father’s situation, but he had no right to single her out for his rising angst.
“Have you got an IV setup?”
Kayla pulled her attention back to the doctor. “I’ll order one. They’ll have it here within the hour.”
“Good. We’ll do IV antibiotics to get them right into his system.” He turned slightly to include Marc in the conversation. “That should clear it up fairly quickly, Marc. Then Kayla can show you how to drain the bag. It doesn’t take long, but the stoma site needs to be kept clean. You can handle that, right?”
“Of course.”
Kayla groaned inside. She shot him another look, but he kept his eyes trained on his father. Good thing. The “knight in shining armor” act was hard to stomach from a guy who’d been nice to her exactly once. She phoned in the order for the IV and agreed to wait until it arrived. She shared a brief exchange with the doctor before Marc showed him out. Kayla sat, drew Pete’s hand between her own and mulled her situation.
Fun, she thought, rueful. Sixty minutes of Marc DeHollandertreating her like a plague carrier. Talk about a good time. Maybe she could slide hot pepper slivers under her fingernails and magnify the thrill. A solid form shadowed the bedroom door.
“Doc says thank you for staying.”
Kayla refused to look Marc’s way. She didn’t trust herself to speak properly. Better to say nothing at all until she calmed down. Temper tantrums and end-stage home care were at distinct odds. She drew a breath to calm the rise of feelings, then another, deep, cleansing.
Better. Much better. She might just let Marc live after all.
“Are you okay here while I go to the barn?”
Kayla kept her attention on Pete. “Yup.”
“If you need me, here’s my cell number.” Marc moved forward and slid a piece of paper across the bed. “I’ll come right in.”
Kayla kept her gaze angled away. “We’ll be fine. Do what you gotta do.”
His hand tensed. After long seconds, the fingers relaxed. He pushed away, then strode out the door, his footsteps determined.
She needed a temper check. Couldn’t someone invent a device that interrupted her “zap ’em now” responses? Electric shock might work. She’d think a bad thought, then Wham! Zap! Zowie! Instant electric penance. Pavlovian-style reparation. Even she might learn to guard her temper if shocked a time or two. It worked on dogs, right? Invisible fencing, nursing-style.
She smiled at the thought, then drew a breath. “Heal this infection, Father. Give Pete comfort and peace. Let these last days and weeks be filled with love, not pain. Guide his way, send him legions of angels to shelter and protect him.
“And, while you’re at it? Soften my thoughts, Lord, guard my tongue where the son is concerned. I sense his worry and distrust, but instead of reacting with compassion, I want to smack him. Point out all he has and make him grateful for it.”
She’d have given anything for a parent like Pete. Anything. Someone to love her, watch over her, praise her. She pressed Pete’s hand lightly. Marc DeHollander had no idea how blessed he was.
He’d enjoyed thirty years of unconditional love. A lifetime. Kayla reapplied the cool rag Marc garnered. The faded gold cotton gave off a hint of October spice as she pressed out excess water. A nice smell. Homey and comforting. Her nose twitched in appreciation.
If she ever had children, they’d know her love. She wouldn’t smother them with it. Oh, no. She was experienced enough to see that a houseful of bratty kids was no fun. But they’d know their mother’s love firsthand. The cookies, the stories, trips to the park. Sunday evening ice-cream cones and Saturday mornings at the zoo.
She’d be a good mother someday. Strong and true.
With a great shoe collection, of course.
Chapter Seven
H e owed the nurse an apology.
Marc mulled that with no small reluctance the next afternoon. He checked Grace, just weeks shy of her confinement. She looked fine.
“Have you got an IV setup?”
Kayla pulled her attention back to the doctor. “I’ll order one. They’ll have it here within the hour.”
“Good. We’ll do IV antibiotics to get them right into his system.” He turned slightly to include Marc in the conversation. “That should clear it up fairly quickly, Marc. Then Kayla can show you how to drain the bag. It doesn’t take long, but the stoma site needs to be kept clean. You can handle that, right?”
“Of course.”
Kayla groaned inside. She shot him another look, but he kept his eyes trained on his father. Good thing. The “knight in shining armor” act was hard to stomach from a guy who’d been nice to her exactly once. She phoned in the order for the IV and agreed to wait until it arrived. She shared a brief exchange with the doctor before Marc showed him out. Kayla sat, drew Pete’s hand between her own and mulled her situation.
Fun, she thought, rueful. Sixty minutes of Marc DeHollandertreating her like a plague carrier. Talk about a good time. Maybe she could slide hot pepper slivers under her fingernails and magnify the thrill. A solid form shadowed the bedroom door.
“Doc says thank you for staying.”
Kayla refused to look Marc’s way. She didn’t trust herself to speak properly. Better to say nothing at all until she calmed down. Temper tantrums and end-stage home care were at distinct odds. She drew a breath to calm the rise of feelings, then another, deep, cleansing.
Better. Much better. She might just let Marc live after all.
“Are you okay here while I go to the barn?”
Kayla kept her attention on Pete. “Yup.”
“If you need me, here’s my cell number.” Marc moved forward and slid a piece of paper across the bed. “I’ll come right in.”
Kayla kept her gaze angled away. “We’ll be fine. Do what you gotta do.”
His hand tensed. After long seconds, the fingers relaxed. He pushed away, then strode out the door, his footsteps determined.
She needed a temper check. Couldn’t someone invent a device that interrupted her “zap ’em now” responses? Electric shock might work. She’d think a bad thought, then Wham! Zap! Zowie! Instant electric penance. Pavlovian-style reparation. Even she might learn to guard her temper if shocked a time or two. It worked on dogs, right? Invisible fencing, nursing-style.
She smiled at the thought, then drew a breath. “Heal this infection, Father. Give Pete comfort and peace. Let these last days and weeks be filled with love, not pain. Guide his way, send him legions of angels to shelter and protect him.
“And, while you’re at it? Soften my thoughts, Lord, guard my tongue where the son is concerned. I sense his worry and distrust, but instead of reacting with compassion, I want to smack him. Point out all he has and make him grateful for it.”
She’d have given anything for a parent like Pete. Anything. Someone to love her, watch over her, praise her. She pressed Pete’s hand lightly. Marc DeHollander had no idea how blessed he was.
He’d enjoyed thirty years of unconditional love. A lifetime. Kayla reapplied the cool rag Marc garnered. The faded gold cotton gave off a hint of October spice as she pressed out excess water. A nice smell. Homey and comforting. Her nose twitched in appreciation.
If she ever had children, they’d know her love. She wouldn’t smother them with it. Oh, no. She was experienced enough to see that a houseful of bratty kids was no fun. But they’d know their mother’s love firsthand. The cookies, the stories, trips to the park. Sunday evening ice-cream cones and Saturday mornings at the zoo.
She’d be a good mother someday. Strong and true.
With a great shoe collection, of course.
Chapter Seven
H e owed the nurse an apology.
Marc mulled that with no small reluctance the next afternoon. He checked Grace, just weeks shy of her confinement. She looked fine.
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