a patient down here?” Casey asked, returning to her carton of food.
Hunsacker had pulled out his little notebook and begun making notations in it. “A patient upstairs,” he admitted with a smile. “She’s not progressing as fast as I’d want, but she insists on trying to do it her way, walking around the birthing room with her husband and kids. I’m also waiting to hear from postpartum at St. Isidore’s on a lady I have there.” Snapping his pen closed, he looked up. “Didn’t I hear you worked at St. Isidore’s?”
Casey nodded. “About four years ago.”
He nodded back and smiled. “Great people over there,” he said, and his expression took on a curious cat-in-the-cream look. “Great people.”
Must have been thinking of those three nurses he was chasing around Izzy’s parking lot. He certainly seemed to derive a rather creepy satisfaction from the picture. Casey heartily wished that some of his acolytes here could see that look. Then she wished that they were self-assured enough to recognize it.
“So,” he said with a brisk move to put his notebook away, “anything interesting going on here?”
Casey shrugged, wondering why she still felt so uncomfortable. Hunsacker had deliberately retreated, his attention now on a magazine he’d picked up.
“I’ve been in here for fifteen minutes,” she said. “Before that I was holding a two-year-old for one of the plastic surgeons. Nothing to call out the news minicam for.”
“Quiet, huh?”
Casey’s head instinctively snapped up. “Don’t ever say that,” she warned, looking out the window by her head just to make sure.
Hunsacker’s smile was disbelieving. “Oh, come on, you don’t believe that, do you?”
“More than Einstein’s theory of relativity.”
No lights, no sirens. It wouldn’t be long, though. Not the way that man courted disaster. Like Casey’s supervisor said, it was worse than calling a game a no-hitter in the top of the ninth. The minute Hunsacker had said the word “quiet,” a busload of hemophiliacs had undoubtedly slammed into a truckload of lawyers.
“Have a little respect for superstition,” she begged. “Don’t ever use that word down here again. Not if you want to live till morning. We’ve only had two codes so far tonight.”
It was one thing the Irish were absolutely right about. People did die in threes. Which meant that they were still short one for the shift. In fact, they were still short another overdose, too, because death wasn’t the only pastime that occurred in predictable numerical patterns.
“Did either of the codes make it?” Hunsacker asked, interested now, the magazine unattended in his lap, his attention once again hers.
“Nah,” Casey answered, returning to her food before the disaster had a chance to interrupt her. “If you come in the door in cardiac arrest, chances are you’ll go out the same way.”
“Kind of fatalistic, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Twelve years’ worth.”
His eyes widened with astonishment. “That’s how long you’ve been doing this?”
She nodded, not wanting to face him and that charisma, preferring the safety of her water chestnuts. He was being pleasant, unaffected, and impressed. Casey shouldn’t have still felt like somebody was walking on her grave. But she did. No matter what he said, he still gave her the creeps.
“That’s incredible,” he offered with what sounded like admiration. “I can’t imagine surviving trauma medicine for that long. Sometimes obstetrics is more than I want to handle.”
To Casey’s left, the door opened. “I’ll bet you lunch that that guy has an appendix,” she heard.
Casey looked up with relief to see Janice and Barb walk in. When she saw who was sharing space with Casey, Janice stalled. Right on her heels, Barb bumped into her and cursed. Then she looked up, too.
Magic.
Casey silently watched as Hunsacker came to his feet to greet the newcomers. Barb smiled like a tiger with prey in
Hunsacker had pulled out his little notebook and begun making notations in it. “A patient upstairs,” he admitted with a smile. “She’s not progressing as fast as I’d want, but she insists on trying to do it her way, walking around the birthing room with her husband and kids. I’m also waiting to hear from postpartum at St. Isidore’s on a lady I have there.” Snapping his pen closed, he looked up. “Didn’t I hear you worked at St. Isidore’s?”
Casey nodded. “About four years ago.”
He nodded back and smiled. “Great people over there,” he said, and his expression took on a curious cat-in-the-cream look. “Great people.”
Must have been thinking of those three nurses he was chasing around Izzy’s parking lot. He certainly seemed to derive a rather creepy satisfaction from the picture. Casey heartily wished that some of his acolytes here could see that look. Then she wished that they were self-assured enough to recognize it.
“So,” he said with a brisk move to put his notebook away, “anything interesting going on here?”
Casey shrugged, wondering why she still felt so uncomfortable. Hunsacker had deliberately retreated, his attention now on a magazine he’d picked up.
“I’ve been in here for fifteen minutes,” she said. “Before that I was holding a two-year-old for one of the plastic surgeons. Nothing to call out the news minicam for.”
“Quiet, huh?”
Casey’s head instinctively snapped up. “Don’t ever say that,” she warned, looking out the window by her head just to make sure.
Hunsacker’s smile was disbelieving. “Oh, come on, you don’t believe that, do you?”
“More than Einstein’s theory of relativity.”
No lights, no sirens. It wouldn’t be long, though. Not the way that man courted disaster. Like Casey’s supervisor said, it was worse than calling a game a no-hitter in the top of the ninth. The minute Hunsacker had said the word “quiet,” a busload of hemophiliacs had undoubtedly slammed into a truckload of lawyers.
“Have a little respect for superstition,” she begged. “Don’t ever use that word down here again. Not if you want to live till morning. We’ve only had two codes so far tonight.”
It was one thing the Irish were absolutely right about. People did die in threes. Which meant that they were still short one for the shift. In fact, they were still short another overdose, too, because death wasn’t the only pastime that occurred in predictable numerical patterns.
“Did either of the codes make it?” Hunsacker asked, interested now, the magazine unattended in his lap, his attention once again hers.
“Nah,” Casey answered, returning to her food before the disaster had a chance to interrupt her. “If you come in the door in cardiac arrest, chances are you’ll go out the same way.”
“Kind of fatalistic, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Twelve years’ worth.”
His eyes widened with astonishment. “That’s how long you’ve been doing this?”
She nodded, not wanting to face him and that charisma, preferring the safety of her water chestnuts. He was being pleasant, unaffected, and impressed. Casey shouldn’t have still felt like somebody was walking on her grave. But she did. No matter what he said, he still gave her the creeps.
“That’s incredible,” he offered with what sounded like admiration. “I can’t imagine surviving trauma medicine for that long. Sometimes obstetrics is more than I want to handle.”
To Casey’s left, the door opened. “I’ll bet you lunch that that guy has an appendix,” she heard.
Casey looked up with relief to see Janice and Barb walk in. When she saw who was sharing space with Casey, Janice stalled. Right on her heels, Barb bumped into her and cursed. Then she looked up, too.
Magic.
Casey silently watched as Hunsacker came to his feet to greet the newcomers. Barb smiled like a tiger with prey in
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