Millie Reeves doesn’t cry when she wakes up. She vomits and complains that she’s cold, but that’s it. All things considered, she’s relatively lucky. She was breathing when she was having the violent seizure that brought her here to St Peter’s, but the oxygen supply to her brain could easily have been compromised. She could have woken up with altered brain function or damage to numerous aspects of her nervous system, and yet she seems as though she’s coping admirably. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for her brother.
“I don’t care what the doctor said. I want to take her home!” Mason Reeves is hot headed and reactive right now, as he leans across the reception desk, growing redder and redder as he tries to brow beat Gracie. Little does he know that his efforts are completely pointless.
I see Gracie raise her do-not-fuck-with-me-family-member-of-a-patient shield. “And I don’t care what you want, Mr. Reeves. Your sister is in recovery. That means she is re-cov-er-ing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand that she can recover at home, ma’am. Now, please. Let me sign the paperwork so I can get her out of here.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. Now please step away from this desk before I call security.” Gracie’s jaw is fixed and locked, raised. She’s just waiting for him to argue some more. Of course, what she’s doing is highly illegal. Mason is Millie’s legal guardian. She doesn’t specifically require urgent care, so he’s well within his rights to take her whenever he wants. Gracie’s just one of those women who will push and push in order to get her own way, and to hell with the consequences.
I quicken my pace as I head toward them, grinding my teeth. “Is everything okay here, Mason? Are you looking for an update on Millie?”
He barely casts his eyes in my direction as he acknowledges what I’ve said. “Millie Reeves. Six-years-old. Diagnosed with LSG at aged three years, three months. Suffered a major grand mal seizure in the last twelve hours. Now showing positive signs of improvement, despite continuous vomiting and diarrhoea. Blood pressure is normal. All cognitive signs reported normal. Will require constant monitoring for the next forty-eight hours to ensure no long term damage has occurred as a result of potential oxygen deprivation.” Mason stops there. He swivels his head so he’s looking right at me now. “Is there anything else, Dr. Romera, or have I got everything?”
Damn. He’s on the verge of snapping. I’ve seen it on so many people. There’s a flicker people get in their eyes, a visible fracture in their temper that could either splinter them open or shut them down at a moment’s notice. “You obviously have a very good understanding of your sister’s condition, Mason. I’m impressed at the level of care you’ve been giving her. Let me ask you, though…do you think you can give her the same level of care at home that we can give her here at the hospital?”
He clenches his jaw. “I’m not fucking stupid, okay? I know I’m fucking up. I know she deserves better than I can give to her, but I’m trying. I’m doing my best. Of course she’d be better off here, but I can’t afford to keep her here longer than she absolutely has to be. This wasn’t her worst seizure. There are plenty more to come, and I need to make sure I can afford those five-star visits to the wonderful St. Peter’s of Mercy hospital.”
Gracie shoots me a complicated look. It contains many mixed emotions: worry; anxiety; stoicism; and lastly, guilt. The last flash of remorse is undoubtedly because of what she did a few months ago. She told the DEA she’d seen me sneaking out of the hospital, carrying bags of blood I needed to save Zeth’s life. Lowell tried to threaten me with the fact that I’d been caught stealing from St. Peter’s. I nearly lost my job. I nearly lost everything. To say things have been awkward between us since I came back to work is an understatement. I don’t blame her, though. Denise Lowell is a conniving cunt who will always get her way. Gracie has a kid to take care of. Her own job to think about. I’m sure Lowell implied she’d lose both if she didn’t tell her everything about me when she came calling at the hospital.
“So can I take her? Or shall I call the police?” Mason folds his arms across his chest, huffing heavily down his nose.