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Chapter Two

“Good job, Fuller.” Dr. Ramírez’s voice echoed through the now-empty hall in front of the curtained cubicles of the E.R.

Her voice wasn’t exactly friendly, but she didn’t sound as if she were ready to chew him out.

“I appreciate the way you pitched in tonight, picking up wherever you were needed.” She pulled off her latex gloves, tossed them in the hazardous-waste bin and said, “Thanks for taking care of the boy until his uncle showed up.”

Then she smiled at him. Not a big smile. Just a slight turning up of her lips. Still, it was a great look compared to her usual serious expression. Now her eyes sparkled a bit and a dimple appeared on her cheek. For an instant, she assumed the appearance of a human being, a real person, not a doctor.

Probably noticing his confused look, she allowed her usual professional expression to slide across her features again. Then she said in a voice a bit softer than her usual this-is-what-you-have-to-do tone, “Fuller, let me buy you a cup of coffee. There’s something I want to discuss with you. Purely professional. Nothing personal.”

He wondered what purely professional meant and why she had given him that smile. Probably didn’t mean a thing to her but it was the first almost-full smile he’d ever seen from her. It was a dazzler.

If he wanted to keep things professional, he shouldn’t join Dr. Ramírez for coffee. Meeting Dr. Ramírez outside the E.R. seemed odd to him, but he deserved a little bit of the good stuff—and Dr. Ramírez was really good stuff.

“Yes, ma’am, um, Doctor…Ramírez.” He hadn’t babbled like that since he’d asked Maribel Suárez out when he was a shrimp in the tenth grade. He cleared his throat and said, “I have to restock a room. Meet you in the cafeteria.”

When she left, he checked cabinets in Exam 1, made sure equipment had been replaced in the correct cabinets, and replaced gauze, tape and other supplies that were low. As he worked, he replayed the incident with Dr. Ramírez and felt like an idiot. Since Cynthia broke up with him, he’d been questioning everything in his life, but there was nothing unusual here. The idea she might put a move on him in the middle of a hospital cafeteria was crazy…but very appealing.

He almost slapped himself for that last thought.

Finished, he stripped off his gloves, washed his hands and splashed water on his face. Then he ran damp fingers through his hair as he attempted to make out his reflection in the paper towel holder.

“Hot date, Fuller?” the tall, balding RN asked him as he came through the curtains. What was his name? Oh, yeah, Sam Mitchelson. “Couldn’t help but hear the invitation from back there.”

“Just a cup of coffee. Like she said, ‘Nothing personal.’” Mike tossed the towel away and moved toward the door.

“That’s more than any of us, including doctors, have been asked to share. You must possess something special to rate that.”

Mike grinned. “Only good looks, high intelligence and great charm.”

“Don’t forget she’s a doctor, Fuller,” he said to Mike’s back. “If you want to keep your job, never disagree with a doctor.”

Mike left the E.R. and headed toward the cafeteria, passing a row of wheelchairs outside X-ray and dodging a crowd getting off the elevator as he walked down the main corridor.

Macho posturing aside, Mike reminded himself again she’d asked him for coffee, only coffee, not a date. As he’d told himself a million times, he had no interest in a relationship and no time, but his response showed he found Dr. Ramírez very attractive. His reaction to her had him thinking that Cynthia hadn’t completely killed his interest in women.

Just past the hallway to ICU, he turned to open the door to the cafeteria. The usual mix of medical personnel and family members of patients sat at the square tables. Straight ahead by the windows was Dr. Ramírez with another doctor.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

From her table, Ana watched Fuller enter the cafeteria. Tall and handsome with broad shoulders, he looked great in scrubs. That was pure observation, not attraction, she told herself. His height and those broad shoulders made it easier for him to move and transport patients.

When he saw her, he paused and looked a little uncertain. His confusion was probably because Dr. Craddock, the chief of staff, sat next to her, flirting with her. At least thirty years older than she and married, the fool was flirting.

The closer the orderly got to the table, the more obvious Craddock’s attention became. Thank goodness they would soon be interrupted.

Fuller stopped when he saw Craddock still talking. He backed away, but she beckoned him forward with a wave.

As he reached the table, Fuller said, “Hello, Dr. Craddock.” At her gesture, he dropped into the chair next to Craddock. She pushed a cup of coffee closer to Fuller.

“Hello.” Dr. Craddock studied the orderly with one eyebrow raised. “And you are?”

“Mike Fuller. I’m a CA in the E.R.” He poured cream in his coffee and stirred it.

“Oh? An orderly?” Craddock’s voice and that still-raised brow left no doubt he felt the orderly shouldn’t be sitting with two doctors.

“I asked Mr. Fuller to join me. I need to discuss something with him.” She smiled at Craddock and gave his hand a sisterly pat. That should put him in his place.

Craddock stood. “I see that I’m the one who’s not needed here.”

“Dr. Craddock doesn’t approve of your ignoring the hospital social order.” Fuller watched the older man move away to join a table of doctors.

“Doctors can be a rigid bunch.” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” She rubbed her thumb along the side of the cup before she looked up at him. “Fuller, I’ve watched how you handle situations. You’re intelligent and capable.”

“Thank you.”

He must wonder where this conversation was going. Had she thoughtlessly put him in an awkward situation? Probably so. That’s what she got for pushing herself into other people’s lives. They weren’t always grateful.

“You’re an excellent clinical assistant.”

He nodded.

“You must have a high-school diploma or a GED or you wouldn’t be working here.”

He nodded again and gazed over her shoulder toward something behind her.

“Do you have any college hours?”

He scrutinized her face for a moment. “I’m not comfortable with this conversation, Dr. Ramírez. Is there a reason for your questions?” he said, politely but clearly setting boundaries.

“Yes, there is, and, honestly, I want to encourage you.”

He took a gulp of coffee.

“Do you have any college hours?” The question sounded rude. She really needed to work on her delivery.

He paused before nodding, again not meeting her eyes.

She was stymied. He clearly wasn’t going to give her any more information than he had to, and he didn’t have to give her any. “I know I have no right to ask you, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d answer a question or two.” After a pause when the orderly didn’t say a word, she added, “Please.”

When he raised an eyebrow but didn’t say no, she asked, “How many college hours?”

“I have a degree.” He drank the rest of his coffee, placed the cup on the table and pushed the chair back.

“Please don’t go.” She put her hand on his.

The touch was not the friendly pat she’d intended. As she pulled her hand away, she glanced up to gauge his reaction. His eyes held a spark of interest before he looked down at his empty cup. The man had gorgeous brown eyes, a slight stubble on his cheeks and a square chin. A pleasant glow spread through her. Obviously, more was involved in her feelings for Fuller than mentor for student. Why hadn’t she noticed that before she asked him to meet her for coffee?

“Dr. Ramírez, I prefer not to continue this discussion.” His words were polite but, when he stood, he glared at her, as much of a glare as an orderly dared give a doctor. She couldn’t blame him.

“I’m sorry, Fuller. I don’t mean to make you feel uneasy.” She forced her attitude back to the purely professional. “I don’t have a gift for subtlety, and I know I don’t have the right to expect you to sit down and talk to me, but I’d really be grateful if you would.”

At least he didn’t bolt for the door. Instead, he pulled his chair back to the table, sat and asked in a voice that showed more than a little exasperation, “Why?”

“Fuller, I’m impressed with you.”

She tapped on her cup. When she looked into his eyes, he immediately lowered them. “You are intelligent and have so much ability. I’d like to encourage you to go back to school, to pursue a career in medicine or science.”

“Thank you.” He fiddled with the handle of the cup.

A lot of playing with their cups, Ana noted. Obviously neither of them felt comfortable with the exchange.

“Have you thought about being a doctor?” she asked bluntly in an effort to hurry the conversation along.

“Tried med school. One year. Didn’t work out.”

“It didn’t work out?” she repeated.

Ignoring her question, he said, “Thank you for the coffee, Dr. Ramírez,” placing great emphasis on doctor.

“You’re welcome.”

This time he did bolt for the door.

The conversation had not gone the way she’d planned it. She’d acted pushy and nosy. She’d sounded like a superior expecting the orderly to comply with whatever she demanded.

Obviously he had no desire to discuss this or anything with her. Why should he? He seemed like a very private person, just like her father.

No matter. She wasn’t about to give up on Fuller. He should be a doctor or a nurse or a medical technician, not an orderly, and she was going to help him see that.

As her mother had said, Ana always had to have a project. Fuller seemed to be her latest one.

She’d find out what he meant by, “Didn’t work out,” another time.

Mike strode back to the E.R. to finish his shift.

What right did the woman have to interrogate him? To expect him to sit there while she dug for personal information? Why hadn’t he left earlier?

He threw a swinging door open with one hand and watched it hit the wall with a satisfying smack. But when he got to the E.R., an RN shouted, “Fuller, transfer.”

He didn’t have time to think about Dr. Ramírez’s prying now. Maybe he should remember the other parts, the good parts: he’d had coffee with a beautiful woman and all the male staff was jealous. In addition, Dr. Ramírez had complimented him on his intelligence and how well he was doing. After the recent problems in his life, it made him feel a lot better.

Only two hours later, Mike was asleep at home when the phone rang. He pulled himself out of bed and dragged his tired body into the living room. Light filtered through curtains, which made it possible for him to find the phone on the coffee table but not before he narrowly avoided falling over a box of clothes.

“Good morning,” Francie said. “Will you please drive me to church this morning? Wake your brother up and bring him, too.”

Mike glanced at his watch through eyes still blurry with sleep. He groaned. “I’ve only been asleep for an hour. Why don’t you let me sleep a few more?”

“Because church will be over by then. You can take a long nap when you get home. Or you can sleep through the sermon.”

“Reverend Miller won’t like that.”

“But God will be glad you’re there. Besides, you said you’d take me wherever I need to go.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy?”

“The doctor said church is fine as long as I don’t drive.”

“What about Brandon?” Could he think of any more reasons to go back to bed? If this one didn’t work, he’d have to go, because he could never tell Francie no.

“He’s at a training session in Dallas,” she explained patiently. “Well?”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up at ten.”

“Thanks. Bring Tim.”

Driving her to church was the least he could do. When he was eighteen, he’d held up a convenience store. He groaned, hating to relive that act and its consequences. To save him, so he could be a doctor, Francie had confessed and was serving time before he could take the blame himself. They were the same height and he’d worn a ski mask and jacket so she looked like the person in the surveillance tape.

He’d made a terrible, stupid mistake, and she’d paid for it. He still struggled to figure out why he’d done it—heredity, Francie would say—and to make it up to her somehow.

Yes, he owed her everything. He could never turn her down.

After a shower, he shook Tim awake. “We’re going to church.”

Tim threw back the sheet. “Terrific,” Tim said as he sat up on the bed, dropped to the floor and stood to stretch. “I’ve missed church.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Mike never knew what his brother was thinking. Of course, Tim never talked about stuff that was important to him. They were a lot alike that way.

“I like sleeping in, too.”

At ten forty-five, the cousins were seated together in the sanctuary. Bowing his head, Mike hoped to be filled with the peace this time of silent meditation used to bring him, but it still eluded him. Maybe he was out of practice. Maybe he’d missed too many services. Whatever the reason, the Spirit didn’t fill him. He had a feeling it wasn’t the Spirit’s fault.

He prayed for his family and patients. He knew those requests had been heard, but when he prayed for guidance for himself he felt cold and alone.

Where was God when he needed him so much?

After church, Mike pulled the car into the drive of Francie’s house and stopped.

“Why don’t you come in?” Francie said as Tim got out of the backseat. “You can make some sandwiches and bring me one.” She took Tim’s extended hand to get out of the car. Once standing, she went around to the driver’s side, opened the door, grabbed Mike’s arm and pulled him toward the house.

Once inside, she yawned and said, “I’m going to bed. Would you fix us lunch?” She’d taken a few steps down the hall when she turned to say to Mike, “Before you do that, come with me to look at the baby’s room. Brandon painted it last week, and I added a few touches.”

Mike followed her down the hall and stopped to look into the bright yellow nursery. On the walls, Francie had hung pictures of whimsical animals in both brilliant and pastel hues. His mother would love this, would want to add a few fanciful ideas of her own.

For a minute, Mike was overwhelmed by the memory of how he and Cynthia had planned to have three children. Their babies could have had a room like this. Well, knowing Cynthia, she wouldn’t have liked purple dragons or turquoise birds, but they would have had a nursery. When he noticed Francie studying him, he said, “It’s great.”

“Hey, Mike, how do you turn on a gas stove?” Tim called.

“Don’t do a thing. I’ll be right there.” Mike pulled himself from his reverie to hustle to the kitchen. If he allowed Tim to light the stove, he might have to explain to Brandon where he’d been when Tim blew up the house.

After he took a tray back to Francie, Mike settled in Brandon’s chair in the living room. In no time, he was asleep.

“Hey, Fuller.” Dr. Ramírez caught him in the hall outside the E.R. the next evening. “Sorry if I intruded yesterday. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but…” She bit her lip. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” It was hard to hold a grudge against her. Mike figured she’d be angry if he told her she was so attractive any man would forgive her for anything. And that lip-biting part was distracting. Very distracting.

When Mike moved back toward Trauma 3, he saw Mitchelson watching Dr. Ramírez as she walked away.

“How’d the cup of coffee go?” the nurse asked with a grin. “Was that all? Just a cup of coffee?”

“Just a cup of coffee. She wanted to talk about my work as an orderly.”

“Did she tell you that you should be a doctor or nurse?”

Mike glared at Mitchelson. “How did you know she said that?”

“Because we all think so. Can’t figure out why you’re not in med school, but we’re glad we got you in the E.R. and hope you won’t leave anytime soon.” When his beeper went off, Mitchelson hurried away before Mike could say a word.

“Thank you,” he shouted down the hall. Mitchelson waved back.

“Fuller,” Dr. Ramírez called in her doctor voice. “Transfer, please.”

Back to normal. No more compliments, only a lot of lifting and hard work.

Three days later his mother’s bus arrived at 10:00 a.m. which gave Mike plenty of time to clean up after his shift and drive to the bus station.

Before she went to prison, Mom had looked like her paintings: full of life and sparkle, happiness shining from her. She’d changed during those years. Hard to remain vibrant in prison, she’d explained on his frequent visits, as if he couldn’t guess that.

He waited on the platform, surrounded by the noise and the strong fumes from diesel engines.

When she got off the bus, he hugged her, noticing she was thinner than he’d remembered.

She pulled away to study him and put her hand on his cheek. “It’s so good, so absolutely marvelous to be here,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I’m out of prison and back with my boys.”

“I’m glad, too, Mom.”

She still had an innocent face, which had helped her market her forgeries but hadn’t fooled the judge. Now her skin bore lines and wrinkles, but the beauty remained.

After she pointed out her one shabby suitcase, Mike handed the baggage claim to the bus driver and carried it to the car.

“I’m so tired of wearing trousers.” His mother smoothed her jeans. “Boring, boring, boring, my dear, and not at all feminine.” She glared at her white shirt. “Do you still have my dresses?”

“Yes, Francie stored everything while you were gone.” Mike started the car and backed out of the parking place. “But it’s been eight years. They’re probably out of style.”

“Good clothing never goes out of style.”

He grinned as her sudden air of certainty and confidence. Yes, it was great to have her home.

After he stopped at several lights, she said, “My, my, the traffic is even worse than before.” She chattered on about how things had changed in Austin while he drove.

When he pulled up in front of the small house, she said, “What’s this? We aren’t living here, are we?”

“I know it’s not very big, but it’s what I can afford.”

The shrubbery needed to be trimmed, but the house appeared neat enough on the outside. With white paint that flaked only in a few areas, black shutters, and a porch the size of a postage stamp, it had a homey aspect. But it was small, a fact even more evident when his mother opened the front door and stepped inside.

The living room held a short sofa, two folding chairs and a television on an ugly metal stand. “It came furnished,” he explained.

But she didn’t notice the furniture when she saw the paintings she’d forged, the ones Francie had saved for her, covering the walls. His mother had loved the impressionists and these glowed with the brilliance of color and light, illuminating the room. She turned to take them in, reaching out her arms to bathe in the beauty. Then she walked slowly toward one and touched her fingers to the rough surface.

“Oh, thank you,” she said. “I’d forgotten how much I love these.”

After a few minutes, she shook herself and walked through the rest of the house. First, she wandered back to the kitchen which had maybe five feet of counter space, a few cabinets and a card table with three wobbly chairs.

“I fix most of the meals in the microwave,” Mike said.

“Then I’ll do the cooking,” Mom said.

“I gave you the master—well, the larger—bedroom.” He led her toward the door, shoved it open and followed her in to put the suitcase on the bed.

She turned to consider the double bed, one dresser and bare walls. “White,” she said. “All the walls are white.”

“Tim and I can paint them. You choose the color.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.” She left the room and looked into the bathroom and the other bedroom. “You and Mike both sleep in here?”

“We’ll be fine, Mom. We’re brothers. We’ll get to know each other better after the years apart.”

She nodded again as he followed her back to her bedroom.

“This is a nice part of town. There’s an H-E-B grocery store only a block from here. It’s an easy walk. And there’s a park nearby.”

She placed her hand on his arm and patted it. “Mike, this is fine. I appreciate you opening your house to us. We’ve been apart so long. I’m glad we’re together.” She smiled and for a moment it was her old smile. “You’re a good brother and a fine son.” She dropped her hand. Opening the suitcase, she placed her things in a small pile on the bed before she opened the closet.

When she saw what was inside, she pulled out one dress, sat on the end of the bed and stared into the closet. In her lap she held a gown of brilliant green with a shimmering pattern of gold. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“My clothes,” she said. “All of my favorite things are here. Thank you.” She stood and embraced Mike.

When Mike opened a drawer in the dresser to show her the jewelry Francie had kept and a small bottle of his mother’s favorite perfume he’d bought for her, she cried harder.

“Thank you, son. You’ve given me a wonderful homecoming.”

Oh, boy. Too much emotion for him. When the phone rang, he gave his mother an awkward pat on her back. “I’ll get that.” He pulled away but touched her shoulder, which seemed to satisfy her. Then he ran into the living room and grabbed the receiver.

“Yes, I can come in early today,” he said as he checked his watch. “I’ll be in by three.”

He hung up the phone, placed his hand on one of the paintings and closed his eyes. With his mother here, the house was filled with turbulence. He could feel it—the tingle of her strong personality, the scent of her musky perfume, the rough swipes of paint in the painting under his fingers.

Yes, Hurricane Tessie had hit. As calm as she seemed today, his mother was always a force to be reckoned with.

He’d let her settle in today, but tomorrow he’d have to talk to her about getting a job to satisfy the conditions of her parole and because they just plain needed that income.

He thought how tired and how much older she’d looked when she got off the bus, about her joy at seeing her clothes and her art. Then he shook his head as he remembered her tears. His mother never cried.

Maybe he’d wait a few days before he suggested she find work.