him, after all. But she was skilled at the same game and finally he couldn’t take it.

  “Ms. Chen, Gayle, is there something I can help you with?”

  She sighed. “Dr. McCall.”

  “Mac.” He smiled, showing his teeth.

  “Dr. Mac.” She tilted her pretty head. “I heard you had some excitement the other night. The Abrams family?”

  Aiden tucked a finger in the collar of his shirt to loosen it. “We got lucky. We had a good outcome.”

  “Yes, a very good outcome. I heard it was tough on you, though.”

  His stomach tightened. “Will Spencer spoke to you.”

  “I’m here to help.”

  He kept his gaze on hers, refusing to let himself respond with so much as a twitch.

  Gayle sighed. “MVAs with kids are always challenging. Even without your history. Perhaps talking about it will help. I can set you up with someone.”

  “I’ve had counseling, Ms. Chen. Lots of it. The sample platter, you might say. And I’ve sampled generously. I appreciate the offer but I’m full up on counseling.”

  A dull sense of defeat and despair flooded over him. He’d already jeopardized his career as a top-flight trauma specialist. Working in a low-level emergency room was his backup. What would he do if he couldn’t work here? This was his last chance.

  “You’re an amazingly talented physician, Aiden.” Gayle Chen leaned forward, her dark eyes warm and kind. “You’re intuitive, empathetic, and compassionate, highly desirable traits which have unfortunately also probably led to your current problems. No one wants a recurrence of what happened in Portland. I’m on your side.”

  Under the desk, he clenched and unclenched his fists. “Has my work been lacking?”

  “No.” Gayle’s smile grew pained. “You’ve made an excellent impression already. But you froze, Aiden. When those kids came in, you froze.”

  He smiled, hoping she couldn’t see the knot that had formed in his jaw muscles.

  “I wouldn’t say ‘froze,’ exactly. I experienced a . . . shiver. A momentary chill. I got past it.”

  Gayle nodded. “You did. But what about next time?”

  It had gone on too long in Portland. No one wanted to complain about a senior attending. Everyone gave him latitude, cut him slack, stepped in when he zoned out. That was the downside of loyalty. He’d worked with some truly excellent people.

  But when pushed to choose between him and patient care, they made the right choice.

  And here he was.

  “You and I both know,” he said slowly and deliberately, “that I’m overqualified for this job. Sunset Bay Memorial is supposed to transfer out all critical patients. Those kids shouldn’t have been here in the first place. Therefore, I expect it’ll be a long time before I’ll be faced with a similar situation. If ever.”

  “Neither Jessica nor Jeremy Abrams was critical,” said Gayle, homing in on the key point. She sighed again. “Except in your mind.”

  Aiden stared back at her. If she wanted to say something, she could damn well come out and say it. He wasn’t helping her poke yet more holes in his career.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Dr. McCall. Seven percent of people will experience PTSD at some point in their lives. About eight million adults have PTSD during any given year. This is only a small portion of those who have gone through a trauma.”

 
“I know the numbers.”

  “Then you know that they go up dramatically among those who work in trauma medicine,” she said. “It’s well studied and documented, especially in support staff, including pre-hospital workers, nurses, and mental health professionals. Unfortunately, trauma surgeons—the most stoic of frontline providers—have been overlooked. Why would that be, Dr. McCall?”

  “Mac,” Aiden said. “We’re a different kind of animal, Ms. Chen. We’re adrenaline junkies. Do a poll to find out what trauma docs do in their spare time. Hang-gliding, bungee jumping, mountain climbing, BMX racing. Some even get married and have children. The edge of fear, that’s where we live.”

  She ignored his attempt at humor. “And yet, among almost five hundred trauma physicians polled, forty percent had symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Forty percent. That’s almost six times higher than the national average.”

  They all knew it and mostly disregarded it. They didn’t get into this line of work expecting days of bliss and rose gardens. They expected pain and blood and decisions and conflict and regret and impossible situations and the triumph over death that made it all worthwhile. That’s why they did it.

  “We deal with it.”

  “How?”

  He looked away. In the competitive world of specialized medicine, a whiff of weakness is all it took to get bumped off the elite track. You did not admit your humanity to your peers. Not if you wanted to get ahead.

  Aiden had been on the rise with some of the best teaching hospitals vying for his consideration. Dartmouth-Hitchcock, Mass General, and Johns Hopkins.

  But that was before.

  And that was without him admitting anything. To anyone.

  “Mostly, you start self-medicating,” said Gayle, listing off on her fingers. “Antidepressants, anti-anxiety drugs, sleeping pills, maybe a little pot, you need to sleep after all, right? Then morning comes and a triple espresso’s not enough, so you take a little something else, a waker-upper, just to get you going. You need to function, right? Then after work, it’s a beer. Or a whisky. Or three and before you know it, you start drinking a little earlier each day.”

  “Or we run marathons and do yoga.” He barely drank. Antidepressants hadn’t touched him. Sleeping pills left him muddy the next day, so he quit those, too.