Plan your
little party,” she smirked, picking up our empty plates and taking them to the
sink.
“Enough with the
pouting. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
She rinsed our
dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. “Speaking of Tucker, what’s with his
girlfriend?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not his
type. What’s he see in her?”
“I don’t know,” I
mumbled, clearing the rest of the table.
“What do you mean,
you don’t know? I thought you knew him?”
“Well, I know him,
but not really. We’ve talked a few times, that’s all. He’s Jimmy’s friend, not
mine.”
“Oh, I guess I
thought you all were close too.”
“Me? And Tucker?
No. Not at all. To me he’ll always be the kid who stole my Halloween M&Ms
and stuck them up his nose.”
Sandra threw her
head back and laughed hard. She had the cutest laugh. “No, no, no—don’t tell me
stuff like that! Now I’ll never look at Dr. Thompson again without imagining
those colorful candies in his nose!”
You and me
both.
The next day at
work, I was making my rounds but my mind was preoccupied with Jimmy’s return. I
knew I needed to let Tucker know and get him to help round up some of Jimmy’s
old friends. But I was hesitant. That whole ring thing still bugged me. And it
still bugged me that it bugged me.
I tapped on the
door of my next patient in 907. “Mr. Wilcox?”
“Come in!” a woman
called out.
“Good morning, I’m
Shelby Colter, your hostess.”
A short, rotund
woman stood by the bed, her face expectant. “Well, how nice! Wilbur? Do you see
the nice young hostess? She’s come to visit.”
Mr. Wilcox sat up
in bed, his face equally expectant. “Come in, come in! I’m Wilbur, and this is
my wife, DeeDee.”
“Nice to meet you.”
I gave them my
usual spiel, detailing our services and handing them my card and brochure.
DeeDee took the card, cradling it in her hands as if the White House had sent
it. Wilbur browsed the small brochure.
That would be the
last moment of silence I would know for more than an hour and a half. I’d seen
it before, patients like this and their family members. First timers. Usually
they came from small rural communities outside of Memphis. They’d never
experienced this kind of environment before, having doctors and nurses “wait”
on them, staff taking care of them, bringing them their meals—all by a mere
touch of the call button attached to their bed. Whatever malady may have
brought them here, they actually enjoyed all the fuss and attention. Strange
but true.
Turns out, Wilbur
Wilcox was a railroad man. An engineer. And oh, how he loved trains. By the end
of our long visit, I was fairly sure he loved talking about trains even
more. I learned more than I ever wanted to know about the whole industry.
DeeDee listened attentively, though I had no doubt she’d heard it all at least
a thousand times before.
“So you see, by
the end of the Industrial Revolution, the train was much more than just a mode
of transportation. We were a pivotal part of the growth of this country, with thousands
of miles of track. Then, after the beginning of the next century—”
“Miss Colter, Miss
Shelby Colter.”
Thank you, thank
you! I’m being paged!
“I’m so sorry, Mr.
Wilcox, they’re paging me. I’ve got to go. But it was such a pleasure meeting
you.” I bit my tongue, resisting the usual reminder that he could reach me by
calling the number on the card. Somehow I was all too afraid he’d figure it
out.
I said another
silent prayer and headed to the nursing station to use the phone. By now I’d
grown used to hearing my name paged several times a day. Beepers were common
among doctors, but the rest of us didn’t have that luxury. I called the
switchboard and was given a number to call. I didn’t recognize it, but that
wasn’t unusual.
“This is Shelby
Colter.”
“Shelby, it’s
Tucker. I’m in the Madison café. Do you have time for a break?”
I felt a wave of
mild panic,
little party,” she smirked, picking up our empty plates and taking them to the
sink.
“Enough with the
pouting. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
She rinsed our
dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. “Speaking of Tucker, what’s with his
girlfriend?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not his
type. What’s he see in her?”
“I don’t know,” I
mumbled, clearing the rest of the table.
“What do you mean,
you don’t know? I thought you knew him?”
“Well, I know him,
but not really. We’ve talked a few times, that’s all. He’s Jimmy’s friend, not
mine.”
“Oh, I guess I
thought you all were close too.”
“Me? And Tucker?
No. Not at all. To me he’ll always be the kid who stole my Halloween M&Ms
and stuck them up his nose.”
Sandra threw her
head back and laughed hard. She had the cutest laugh. “No, no, no—don’t tell me
stuff like that! Now I’ll never look at Dr. Thompson again without imagining
those colorful candies in his nose!”
You and me
both.
The next day at
work, I was making my rounds but my mind was preoccupied with Jimmy’s return. I
knew I needed to let Tucker know and get him to help round up some of Jimmy’s
old friends. But I was hesitant. That whole ring thing still bugged me. And it
still bugged me that it bugged me.
I tapped on the
door of my next patient in 907. “Mr. Wilcox?”
“Come in!” a woman
called out.
“Good morning, I’m
Shelby Colter, your hostess.”
A short, rotund
woman stood by the bed, her face expectant. “Well, how nice! Wilbur? Do you see
the nice young hostess? She’s come to visit.”
Mr. Wilcox sat up
in bed, his face equally expectant. “Come in, come in! I’m Wilbur, and this is
my wife, DeeDee.”
“Nice to meet you.”
I gave them my
usual spiel, detailing our services and handing them my card and brochure.
DeeDee took the card, cradling it in her hands as if the White House had sent
it. Wilbur browsed the small brochure.
That would be the
last moment of silence I would know for more than an hour and a half. I’d seen
it before, patients like this and their family members. First timers. Usually
they came from small rural communities outside of Memphis. They’d never
experienced this kind of environment before, having doctors and nurses “wait”
on them, staff taking care of them, bringing them their meals—all by a mere
touch of the call button attached to their bed. Whatever malady may have
brought them here, they actually enjoyed all the fuss and attention. Strange
but true.
Turns out, Wilbur
Wilcox was a railroad man. An engineer. And oh, how he loved trains. By the end
of our long visit, I was fairly sure he loved talking about trains even
more. I learned more than I ever wanted to know about the whole industry.
DeeDee listened attentively, though I had no doubt she’d heard it all at least
a thousand times before.
“So you see, by
the end of the Industrial Revolution, the train was much more than just a mode
of transportation. We were a pivotal part of the growth of this country, with thousands
of miles of track. Then, after the beginning of the next century—”
“Miss Colter, Miss
Shelby Colter.”
Thank you, thank
you! I’m being paged!
“I’m so sorry, Mr.
Wilcox, they’re paging me. I’ve got to go. But it was such a pleasure meeting
you.” I bit my tongue, resisting the usual reminder that he could reach me by
calling the number on the card. Somehow I was all too afraid he’d figure it
out.
I said another
silent prayer and headed to the nursing station to use the phone. By now I’d
grown used to hearing my name paged several times a day. Beepers were common
among doctors, but the rest of us didn’t have that luxury. I called the
switchboard and was given a number to call. I didn’t recognize it, but that
wasn’t unusual.
“This is Shelby
Colter.”
“Shelby, it’s
Tucker. I’m in the Madison café. Do you have time for a break?”
I felt a wave of
mild panic,
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