Dreams of a Wild Heart Page 5

  “Absolutely.” I grasped her hand and squeezed gently. Her skin was still baby soft. The smell of tear-free baby shampoo touched the air, probably leftover from her bath the night before. So young. Just like one of my baby cousins. “Don’t be afraid to tell the truth, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes stayed with me for a few moments while she came to a decision. Taking a deep breath, she began in halting sentences. “I came home from a soccer game. My stepdad had been drinking and was asleep on the couch. Sometimes when he drinks, he gets mad real easy. Anyway, I think I woke him up calling for my mom.”

  “Why were you calling for your mom?” the officer asked. His eyes and tone were gentle. I appreciated that he was taking special care to make Jolene feel safe. Sometimes adults didn’t think about how traumatized a kid could feel, particularly when they felt like they were getting a parent in trouble. Often, they just blamed themselves for the trouble.

  “We won the game.” Jolene smiled. “I wanted to tell my mom about the goal I made.”

  “Good girl.” Officer Todd smiled. “I bet you’re a great soccer player if you made a goal.”

  She nodded. Her body relaxed as if sensing she was truly safe here.

  “Then what happened?”

  Jolene went on to tell about how her father had begun yelling at her mother for wasting money they didn’t have on sports. Even when her mother tried to explain the league had scholarships for players who couldn’t afford to sign up so they didn’t have to pay anything, he wouldn’t hear it. He slapped her mom a few times, and he always kept his hand open so it wouldn’t leave a mark because he’d left a mark once and had to go to jail for it. Then he threw her on the ground, where she landed badly on her arm, and when Jolene tried to protect her by putting her body over her mother’s, he’d kicked her savagely in the guts, multiple times. There was bruising down the side of her abdomen that we took pictures of.

  At this point, Jolene was crying again, and I was sitting on the bed holding her with her face pressed into my neck trustingly. Such a beautiful little person who deserved so much better in life.

  “You did great,” I whispered, absorbing the shudders her little body was giving. “So proud of you, sweetheart.” I couldn’t help but feel angry that her mother wasn’t the one doing this. “No one should get kicked. Don’t you agree?”

  She kept shuddering against me, but nodded.

  “You’re really brave, kiddo,” the officer told her kindly. “You won’t have to be around your dad anymore. We’ll take care of you. Get better so you can be out on that soccer field again.” He patted her shoulder softly, looking at me with a helpless expression, and I just nodded my understanding. There was no way to fix the part that had been broken. We could only do our best to help her learn from it.

  “Thank you.” Jolene had worked herself up to the point of having involuntary snuffles, her face puffy from crying.

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart. You call us anytime you need help.”

  The officer walked out, and I went back to holding and rocking Jolene. She didn’t hug back, but she leaned into me and continued resting her face against my neck. A few moments of silence went by before she spoke.

  “He’s not my real dad.” She mashed the back of her hand against her eyes to wipe the tears away. “My real dad would never have hurt me. Never.”

  “How long has this guy been married to your mom?” I was glad she felt like talking about it.

  “I think two years and a little more. My real dad died in a car accident when I was, like, maybe four.”

  Another car wreck. Damn. It brought back the image of the woman’s eyes. Indescribable loss. Then a little girl loses her daddy for life. Carlos and all the blood. A future taunts us with its empty promises. “It’s pretty common for people to have car wrecks, sweetheart. Just remember to always wear your seatbelt, and never get into a car if someone has been drinking. Promise me.”

  “I promise. Are they going to take me out of my home?” Jolene asked.

  I didn’t want to lie. “There’s a good chance. Are you all right with that?”

  She was quiet for a few moments, rubbed her tired eyes and shook her head. “Why won’t my mom tell the police what happened? I heard what the officer said in the hallway.”

  Kids asked the best questions. Sometimes, it was impossible to explain why something that seemed logical wasn’t happening. “I don’t know, Jolene. I think it must feel pretty complicated to her. Maybe she doesn’t want to be alone.”

  “What’s complicated? If someone hurts you, you stay away from them. And she wouldn’t be alone. She could have me.” More tears welled up and coursed silently down her cheeks as she considered this new point of view and realized her mother didn’t think she was enough. More quietly, she admitted, “He killed my dog, Muffin.”

  “Oh, Jolene. I’m so sorry. When did this happen?”

  “Last year.” She pulled away to look at me with her blotchy tear-streaked face. “He was drinking and yelling at my mom for not having dinner ready and for being lazy. Muffin kept barking and barking and he told me to ‘shut the damn dog up’.” She paused to look at me apologetically for her use of language.

  “It’s okay. Keep going.”

  “Muffin was a little Chihuahua, and she didn’t like him yelling, so when he went to hit my mom, she bit his ankle.” The tears kept coming, though more like silent witnesses, as she said, “He kicked her hard and made her fly across the room. She never got up again. I just couldn’t get her to stop barking. She kept running away from me. He said it was my fault she died.”

  “You know that’s not true, right? There were a lot of things he could have done other than kick her. He could have left the room, gone for a walk, decided to stop yelling and watch TV. You know that, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Muffin wanted to protect you guys, and it sounds like she was doing a great job. I’m sorry, Jolene, but he’s cruel. He shouldn’t be around anyone because it is not okay to hurt anyone or anything. Ever. Ever.”

  “I guess I know that.” She mashed the back of her hand to her face once again. “I always wanted to have a dog, but after what he did to Muffin, I couldn’t get another one. I didn’t want him to hurt another dog.”

  “That makes the most sense. It sounds like you made a very grown-up decision.” I handed her a tissue, and she wiped her face. “Maybe if you go to another home, they’ll have a pet, or won’t mind if you have one. Definitely when you get older, you could have one.”

  She accepted the tissue blew her nose. “I think it would be better not to have to see my stepdad for a while. I’m afraid when he’s near. He likes to hurt us both.”

  I stroked a hand over her forehead, sorry that such a sweet, innocent child had to experience so many harsh realities instead of just enjoy childhood. “That makes you a smart girl. I’m proud of you. Telling the truth takes courage. I hope you know what a strong girl you are. It probably didn’t feel good to tell the truth, but you needed to.”

  “Sometimes he’s nice,” she offered, leaning back on her pillows.

  “Yeah, but I bet a lot of times he’s not. You did the right thing telling the truth.”

  She shook her head.

  “I hope you know he’s the one that’s got problems, not you. There’s nothing in the world you could have done that would deserve the abuse you got today. You’re such a special girl, Jolene, and you’re going to do great things in your life. Do you believe me?”

  She nodded, but I could see her eyes drifting.

  “Why don’t you lay back and try to sleep? There’s another nice doctor, a psychologist, who’s going to meet with you tomorrow. You’re going to be taken care of.”

  “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

  “Of course.”

  For the next twent
y minutes, I held her hand and shared as many of my own soccer adventures as I could remember, both the good and the bad. She giggled tiredly at a few of the stories. It was nearing seven o’clock by the time she fell asleep.

  Just before her eyes closed, she poured her little soul into her gaze and looked at me before she whispered, “Thank you, Dr. Ceci.”

  “Any time, baby girl. Any time.” I sent out a silent prayer that she’d find a lovely set of foster parents who would take good, good care of her.

  I stood, stretched and made my way slowly back toward the nurse’s station. It wasn’t part of my job to sit with a patient, but in this case, it was a way of feeling connected to the sweet little girl, and through her, to Carlos again. I could still hear the echo of his voice in my dream. Wicked seven. It made my eyes burn for just a moment. Bits and pieces of the dreams I had with Carlos came back, but most of the details were lost in a fuzzy dream haze. Unfortunately, the remembrance of the dreams always left me with emotional road rash as a side effect, kind of a dull achiness around my heart.

  I’d done all I could for this little girl. Carlos would be proud, and that was important to me. It was the least I could do.

  Today’s emotional summary? Crazy rollercoaster. How ’bout that. And in spite of it all, I still had to go play nice at an important social occasion.

  “Had enough?” Dr. Carl Roberts, the attending physician on duty who’d been working the trauma ward for the last twenty years, was giving me a sympathetic look. I must have looked exactly how I felt: let down by the world at large, like I wanted to go climb in bed for the next week and just stay under the covers.

  “More than.” I shook my head. “It’s been a night and a day. Guy on a motorcycle came in from that pileup last night and had no brain activity at all. I had to tell the wife.”

  “And we harvested his organs, which gave life to about five other people.”

  I nodded, though it didn’t negate the reality of having to talk to a young wife. “Another of my patients is a little girl who suffered physical abuse by her stepfather. It’s horrible that such a precious child ever has to experience such a thing. Abuse can ruin a kid.”

  “Maybe.”

  I arched a brow in disbelief. “Maybe?”

  Carl shrugged. “She’s not done yet, and we can’t control what does and doesn’t happen. We can’t judge it. If you dwell on it, it can eat at your soul over time, and you can’t afford to live that way. You know that doctors in trauma have the higher rates of depression and suicide than any other department.”

  I knew that. “So how do you compartmentalize what you experience?”

  “Ever heard the story of the Taoist farmer?”

  I shook my head.

  “The gist of it goes something like this: There was a farmer that had a horse that ran away. The neighbor came over to empathize, such a bad thing that happened. The farmer said, ‘Maybe.’ The horse came back with another wild horse, and the neighbor came over to celebrate and said it was such a good thing. The farmer said, ‘Maybe.’ The farmer’s son fell off the wild horse and broke his leg, and the neighbor said how terrible a thing. The farmer said, ‘Maybe.’ There was a war and all able-bodied men were forced to fight except for the farmer’s son. The neighbor was happy for the farmer and said how good that was, but the farmer only said, ‘Maybe.’ See, it’s not for us to judge what happens, our patients certainly don’t need that, but to do our best with whatever situation is being presented. We have no control over what happens, but we can help shape the next step.”

  I nodded. “That’s a good story.” But it left out the emotion. Maybe the farmer was just a coldhearted bastard who didn’t give a shit about his son. We might not be able to change all circumstances, but the ones that resulted from our actions and ended tragically had a funny way of smiling back at you when you looked in the mirror every morning. It kept you from being able to forget, even if you wanted to. Even if you wanted to move on.

  “You’re a good sport, Dr. Bradford, indulging an old man. I think your time is up. You’re here the longest and work the hardest. You’re making the rest of us look bad. Go home. Get some rest.”

  I smiled as I was meant to and gave a two-finger salute before moving on. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

  “Are you done?” Henry, my big, handsome, personal-trainer cousin, was standing with Bree at the nurse’s station. He was GQ’ed out in a nice dark suit. It had been a while since he’d been here and was likely catching Bree up on news of his move.

  “Yes, I’m finished.”

  Henry held up his wrist, pointing to his gold watch. “We’re going to be late, Ceci. You need to hurry.”

  “What did you bring me?” I took the garment bag he was holding.

  “A good one.”

  “Sexy,” Bree agreed. “I don’t think I’ve seen this one before.”

  I didn’t get out much, so that wasn’t such a feat. The clothing I most used was for working out, either at the gym, jogging or rock climbing.

  “Get dressed. Go. I’m hungry.”

  The black cocktail dress was hot, something I’d picked up on a whim more than a year ago. It had skinny spaghetti straps and a fitted empire waist that outlined my breasts and showed a modest amount of cleavage. The filmy, fitted skirt that stopped midthigh, with an under skirt so I wouldn’t be giving anyone a free show. A light application of makeup emphasized my green eyes, and darker mauve brought my lips to life. With heels, the effect was sexy and glamorous. I brushed my black hair out so it fell down my back in gleaming waves and was ready to go.

  An errant thought crossed my mind before I could corral it. Too bad the Viking hadn’t seen me like this. I would have loved seeing him lose his cool. Scrubs were not the least bit sexy. Quickly threw a lid on those thoughts. Pointless. Silly. Adolescent thinking. I looked good, and it was time to go.

  Kevin’s long, low wolf whistle seconded my evaluation as we met out in the hallway. He looked to be heading toward the doctor’s lounge. “You clean up real good, Bradford.”

  “You had doubts?” I did a quick pirouette, though it would have been sexier without my big “mom” bag over my shoulder that also contained the clothes I arrived in, some books, a notebook, a smartpad, and my smartphone.

  “Not a one.” He shook his head ruefully, taking in an eyeful of my figure. “If I were a different kind of guy.”

  “It still wouldn’t happen.”

  “Why, you have your eye on someone already?”

  “Nope.” With some exasperation, I tried to ignore the vibrant blue-green eyes that watched me from inside my mind, holding my attention even now when he was gone. I reassured myself that I was just curious. That was all. Somehow, a strange surge of energy had revolved around me, and it had happened when he was there. Of course I was curious. Who wouldn’t be?

  Okay. If I were being totally honest, I was excited that he’d made my blood go hot. What a rush.

  “You sure know how to make a guy feel good, Bradford.”

  “Like you need me to join your funtimers list to feel good.”

  “You’re off to your family thing?”

  “I am.” And I needed to know who the Viking was before I left. Maybe knowing would take away the mystery. I tried to appear only mildly interested when I asked, “Hey, who were those guys you were talking to in the hallway?”

  “Not sure who you’re talking about,” Kevin replied.

  “The guy with the hair?” He continued to look blankly at me, and I had to curb my impatience. “The guys with long hair. One introduced himself to me, but I can’t remember his name.”

  “Oh, Frank. He’s an old friend of a friend.” Kevin nodded. “He needs a cardiologist. He’s got an arrhythmia.”

  “What about the younger guy?” One question too many. I recognized it the moment Kevin’s li
ps twisted into his usual smirk.

  “Isn’t this interesting. This is a first.”

  “What?” I tried to sound confused, but heat slapped a neon sign to my cheeks that seemed to flash “guilty” when really I wasn’t. I wasn’t. Not at all. I was just curious. It was just a weird thing that had happened, and I wanted to think about it. Was that so odd?

  “And I thought you had an iron heart, Bradford.”

  Fighting a groan, I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just curious.”

  “You’ve never been curious before. So, you prefer your gentlemen to have dark hair rather than blond? And it was long, wasn’t it?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped, which only made Kevin’s grin widen further.

  “I have to admit, he was a hunk.”

  “Just stop. Forget I said anything.” Why had I asked?

  “I can’t say I’m not a little jealous. And no, I don’t know his name, but he did seem like the strong, silent type...”

  My glare blasted him.

  “Come to think of it, Frank was curious about you, though. Wanted to know what you did here. I told him you were one of the emergency physicians in residence.”

  Curiosity was being satisfied. That was it, that was all, and now I could go on with my evening.

  “I just wondered.”

  “Who knows? He might decide to come back and ask for your number.”

  The idea that he knew where I worked and might come back to talk with me caused enough panic to discomfit me. Quickly, I said, “I don’t date patients.”

  “Don’t you look beautiful.” Henry came down the hall. He shook Kevin’s hand. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”

  “Very well,” Kevin replied, still grinning.

  Trying to change the subject, I turned to Henry. “Thank you. Good choice, by the way. I forgot I had this.”

  “You need to get out more, C.” Henry shook his head. “You’ll have all the guys panting after you.”

  “Definitely a good choice,” Kevin took the opportunity to quickly ogle my body again. No heat, no firecrackers, no butterflies. Had I imagined it with the Viking?