It was a question Lucas had asked himself from the moment he began operating. Even now, after getting the baby out, he wasn’t sure of the answer. He could barely see what he was doing due to the volume of blood. Victoria had begged him to save her baby at the expense of herself—something he thought most expectant mothers would say.
There was nothing like a mother’s love.
It was a throwaway phrase, but one that was true. When his brother died, his father had aged ten years overnight. Gone was the father who took his sons to football, ruffled the top of their heads with pride, and took them on endless bike rides. Lewis’s death had caused their father to retreat in on himself with his only comfort of the liquid variety.
His mother had tried. Both with her husband and with Lucas, but she couldn’t reach either of them. His father had lost a son and blamed the surviving son with a devastating certainty. Lucas’s guilt had been so deep that he didn’t believe he deserved his mother’s love and he had put up a wall to lock away his hurt. And, despite her love, his mother hadn’t been able to penetrate it.
“I’m certainly going to do my best. She’s so young. But you’re right, there’s an awful lot of blood. I need to get it stopped.”
Frankie handed the baby to Hettie without hesitation. “I’ve done very little theatre work, but if you tell me what you need doing, I can assist.”
He looked at her a beat too long then watched as her resolve started to falter.
She’d proven herself to be more than capable so far. And it wasn’t as though he couldn’t use her help. “Of course. Change your gloves and we’ll see what we can do for Victoria.”
#
Together, they’d spent over an hour ensuring Victoria’s bleeding had stopped while Hettie took care of the newborn, who was showing no ill effects following his swift arrival into the world.
By late evening, it was Victoria who was causing the most concern. She didn’t seem relieved she would be able to have more babies in the future. In fact, she didn’t even seem interested in the one she had.
Every spare moment Frankie had during the day, she’d gone to check on Victoria and her son. The patient was lethargic and her mood was incredibly low. She’d been through a traumatic time with her son being delivered quickly and she was alone with no family support but her presentation worried Frankie.
She dumped the towel she was carrying under the tall light next to the wooden jetty on the beach, then jumped down beside it. She buried her toes into sand that was still warm, despite the late hour. If only it were as easy to bury her feeling of foreboding when it came to Victoria. There was no medical reason for her certainty that something was very wrong.
She needed to talk to Lucas, but wasn’t sure how to word her concerns. If she simply told him, he’d think she was flaky, and there was no way she wanted to lose the delicate trust building between the two of them.
Stripping off her scrubs, she left on the white boxers borrowed from Lucas. Suppressing a giggle as she imagined how silly she looked and how, only a few days earlier, she wouldn’t have believed it if someone told her she would be on a tropical beach wearing a man’s underwear. Especially given that man was not Joey.
Frankie debated whether to leave on her bra or take it off. She looked up and down the beach and, seeing no one, decided she’d take a chance and—as it was the only one she had—wash it in the sea. It’d be better than nothing.
Feeling somewhat liberated, she ran towards the water and waded in until the cool rippling ocean covered her breasts. Hooking her bra strap over her arm, she swam a few strokes before turning over and floating on her back.
The sound of the waves crashing to shore a short distance away soothed her and for the first time in three days she allowed herself to relax fully. She closed her eyes as each wave took her towards the beach. She wondered what Joey had thought of the letter she left, and whether he missed her at all or had already moved someone else into her place.
To her surprise, she couldn’t even conjure up a picture of his face in her mind. She’d spent ten years with the man; by his side, loving him, and waking up with him most mornings, and yet the face she could see clearly was Lucas’s—particularly the way his fair hair curled onto his forehead and his startlingly blue eyes.
It was because she was working with him, had spent every daylight hour with him—and some dark ones, too—since arriving in Astoria. There was no other reason for it.
She tried to tell herself she didn’t care if he approved of her or not, but it was a lie. It mattered that he thought she was a good nurse, and it wasn’t because he was technically her boss—it was much more than that.
Awareness filtered through her consciousness, starting with a skittering sensation that ran the length of her spine.
She was not alone.