New book begins-- no name yet

 

Chapter One

 

By dawn my scrubs were filthy, and my hair reeked of vomit and blood.  Shorthanded due to budget cuts, we were swimming in patients by one am. Besides the usual midnight parade of maladies and booboos—we had five car accident victims, thankfully they all made it- bruised, and broken limbs but alive.  At around 3am, a GSW to the chest came in, a tatted-up gang member who died an hour later.

 By shift change, I was ready to get out of there.  My feet ached and I was ready for a nice long shower.  I hand off my patients to the day shift, warning them about the woman in bed D who pinches hard and tries to bite anyone who gets close. I have a bruise on my left arm to prove it.  Thank you very much.  

In the locker room, I change into my street clothes and stuff my dirty scrubs into my bag and head for the door. I didn’t stop and shower, I’ll do that at home where I don’t have to shower in a room full of other women.

“Damn, Cassie, you look like you wrestled a bear or something.” Bill, the night security guard says he unlocks the staff door for me.

“Five bears- big, smelly ones.” I answer as I wave over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Bill.”

 

Our house is only three blocks from the hospital. We purposely bought close by to save commute time.  I walk to and from work every day.  It just doesn’t make sense to drive, pay for a parking lot that only gets me one block closer. Besides, that would be lazy. The walk provides the exercise Eddie insists I need.  He loves to work out and I hate it.  But I do love my walk. It was my favorite time of day- a buffer between home and work. I can breathe, enjoy the aroma of fresh bread drifting from the bakery a block away, and pause at Mrs. Franklin’s garden where the flowers never seem to stop blooming. Best of all I pass ABC Nursery School on the corner.  On my morning walks I get to watch mothers drop off their little ones.

It's nippy out here this morning, especially this early in September.  I wrap my sweater tighter around me and quicken my step.  My peace is interrupted when an ambulance rushes around the corner siren on full bast.   Then, half a block further loud shouting coming from the homeless camp behind the hardware store greets me.

Oh, come on world, quiet it down.

I slowed down, remembering Eddie’s home instead of on one of his frequent work trips—the life of a regional salesman. Home always feels tense and unfriendly whenever he’s there.

Needing a little more time, I detour and walk an extra block to the bakery. I bought his favorite pastry, a cherry and cream cheese strudel.  A flimsy peace offering in a paper bag. Maybe it will soothe the beast. Maybe not.

At my door, I hesitate and take a few deep breaths before facing what was sure to be a messy morning.

You can do this, girl.

 Today was D day. Eight years of marriage. The last two have been hell. I tried, God, how I tried to be the wife Eddie wanted me to be.  But, I’m not a Stepford wife-perfect in every way. I’m a chubby, ER nurse who loves chocolate and hot dogs.

Give me strength.

Divorce papers in my bag, pastries in my hand and dread in my chest I enter the house. It’s quiet when inside—no television humming, no clatter from the kitchen. No cooking smells either.

Eddie’s still in bed. Good.

 Upstairs, I shower in the guestroom since I didn’t want to disturb him. I’ve learned through the years that it wasn’t a good idea to disturb his sleep.  Clean, and wrapped in my favorite old robe, I bravely head for the main bedroom.

“Eddie.  Wake up, sleepy head. I brought you your favorite pastry.” I push the door open.

 He doesn’t stir. He’s lying on his side, facing away from me, his covers pulled high around him neck.

I round the bed and try again. I touch his shoulder.  “Eddie?”  No response.  My heart skips a beat-he feels clammy.

 He couldn’t be.

 I rip the blankets back and shake him. Nothing.  Then I shake him harder, the bed rumbles under him. Still nothing. My hands shake as I fight off tears.

 He can’t be gone. I didn’t love him anymore, but I never wanted him dead.

Habit takes over.  Ten years of nursing has me locking away my feelings and getting to work.  I go into nurse mode, pressing two fingers to his neck, then his wrist. No pulse.  I lean in close and listen for breath. Nothing. His chest is still. His skin is an ashen gray.  He’s dead.

 Damn it, not like this.  Eddie, you stupid fool, why?

Stepping back, I straighten my robe and reach for his phone on the nightstand.  Calm, efficient, automatic. I dial 911 and give the dispatcher a professional overview of Eddie’s condition, the absence of vital signs, our address, and the time I found him.  My voice never wavered. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I did what I had been trained to do - remain calm.

After quickly dressing, I rush downstairs and let the paramedics and the accompanying police officer in and lead them upstairs.

Not wanting to step back in the bedroom again, I talk to the officer from the doorway.  “I got home from the ER and found him like this.”

“You work at St. Mary’s down the Street?”  The young officer asked as he moved in closer to me. He looked me over from top to bottom- my wet hair, bare feet, sweats. His badge reads Officer Santos. He was well built like Eddie is, I mean was.

Damn, I have to use past tense when talking about Eddie from now on.

“Yes, Officer, I work the 11 t0 7 shift in the ER department.”

He looks at his watch and writes the time in his notepad.

“Did you come straight home after your shift?” He asks while watching the EMTs checking over Eddie.

“I walked home stopped at the bakery and then came straight here. I got here around 7:30, I guess.  I didn’t go into our bedroom, I got ready for bed in the guest room and then went to wake him. He always goes to the gym when I get home. He’s usually up and dressed. Today I thought he just slept in a little.”

“Did you touch the body?”

A shiver runs down my side at that question.

‘Yes, I shook him and checked for pulse and breath. There was none.

We both stopped talking as the EMTs moved Eddie from the bed to their gurney. They drew a sheet up over his head.

“Oh God. They covered his head.” I whisper to myself, but Officer Santos hears me.

“That’s standard procedure, Ma’am. “His voice was calm, but his eyes lingered on me a bit longer than I liked.

Standard procedure or not. It feels like a bullet through my heart.

Eddie was really dead. How? He was so damn healthy.