*
Ellie raced around trying to get herself ready for work and make sure Jesse would have everything he needed. There was a box of Kraft Dinner and a can of peaches on the counter top. The kids had already had their midday dose of amoxicillin. The diapers and wipes were sitting on the coffee table, next to a stack of DVDs that the kids liked—Sesame Street, Thomas the Tank Engine, Little Einsteins.
“Daisy, do you have to go potty before I go?”
Daisy shook her head.
She checked Daniel’s training pants one last time and was relieved to find them poopy. That was one thing Jesse wouldn’t have to deal with. She quickly changed Daniel, took the dirty training pants out with the trash, and washed her hands.
Her stethoscope. Where had she put it?
She found it on the kitchen counter and had just draped it around her neck when she saw Jesse pull up in front of the house. She met him at the door.
God, she felt guilty for asking him to do this.
“Hey, Daniel and Daisy, look who’s here. It’s Jesse. Do you remember Jesse? He’s the nice man who helped us when we were sick and our car wouldn’t start.”
“Hey, guys.” Jesse waved to the kids.
“Thanks so much, Jesse. I’m so sorry. I know this is your day off—”
“Hey, I’m doing my part. Those kids need your help, right?” His gaze moved over her. “You look good in scrubs.”
She looked down at herself. “You must be nuts.”
He chuckled. “Okay, give me my mission parameters here.”
“Just keep my kids safe and alive until I get home or until my parents get here.” She walked over to the table. “I’ve written everything down here—when they need their next dose of medicine, the number for the hospital switchboard, my parents’ cell phone numbers, though they’re not here and can’t really help. There’s a box of Kraft Dinner on the counter if I’m not home by suppertime. Daniel’s wipes and training pants are on the coffee table. He just had a BM, so I hope you won’t have to deal with that. Daisy is potty trained, but she needs a little help wiping and such.”
She saw the surprise on his face at this. “I’m so sorry. You’ve never changed a diaper, have you?”
He rested a big hand on her arm. “I’ve dealt with worse things than poop.”
She supposed that was true.
“Thank you for doing this. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth, the contact like a jolt of caffeine.
Damn.
She popped a DVD into the player and turned on Sesame Street. “It’s best if we don’t make a big deal about my leaving.”
But when she tried to sneak out, they saw her, and Daisy started to cry.
“It’s okay, baby girl.” Jesse scooped Daisy up. “Let’s wave goodbye to your pretty mommy through the window.”
“Thank you!” Ellie shut the door behind her and waved to Daisy as she climbed into her car.
She arrived at the hospital a few minutes later, clocked in, and went straight to the ER, where resources were stretched to their limit, a half dozen ambulances from three different organizations parked outside the emergency room and more coming up the street. Reporters roamed around the hallway, some with cameras, while parents and family members—people she knew—clustered together, waiting to hear if their sons and daughters were here.
“I need an MRI!” someone shouted.
“Get those fluids going. His blood pressure is dropping.”
Ellie scrubbed up, put on a gown, grabbed a handful of gloves, and found Pauline. “Where?”
Pauline pointed toward the procedure room at the end of the hall. “Head injury. Life Flight is on its way. We need to stabilize him for transport.”
Ellie hurried to the room, shouldered her way behind the curtain—and stopped. Lying on the gurney was Tyler Kirby, only six years old, with an open skull fracture.
God, no.
His face was bloody and lacerated—probably from glass. He was unconscious, and he’d been intubated, IVs in his little arms, a c-collar around his neck. His vitals did not look good, his BP and blood oxygen low, his little heart racing.
Doctor Warren, the hospital’s trauma surgeon, looked up, her eyes telling Ellie everything she didn’t want to know. “Start antibiotics running wide open and get a stat blood panel. And where the hell is the neuro consult?”
Ellie grabbed hold of the IV cart and went to work.
*
Babysitting toddlers was not for the weak.
Jesse discovered this during the ten minutes of constant wailing that had followed Ellie’s leaving the house. Eventually he—with a little help from Sesame Street—managed to soothe Daisy and Daniel. Four hours had gone by, and so far, no one had been killed or injured. He considered that success.
But the evening wasn’t over yet.
“Put on.” Daisy held up a little plastic tiara with pink sparkles.
“You want me to put that on you? Are you a princess?” He started to put it on her little head, but she drew back.
She pointed to him. “Put on you.”
She wanted him to put it on himself?