Sacred Trust (37 page)

He squeezed her arm tighter. “Come with me.”

“Why? What's wrong? What are you—”

“Shut up.”

He jerked her forward and dragged her through the house toward the office in the back. She could smell the booze more strongly than ever, and she suddenly wished it had been a stranger who had broken in.

He shoved her through the office door and forced her into a chair.

“Dad, what's—”

“I think we need to spend some quality time together, don't you?”

She was too scared to answer.

He sat down in front of the desk and picked up a small
oblong recorder from the floor. He punched a button, set the recorder on the desk and waited, watching Tedi. “I think we've had some trouble with communication lately, just like your teacher says. I want to take care of that problem right now.”

The fumes from his breath washed across her in a wave.

She recognized her own voice—she'd heard recordings of it at school when Mrs. Watkins let them listen.

“I hate him! I wish he were dead!”

Tedi gripped tightly to the arms of the chair on which she sat. She forgot to breathe as she listened to a playback of her phone conversation with Mom from the other night.

She listened to her own sobs, to Mom's reassuring voice, and now she concentrated on that voice.

What was Dad going to do? He'd already been listening to this, she could tell by a quick glance at his face. What would he do this time?

Mom's recorded voice returned.
“Where is your father?”

“He's not a father. He's a horrible…”

The next few phrases washed over Tedi, but she couldn't hear them—her heart was beating too hard and fear gripped her too tightly. She couldn't look up at Dad. She heard her recorded voice telling Mom again that she hated Dad. She heard Mom telling her to go to bed. And then she heard Mom telling her to pray.

She started praying now, silently and quickly.
God, help me! Please, help me! Please save me!

Dad took a deep, long breath and rested his elbows on the desk for a moment. He buried his face in his hands, rubbed his eyes, exhaled. He shook his head and turned to Tedi on the swivel chair.

“You just can't leave it alone, can you?” he snapped, his eyes blazing blue fire.

She didn't answer. She didn't know what he was talking about.

“You've got to keep running to your mommy with everything, as if she's the only one who can make things better. You didn't ever consider the fact that she's the one who started all the problems in the first place.”

Tedi stared at Dad. With the fear, a little anger now mingled.

“It's her fault we're divorced.”

That wasn't true, but Tedi stayed quiet. She hoped her growing temper didn't show in her face.

“You've let her twist your mind against me until I'm some kind of monster in your eyes.” He paused and his eyes narrowed. “Apparently, a stupid monster! I don't even have the brains to help you with your homework. But you didn't tell your mother that you wouldn't even let me try!” His voice grew louder, filled with more anger. He wheeled closer to her, bending forward until his breath burned her eyes. “You didn't tell her that, did you? Why not?”

She couldn't keep sitting there. She felt as if she were being swallowed by the anger in his eyes. Slowly she stood, but he stood, too, blocking the door.

She tried to speak, but her voice caught. She swallowed and tried again. “I didn't want you to help me,” she answered honestly. She couldn't think of any quick lies, and he wanted an answer.

“Why not? Aren't I good enough? Are your mom and your grandma the only ones who know enough to help you?”

She swallowed again and started to nod, but stopped
at the flare of fury that crossed his face. He took a step toward her. She couldn't step back. She knew she couldn't get away, but she had to try. She jumped to the side and tried to duck past him, but he grabbed her.

She screamed and tried to wrench from his grasp. She couldn't. His hand came up.

“Daddy, stop!”

He smacked her sideways, snapping her head back. She felt herself falling, felt her head hit something hard. Everything disappeared….

“C
ode orange, CT. Code orange, CT.” The announcement came through the overhead speakers, blasting Jarvis where he sat at the desk with his head in his hands. He looked up with a frown as Tish dropped what she was doing and rushed out the door toward radiology. Why were they calling a code?

Radiology. Dwayne. He was crashing.

Jarvis forced himself to his feet, stumbled against the chair, righted himself and rushed after the nurse. This could not be happening. The chopper would be here any time. Dwayne couldn't die. He'd been stable when they wheeled him out.

Nurses, techs and aides rushed toward the CT room from every direction, but they gave Jarvis right of way. He was the E.R. physician. He was the one in control.

He reached radiology to find others converging on the room that held the patient. Though the red warning light was still on above the door, no one paid attention as they rushed past the CT computer and circled the gantry on which Dwayne lay. Claudia already stood beside him, re
leasing the clamps from the IV tubing and calling for help to lift him off the gantry and onto the wheeled cot. He was still strapped onto the backboard with the c-collar around his neck. He looked so young and helpless.

Jarvis groaned. This was a horrible place to try to do a code, and as more people rushed into the already-crowded room, shouting questions and getting in each other's way, the level of confusion grew.

“Let's get him back to E.R.,” Jarvis said.

“You heard the doctor,” Claudia said. “Rachel, put him on an ambu bag.” She helped them transfer Dwayne, then led the way out of the room and down the hallway. She glanced at the automatic pressure cuff on the patient's arm. “Doctor, the BP is 45. He's in shock. He needs blood. How much do you want?”

“Four units.” Jarvis gestured toward the lab tech. “Do you have him typed yet?”

“No, Doctor. We'll have it soon.”

“No time,” Claudia snapped. “Doctor, what type do you want?”

“O negative.” He had to concentrate, couldn't stumble now.

They wheeled Dwayne into the trauma room.

“How fast do you want it?” Tish asked.

Jarvis turned and glared at the young woman. “He's bleeding to death, Nurse. Put it in a pressure bag and get it in him as fast as you can.”

“O2 sat is only 76 percent,” Claudia warned.

Jarvis couldn't show any weakness in front of this crew. “We'll have to intubate. Get me a 7 tube and a curved blade.” He'd done this before lots of times, but not working around a c-collar and not when he was in so much pain he could barely concentrate.

While Tish hung the blood, Claudia handed Jarvis a curved plastic tube with a 12-CC Luer Lok syringe attached. “I've already checked the bulb and lubricated the tube, Doctor. Everything's ready.” She snapped open a laryngoscope and instructed a tech to raise the bed.

Taking the scope, Jarvis leaned over Dwayne's mouth and gently pried between the teeth. He slid the laryngoscope blade down the right side of the tongue and used it to push the tongue up and to the left to get it out of the way. With light from the scope, he tried to get a view of the vocal cords. Nothing. He couldn't even find the epiglottis. He pulled up as much as he dared, but still got nothing. His hands shook and his head pounded with pain so sharp it blurred his vision. He couldn't do this.

He had to do it.

He must have overshot. He pulled back up. There! He saw the epiglottis, but still no cords. They should be right beneath. He raised the blade a little more, prying forward.

A tooth snapped.

He muffled a curse. He couldn't get it. But he had to keep trying.

“Doctor, O2 sat is 72 percent,” Claudia said.

He pulled back the scope. “Bag him.”

 

Tedi lay on the living-room sofa where Theo had carried her from the office. Her face glistened with moisture from the wet cloth Theo was using to try to wake her. He bent down and listened for a heartbeat again. It was still there. He couldn't tell if it was slow or fast. He could barely hear it over the roar in his head. He could hardly think over the voice that kept telling him he'd killed his little girl. He'd hit her. Hard. There was probably a place
at the back of her head where she'd smacked against the edge of the bookcase.

But she wasn't dead. Not yet.

“Tedi!” he shouted, grabbing her hands and squeezing them tightly in his own. “Tedi, please wake up. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” His eyes and nose dripped from tears. He couldn't believe he'd hit her.

She didn't move. He leaned forward and felt the faint whisper of her warm breath on his face. He should be the one lying there unconscious and broken. What had he done?

He glanced toward the phone. He should call an ambulance. He had to get help for her fast. But he could get her there faster himself.

He ran into the kitchen and grabbed the keys to his car, shoved them into his pocket and ran back into the living room.

Gently he lifted her into his arms and carried her out to the garage. “Tedi, please don't die on me, baby. Please don't die.”

 

Sweat from Jarvis's hands made the laryngoscope hard to grip. He wiped first one hand, then the other on his shirt. It wouldn't work. He couldn't get it.

“Dr. George, the O2 sat is 69 percent,” a respiratory tech announced.

He gave up and straightened. “Bag him again. Claudia, get that c-collar off the patient.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “That could paralyze him.”

“Don't you think I know that?” Jarvis snapped. “The collar is blocking the intubation. He'll die if we don't—”

“Dr. George,” Carol announced from the door. “The flight crew is here for the patient.”

The two newcomers, a female paramedic and a male
nurse, were not shy. They stepped into the room and walked to opposite sides of the bed.

The paramedic, a seasoned veteran familiar to Jarvis, studied the situation and stepped up beside him. “Any luck?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me try,” she said. “I've done quite a few of these.”

Jarvis nodded and stepped back, too relieved to be offended, too weak to argue. His hands continued to shake. Even as he watched the paramedic work, his vision blurred once again. He slumped against the counter, hoping no one would ask him any more questions.

They got the tube in place, repackaged the patient for shipment, and cleared the room. Jarvis heard himself thank the flight crew as they wheeled Dwayne out toward the chopper.

“Jarvis.”

The voice came from somewhere beside him, but through the growing murkiness he couldn't tell who it was except that it was female.

“Jarvis.”

This time Estelle's face floated into view. “Jarvis, how's our patient?”

“Stable, I think.” He heard the tremor in his own voice.

“I'm not talking about Dwayne, I'm talking about you.”

He raised a brow and looked at her. “I'm not—”

“You're relieved of duty,” she said. “I want you to see a doctor. Today, if possible.” She glanced at her watch. “It's five o'clock. Dr. Simeon should be off duty soon. I'll call him to come over and check you.”

“No.”

“I'm not asking, Jarvis. You
are
off duty as of now, and you need—”

“I've seen a doctor.” His voice grew weaker. He felt weaker all over. “Ran tests.” He gave up and leaned against the wall.

Estelle gently took his arm. He didn't fight it because he didn't have the strength. He even allowed her to help him walk toward the call room.

“What were the results of those tests?” she asked.

“Negative CT.”

“That's all? A CT isn't the only test they can run, you know.” She turned and called over her shoulder, “Claudia, I need you to get some vitals for us over here. I think Dr. George has finally—”

The E.R. doors flew open, and Theodore Zimmerman stumbled in carrying Tedi in his arms.

“Help my little girl!” he cried.

 

Lukas unlocked the door to his house, feeling more relaxed than he had felt in months. It was great. He glanced down at his feet, then bent over and untied his hiking boots. They were caked in good old Missouri mud and river water. Wonderful mud. His jeans still smelled like fish, although he hadn't caught a thing. Fishing wasn't as much fun as hiking, but it wasn't bad. Being out there in the beauty of God's natural creation always helped put everything else into perspective, and he no longer worried as much about what was going to happen to his career. God would be faithful. He always had been.

Lukas had made it halfway across the bedroom floor in his double-stockinged feet when he caught sight of the flashing light on his answering machine. He punched the play button as he passed the machine on the way to the kitchen to get a tall glass of lemonade.

The sound of Estelle's voice stopped him in his tracks.

He raced back out the door, into his mud-caked boots, and off toward the hospital.

 

“Put her in two,” Jarvis said as he pulled from Estelle's grasp and wearily turned to meet Theo and Tedi at the room.

Estelle did not protest. She couldn't and Jarvis knew it.

“What happened?” he asked Theo, giving the younger man a sharp glance.

Claudia immediately came into the room and started taking vitals.

“She hit the back of her head on the edge of a bookcase.” Theo wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. He was a mess and reeked of alcohol. “It knocked her out. I couldn't wake her up.”

Claudia glared at Theo, suspicion obvious in her eyes. “Why didn't you call an ambulance?”

Theo stared at her dumbly. “I…I didn't think it could get her here as fast—”

“How long has she been out?” Jarvis asked.

“I don't kn-know. Maybe twenty or thirty minutes.”

“Why did it take you that long to get here?” Claudia demanded.

Theo's face crumpled and he dissolved into sobs.

Jarvis motioned to Estelle, who stood at the doorway. “Get him out of here. He's not doing us any good like this.”

As the administrator began to coax Theo toward another room, Jarvis turned to her again. “Estelle, get another doc in here now.”

Jarvis pulled his penlight out of his pocket and gently lifted Tedi's eyelids. His hands continually shook now, and the ends of his fingers felt numb. Tedi's pupils were
equal and reactive. The light did not wake her up. He checked for a wound and found a large contusion at the right parietal-occipital region of her head.

Claudia finished her vitals. “Dr. George, her BP is 110 over 75, heart rate's 85, respirs 18, no temp. Her O2 sat is 96 percent. Do you want oxygen?”

Jarvis hesitated. The nurse's words seemed to blur together. He looked at her. “What?”

“Oxygen, Doctor. Do you—”

“Yeah.” He glanced down into Tedi's face. “I can't do this,” he muttered, pulling over the stool to sit on.

“You've got to,” Claudia snapped. “We don't have another doctor yet.” She opened the glass cabinet and took out a c-collar from the supply. “Do you want an IV?”

He looked at the nurse again. “What did you say her BP was again?”

Claudia placed the c-collar on the child's neck, then reached for an IV tray. “It was 110 over 75. I'll do a heplock.”

Claudia raised Tedi's left forearm, prepared it with an alcohol wipe, and expertly slid a 20-gauge needle through the skin into the vein below.

“Ow!” came the sound of the little girl's voice.

The sudden cry startled Jarvis. He scooted the stool forward and leaned toward the child as Claudia continued to work.

Tedi's eyes slowly opened; then she squinted in the light, focusing on him. “Jarvis?” She reached out her right hand and touched his face. “Jarvis?” She looked around, her dark eyes gradually filling with apprehension. “Why am I here again?”

He nearly cried with relief. “Sweetheart, it's okay.” He patted her arm. “It's going to be okay now.”

“Did I get stung by another bee?”

“No. You bumped your head.” Jarvis leaned forward and rested his forehead against the edge of the cot. She was safe.

He heard Claudia talking to Tedi, but he only picked up snatches of the conversation as his vision blurred in and out of focus.

“We were wondering if you might remember what…”

“I just came home from school. Someone was inside…”

“It's okay, honey. Don't force…”

He heard Claudia ordering a head CT, and then he felt hands helping him move sideways until his head and arms rested on something harder and flatter. There was silence, and he allowed himself to sleep….