Garnet Flats (The Edens)

After closing the curtain around my patient’s bed, I stepped into the hallway and breathed for what felt like the first time in—according to the clock—twelve hours.

It was 7:17 in the morning, and I’d been on my feet all night. Adrenaline had fueled the long hours but it was waning fast and a crash was coming.

Soon. But not yet.

The hallways were nearly soundless. Two nurses sat behind the counter, talking in a hushed murmur. Everyone was whispering today. A sullen, gray cloud hovered beneath the ceiling, sucking any joy or happiness from the air.

Today would not be a happy day.

Dr. Anderson emerged from the intensive care room next door, looking as exhausted as I felt. He gave me a sad smile and came to stand at my side.

It was just the two of us now, here to tend to our patients for another few hours before we’d each go home.

Dr. Herrera and Dr. Murphy had left around three this morning to shower and sleep for a bit. They’d be back soon to relieve us and cover the normal shifts.

“How is she?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Devastated. In shock. But she’s stable. She’d like to see her kids.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “The daughter is sleeping right now. Once she wakes up, let’s talk about putting them in the same room. But I don’t want to do it unless we’re sure both are out of the woods. The last thing we need is one of them taking a bad turn and having the other there to witness it.”

“Okay. And the son?”

Dr. Anderson closed his eyes. His chin quivered. In my years here, I’d never seen this man cry. He was as stoic as my father, the pillar we could all lean against.

I put my hand on his arm. “He’s alive. That’s what matters.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But last night was the hardest night of my career.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I think I’ll put on a coat and take a lap around the building. Get some fresh air.”

“Good idea.” I waited until he was gone before walking toward the patient room he’d just left. The room where a little boy was sedated and asleep. Slipping past the closed curtain, I stood at the foot of his bed and studied his sweet face.

He looked peaceful. We’d let him keep that peace for as long as we could. Because he’d wake up to a nightmare.

Both of his legs had been severed in the car accident last night. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his father had been killed.

Their family of four had been traveling home from a day at the ski hill in Whitefish. An oncoming truck, likely going way too fast for the road condition, had hit a patch of black ice and caused a head-on collision.

Both vehicles had rolled into the ditch.

This boy’s father, as well as the driver of the truck, had been killed on impact.

Drs. Anderson, Murphy and Herrera had all focused on treating the children. The daughter had been rushed into surgery to repair a puncture wound to her abdomen. Her arm was broken and she’d have some scars that would last a lifetime.

They’d left me with the mother, who I’d revived three times in the night. A broken rib had punctured her lung. Her shattered wrist was splinted but she’d need surgery from a specialist to set the bones properly. The entire right side of her body was already turning purple, and we were monitoring her closely for any internal bleeding. Her vitals had stabilized around two this morning, and she was awake.

But those injuries were nothing compared to her broken heart.

She’d lost her husband, and when they eventually left this hospital, her entire world would be different.

A senseless, horrific accident.

All because the other driver had been high on pain pills and drunk off his ass.

Winn had stopped by around four this morning to check on everyone’s status. And to pick up blood toxicity reports from the lab. I’d been with her when she’d read them. The color had drained from her face and her eyes had flooded when she’d let me see the details.

Her own parents had been killed in a car crash. Reliving it had to have been horrific.

But I knew my sister-in-law well enough to know she’d be just as stoic as Dr. Anderson. As Dad. She wouldn’t collapse until she was home with Griffin.

Regardless, I’d called my brother and told him that he needed to take the kids to Mom, then get to the police station, because his wife needed him.

The weight of this tragedy settled on my shoulders, threatening to send me to my knees. Doctors in big cities had cases like this weekly. Daily. How did they endure it?

In med school, we’d spent time shadowing doctors in Seattle. Some had been kind and accommodating to student questions. Some had been arrogant and annoyed at our presence. But there was one doctor I remembered with vivid clarity. He’d been cold. He’d had this air about him, like he’d detached from all emotion. The robot.

Had he always been so mechanical? Or had it been his coping mechanism?

My throat burned and my nose stung, but like I’d done for the past twelve hours, I shoved it away. My tears would not bring this little boy’s legs back. Or his father.

What this family needed from me was to keep them alive. So I squared my shoulders and got back to work, checking on all three patients. Then I left the small intensive care unit and hurried to the other side of the hospital, checking on the other patients. When I finished my rounds, I returned to check on the kids and their mother. They were all resting.

The two nurses on shift had their heads bent in quiet conversation again at the nurses’ station, so I walked over. When they realized I was standing in front of them, they jerked and broke apart.

“Sorry, Talia,” the blond woman said. “We were just talking about, uh, Rachel.”

“Rachel. Why?”

The two shared a look. Then the blonde waved me closer to whisper, “The other driver was Rachel’s son.”

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. “What?”

She nodded. “He was sort of, um . . . he had some addiction troubles.”

Addiction troubles. How severe? Clearly, severe enough that his addiction had led him to drinking and taking too many pills. Severe enough to kill a father of two.

Today, I didn’t have a lot of sympathy for Rachel’s son’s troubles.

“I had no idea,” I said.

Rachel didn’t talk to me. She didn’t confide in me. We’d never been anything that resembled friends. Hell, she barely tolerated me as her coworker. No, in her life, I was a nuisance. It went both ways.

Except my heart went out to her. “Poor Rachel. I wonder if there is something we can do for her.”

The nurses shared another look.

“What?” I asked. What was I missing?

“That’s really sweet of you to think of her, Talia,” the other woman said. “But . . .”

But Rachel hated me.

For years I’d been trying to win her over. And now, seeing the looks on these nurses’ faces, I realized it was futile.

“If something gets organized for her, please just let me know how I can contribute. Even if it’s just some money under the table.”

“I can organize something,” the blonde said.

“Thank you.” I walked away, meeting Dr. Anderson in the hallway.

His cheeks were flushed from the cold outside and he looked to have found another burst of energy. Or he was good at faking it. “I needed that. Why don’t you take a short break? You’ve earned it.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I insist.”

A walk outside might give me a boost too, so I headed for the locker room to pull on my coat. In my rush to leave the house last night, I hadn’t grabbed food and since I hadn’t eaten since dinner, I dug a few dollars from my purse to pick up a banana and a latte at the cafeteria.

I had my snack and a steaming to-go cup in my hand—nothing as good as Lyla’s espressos, but it would do in a pinch—as I strode through the lobby toward the exit. Except a head of familiar graying-blond bun caught my attention, and I stopped short of the sliding doors.

Rachel.

What was she doing in the waiting area? Why was she at the hospital? Oh, God. Someone had told her, right? Someone had informed her of her son’s death. She wasn’t waiting for an update, was she?

My stomach plummeted, my footsteps leaden, as I changed directions. She sat in an upholstered chair with wooden arms and an array of magazines fanned on the table at her side.

“Rachel,” I said softly, taking the seat opposite hers.

She tore her gaze from the floor and looked up. The wreckage in her red-rimmed eyes answered my questions. She knew. Her bun was disheveled with strands pulled free at her temples and around her ears.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Can I get you anything? Can I call someone?”

She tilted her head to the side, blinking twice like she had no idea who I was. Then whatever fog cleared because the Rachel I knew snapped into place. The glare she sent me was laced with venom. It made the other scowls she’d given me in the past look like gentle reassurances.

“Fuck you.” Her lip curled.

I tensed but stayed silent. I’d take the insults, the curses, if it helped her through the grief of losing her child.

“He worked for you,” she spat. “He was one of your hired men.”

At the ranch. He must have worked for Dad. Or maybe Griffin. “Okay.”

“Your self-righteous brother fired him because he came to work hungover.”

“Oh. I’m . . . I’m so sorry.” What else could I say?

She scoffed. “It was after his birthday party. He’d just turned twenty-one. Half of the people out getting him drunk were your other employees. And he gets fired for a hangover? Your double standards are sickening.”

Your. She kept saying “your,” like I had anything to do with the operations at the ranch. I didn’t keep up on the staff they hired, let alone have anything to do with firing them. But I stayed quiet, swallowing the urge to clarify.

“They claimed he was still drunk. That he’d been coming to work impaired.” Her entire body began to tremble. “My son wasn’t a drunk. It was a bunch of lies. Probably because your brother didn’t want to pay him what he was worth.”

None of that sounded like Griffin. He paid his hired men competitive salaries, usually above the local market rate. Most of the ranch staff had been there for years because of the benefits offered. But beyond that, Griffin and Dad had always treated their staff with immense respect for their hard work.

If Rachel’s son had been fired, it was likely because he hadn’t been doing that work.

When had Griffin hired her son? Since I’d moved home, I couldn’t remember hearing that he’d had to fire anyone. He didn’t always keep me apprised, but I knew my brother. Griff hated firing men. It would have bothered him enough that he’d have been noticeably grumpy about it.

Chances were that Rachel’s son had been fired before I’d even moved home from Seattle. Before I’d started working at the hospital.

I hadn’t stood a chance with her, had I? She would have hated me regardless, simply because of my last name.

“You walk around here like you’re something special.” She sneered. “When really you’re just a spoiled little princess. Did you know that the hospital had to make budget changes to afford your salary? My sister worked in Human Resources. Her position was eliminated when you were hired. So were three other job openings. Positions that would have lightened the burden on my staff.”

My mouth parted. What? “I didn’t know that.”

How could I have known they’d had to make cuts to afford me? I wasn’t paid outlandishly. And besides, it was only temporary, right? Because Dr. Anderson would retire, and as far as I knew, they wouldn’t be replacing him. That was why I was here. To learn. To train.

To be the doctor for the next thirty years.

That was why the board had made the decision to bring in another doctor.

Except the logic behind their decision wouldn’t matter to Rachel. She was too busy hating me.

“And to think,” she scoffed. “If we had actually brought in a decent doctor, maybe my son would be alive.”

I flinched, the air rushing from my lungs like she’d hit me in the gut. She couldn’t possibly believe that her son’s death was my fault.

No, she did. It was there, in her gaze, the blame.

“We’ve had more deaths in this hospital since you’ve started than we’ve had in years. Because we had to hire an Eden.” Rachel stood, then she was gone, leaving me in the waiting room alone, unable to breathe.

Part of me, deep down in my heart, knew those were angry words. That a mother was lashing out, and I’d been an easy target. But the other part of me, raw and vulnerable and tired and sad, wondered if she had a point.

Was I a bad doctor? After medical school, I hadn’t applied anywhere but Quincy Memorial for my residency. But if I had broadened my search, would I have gotten other offers? Or would they have found me lacking?

My coffee was cold when Dr. Anderson found me in the waiting room, stuck in that same, uncomfortable chair.

“Talia, there you are. Good. I wasn’t sure if you’d come in from your break yet.”

“S-sorry.” I forced myself to my feet. My knees felt weak. My head was spinning. “Did you need something?”

“No. Just wanted to tell you that Dr. Herrera got here, so you’re free to head home. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Oh. Sure.” I nodded but didn’t move. The grip on my coffee was shaky, and if not for the lid, it would have spilled on my hand.

“Hey.” He stepped closer, touching my elbow. “Are you all right?”

“Just a long night.”

“Yeah, it was. Get some rest, Talia.”

“You too,” I choked out.

Late last night, he’d told me that I’d saved that mother’s life. That her children would get to keep one of their parents because I’d been there to treat her. He’d said it was important that he’d had Dr. Murphy’s help with the boy and what a relief it had been to trust me with the mom.

I was a good doctor. He wouldn’t have left me with that woman if he didn’t trust me. Believe in me.

“I’m a good doctor,” I whispered to myself.

The reassurance didn’t stop the tears from flooding. But I blinked them away, holding it together as I collected my purse and keys from my locker, then made the drive home.

I parked in the garage, and the moment the Jeep was off, the tears fell like a tidal wave. They streamed down my face as I sobbed, my chest shaking uncontrollably.

One moment, I was clutching the steering wheel, giving my pain to the darkness. The next, the Jeep’s door was open and a pair of strong arms wrapped around my body.

Foster swept me into the house, his lips against my hair as he murmured, “Tally.”

It hurt. God, it hurt. My entire body was cracking in two.

He cradled me against his chest, holding tight.

While I sobbed for the lives I couldn’t save.

And the lives I had.