over.”
****
Rachael,
the eldest child of William and Vivien, began each day early before dawn. She
had awoken before anyone else in the house and started the coffee pot while she
showered and dressed. She'd enjoyed two cups of coffee and a muffin in the back
garden, watching the sun rise in the distance. It was Rachael's favorite time
of the day. She appreciated being alone and the quiet.
She
was due at the hospital early that morning for a day shift, but on a Friday
during a beautiful stretch of summer weather, she knew she would not be leaving
until long after dark. People seemed to take more risks during the warmer
months. They lived dangerously, drank excessive amounts of alcohol, and often
wound up in the emergency room on a Friday night instead of where they had
intended to be.
She'd
spend her time before lunch tending a boy with a broken arm, a man suffering
from chest pains, and a woman with a nasty bout of food poisoning. There had
been an old man, dehydrated and with heat stroke, after too many hours spent
gardening under the hot sun. A diabetic passed through, after neglecting her
insulin shots, and an elderly woman who'd suffered a fall in the middle of the
night and hit her head.
Throughout
the day the emergency room became busier, until it was a chaotic mess of
people, all in various states of personal disaster, waiting to be examined,
admitted, or released. Security guards milled about, keeping order and giving
directions. Triage nurses filled out the personal information of those who
waited and doctors moved efficiently in and out of examination rooms. They
asked questions, they ordered tests, they diagnosed, and treated.
She'd
had a busy afternoon but somehow had been able to take her break on schedule.
Sipping from her coffee cup, enjoying the warm breeze from a picnic table
outdoors, Rachael thought she'd call home. Grant, the man she was living with,
usually worked from home. A journalist, his hours were much more flexible than
hers, providing he met his deadlines.
They'd
been fighting more than usual lately. It was the worst part of their
relationship, but they always made up afterwards. They'd managed to make it
through two years of seeing each other but, since they'd moved in together six
months ago, the fighting had intensified and they'd been making up less.
He'd
been irritable the past couple of days whenever she came home late from the
hospital. He was a widower and his two daughters from his previous marriage
lived with them. They hadn't spoken about having their own baby before they'd
moved in together, and since they had, that was all he wanted to do. Rachael,
having no interest in any of this, had recoiled. She didn't need it. Her own
upbringing had been a lesson on what not to do: don't get married if you're
going to be unfaithful. Don't have children if you're only going to ignore
them.
No,
she didn't want children. She wasn't the nurturing, maternal type. Her own
mother wasn't either. She tolerated Grant's children, sometimes she even liked
them, but she didn't want to be their mother.
All
she had ever wanted to do with her life was be a doctor. And after working so
long and so hard for it, and still struggling to pay off the debt she had
incurred doing so, the thought of putting it all aside after only a few years
didn't seem an option.
Glancing
at her watch, she realized her break was nearly over. She wouldn't call Grant
after all, she decided. It would probably only upset her if he was still mad at
her over their fight the previous night. He'd barely spoken to her the day
before, busy with the article he was writing, and preoccupied with his
daughters.
She
had a few hours left before her shift was over. If the evening was quieter than
the afternoon had been, there was a chance she'd leave on time.
Then
again, it was a Friday night in June, Rachael reminded herself. On a night like
this, anything could happen.
****
Dylan,
the oldest son of
****
Rachael,
the eldest child of William and Vivien, began each day early before dawn. She
had awoken before anyone else in the house and started the coffee pot while she
showered and dressed. She'd enjoyed two cups of coffee and a muffin in the back
garden, watching the sun rise in the distance. It was Rachael's favorite time
of the day. She appreciated being alone and the quiet.
She
was due at the hospital early that morning for a day shift, but on a Friday
during a beautiful stretch of summer weather, she knew she would not be leaving
until long after dark. People seemed to take more risks during the warmer
months. They lived dangerously, drank excessive amounts of alcohol, and often
wound up in the emergency room on a Friday night instead of where they had
intended to be.
She'd
spend her time before lunch tending a boy with a broken arm, a man suffering
from chest pains, and a woman with a nasty bout of food poisoning. There had
been an old man, dehydrated and with heat stroke, after too many hours spent
gardening under the hot sun. A diabetic passed through, after neglecting her
insulin shots, and an elderly woman who'd suffered a fall in the middle of the
night and hit her head.
Throughout
the day the emergency room became busier, until it was a chaotic mess of
people, all in various states of personal disaster, waiting to be examined,
admitted, or released. Security guards milled about, keeping order and giving
directions. Triage nurses filled out the personal information of those who
waited and doctors moved efficiently in and out of examination rooms. They
asked questions, they ordered tests, they diagnosed, and treated.
She'd
had a busy afternoon but somehow had been able to take her break on schedule.
Sipping from her coffee cup, enjoying the warm breeze from a picnic table
outdoors, Rachael thought she'd call home. Grant, the man she was living with,
usually worked from home. A journalist, his hours were much more flexible than
hers, providing he met his deadlines.
They'd
been fighting more than usual lately. It was the worst part of their
relationship, but they always made up afterwards. They'd managed to make it
through two years of seeing each other but, since they'd moved in together six
months ago, the fighting had intensified and they'd been making up less.
He'd
been irritable the past couple of days whenever she came home late from the
hospital. He was a widower and his two daughters from his previous marriage
lived with them. They hadn't spoken about having their own baby before they'd
moved in together, and since they had, that was all he wanted to do. Rachael,
having no interest in any of this, had recoiled. She didn't need it. Her own
upbringing had been a lesson on what not to do: don't get married if you're
going to be unfaithful. Don't have children if you're only going to ignore
them.
No,
she didn't want children. She wasn't the nurturing, maternal type. Her own
mother wasn't either. She tolerated Grant's children, sometimes she even liked
them, but she didn't want to be their mother.
All
she had ever wanted to do with her life was be a doctor. And after working so
long and so hard for it, and still struggling to pay off the debt she had
incurred doing so, the thought of putting it all aside after only a few years
didn't seem an option.
Glancing
at her watch, she realized her break was nearly over. She wouldn't call Grant
after all, she decided. It would probably only upset her if he was still mad at
her over their fight the previous night. He'd barely spoken to her the day
before, busy with the article he was writing, and preoccupied with his
daughters.
She
had a few hours left before her shift was over. If the evening was quieter than
the afternoon had been, there was a chance she'd leave on time.
Then
again, it was a Friday night in June, Rachael reminded herself. On a night like
this, anything could happen.
****
Dylan,
the oldest son of
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