Could Be Something Good Page 5

  “Winnie, this is what IMDb is for. And I can watch all that stuff on some streaming service.”

  She poked a finger gently into his chest, and her eyes flared at the contact with his firm muscles there. In a flash, it was gone, but it filled him with gratification nonetheless. “My point isn’t that you couldn’t watch it now, my point is that you didn’t watch it then. My point is that I’m significantly older than you.”

  “You watched it in reruns; you may be older than me, but it’s not significant. At least not to me.”

  Winnie gave him a flat smile. “Then you’re the only one.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NACHOS. WHEN SHE WAS done with this delivery, Winnie was totally going to make nachos, loaded with black olives, avocado, sour cream, pico de gallo salsa. No cilantro, though. She could barely stand it when Ainsley used it in the apartment.

  Her patient, Darby, groaned as her next contraction hit. She was bouncing gently on the large orange exercise ball, her long brown hair swaying, sweaty near her temples. Darby was close to transition now. She’d been walking the hallways of the hospital for the last few hours, alongside her child’s father. It was hard to tell exactly what their relationship was . . . Shane hadn’t been to any of her prenatal checkups, but he was here now, so he obviously cared.

  “You’re doing great, D,” he murmured, rubbing her shoulders, but she shook him off. Even under his scruffy beard, the kind that looked unintentional, Winnie could see how disappointed he was to have his comfort rejected. Maybe he’d noticed what Winnie had also seen: the mother was tensing her whole body with every spasm, rather than letting the pain wash over her. She was fighting the change, fighting the pain, treating it like humans were taught to treat pain: a sign that something was wrong. That wasn’t a helpful mindset during labor. Winnie lived for times like this, when she could really be present with a patient, instead of needing to bounce between rooms. She’d also done some training as a doula, and she liked being able to guide women, help them find their own way through a birth experience.

  “Darby,” she said, “you are totally doing great. What would help you relax between contractions?” Without asking, she picked up the young woman’s hand and began to massage it. Shane was watching carefully, and she gave him a wide-eyed, meaningful look, hoping to communicate that this would be a better place for him to try to massage her if she was feeling averse to touch at the moment.

  “I don’t know,” Darby said, her voice small. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her shoulder. “I’m just so tired.”

  “I know,” Winnie assured her. “You’re working hard, but don’t work harder than you have to. Try to rest between contractions. Would you like to lie down?”

  “No, it’ll go faster if I’m upright. If I lie down, I won’t be able to get back up.”

  Winnie doubted that, but she didn’t want to argue with her. “Okay, you can stay here for now. But I notice that the contractions are coming closer together, which hopefully means you’re headed toward transition, and we’re going to want you closer to the bed when you start to deliver, okay?” She patted her hand. “I’m going to go check on another patient. I’ll be right back. Would you like Shane to hold your hand?”

  She nodded, and Shane slipped into the rocking chair she vacated, taking Darby’s hand in both of his. Winnie left quietly as the two looked at each other with fear and anticipation, like they knew life was changing forever right now, and she smiled to herself. In truth, she just needed to use the bathroom and grab a snack, and she didn’t want to use the one in their room. It was good to give couples, even couples as loosely affiliated as this one, time together before everything really got started. Down the hall, she spotted Dr. Durand—the other one; she never seemed to see Kyle around for some reason, and their dad had his own clinic in Timber Falls. He was talking with Martina, so she turned the other way to hide her face and ducked into a storage room. She didn’t want him asking any more questions about her future plans. If she could just hold on a little longer, her mother would certainly give up soon. She didn’t need him announcing to Dr. Baker that she was a fake and a fraud. And yet, she thought, as she stacked the toilet paper on the shelf in front of her more neatly, she’d enjoyed talking to him until the conversation had taken a turn toward her becoming a doctor. They could be friends, surely, if only because of Ainsley.

  Winnie cracked open the solid door of the storage closet, cursing herself for picking a room without a window on the door. The coast appeared to be clear. She turned to shut the door quietly, then ran directly into a white-coated chest.

  “I thought I saw you go in there. Didn’t want to scare you by coming in after you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I—”

  “It’s okay, Nurse Baker. Bumping into people is just something that happens later at night.” Daniel smiled down at her. “Don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so,” she said, unable to keep a hand from running over the ponytail she’d put up hours ago that was probably falling out. Why do I care what I look like? I’m almost a decade older than this man. She groped for something meaningful to say. “Working swing tonight?” Genius, Winifred.

  “Nah. I just like to hang out here hoping cute midwives will bump into me,” he said, his grin widening even more.

  Winnie rubbed her nose. “I’m not cute.”

  “No?” His eyes flashed at the challenge.

  “No. And I’m about to be even less cute when I’ve got fluid all over my shoes.”

  “Hmm, you make a good point. But stop by and find me before you leave, and I’ll give you an unbiased assessment.”

  Ethan’s face, twisted in disgust, flashed into her mind. He’d stopped by her mother’s home to drop off an article he thought she’d enjoy and caught her before she’d cleaned up all the way after a home birth. She’d hated that feeling, the way it diminished something that lit up her life. The way it cast a shadow on a beautiful morning. She always showered at the hospital now, when she was done.

  “I don’t think you’ll care for it, but if I remember, I will stop by and let you see for yourself.” Winnie gave him half a smile, then turned back to Darby’s room, unwrapping the protein bar she’d had in her pocket as she retraced her path down the hall. What she saw through the window of the door made her stomach clench. Winnie opened the door quietly, stealthily, and caught just the end of the conversation.

  “It’s not too late yet for an anesthesiologist,” her mother was saying. “Dr. Waters is on call tonight, and he’s one of our best. I just saw him down the hall, but I could—”

  “Dr. Baker.” She kept her voice unconcerned, light. Her mother pivoted to her, but didn’t move toward the door. Darby’s expression was dark, and Winnie could tell she was upset. She crossed to her patient and knelt next to her.

  “I’m sorry about this, Darby. I’ll get this straightened out and be right back. It won’t happen again.” Her patient nodded, clearly relieved. She stood and shifted her attention to her mother. “I need to speak with you outside, please.”

  As soon as the door closed, Winnie wanted to round on her. Wanted to wipe that “this should be good” expression off her pastel face. She forced herself to take a deep breath and hold it to the count of ten before she slowly released it through her nose, leaning into the feeling of fresh oxygen in her tired brain.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  “Babies are part of family medicine. Things are slow upstairs at this time of night.”

  Winnie flexed her jaw. “Dr. Baker, this patient’s birth plan made it clear that she wished to deliver naturally. Did you consult her birth plan?”

  “What did she do, download a form from Baby Center?” Sandra shook her head lightly, a quiet condemnation, but a condemnation nonetheless.

  “It was WhatToExpect.com, I believe. Either way, you have no right or authority to go against her wishes. You would never disregard a DNR. I don’t see how this is any different.”

  Her mothe
r calmly stuck her hands in the pockets of her white coat. “A DNR is life and death, so I do believe it’s somewhat different. I was just informing her of her options. That’s all.”

  Winnie, being fully aware of her mother’s prejudices against natural childbirth, crossed her arms over her chest. “I will be responsible for making her aware of her options. Please stay out of my patient’s room, especially when I’m not there.”

  “Just didn’t want to hear her shrieking in pain when there was a solution available to her . . .”

  “She’s not—” Darby’s high cry cut her off, and Winnie winced. She must be in transition; she was never going to make any real progress with those high, unproductive yells. Winnie yanked open the door, but turned to look over her shoulder and give her mother another warning look. Sandra put her hands up in a show of innocence, then turned and left without another word.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS ALMOST SUNRISE, and Daniel was finishing handing off his patients to the next shift. Dr. Baker had been in a bad mood most of the evening, so he figured she wouldn’t mind if he just passed them off himself. Neither she nor Winnie was anywhere to be found. He figured she’d probably already finished her birth and left. He was trying not to feel too disappointed about it, like a kid who knew two scoops of ice cream was too much for that tiny sugar cone and consoles himself with the idea that he knew the chocolate one was going to fall.

  “And here we have Mrs. Renfro, who sewed through her finger.”

  Greg Trout looked disturbed. “How did that happen?”

  Daniel didn’t get a chance to answer.

  “Well, my niece, she’s having a baby, you see, just upstairs, and I was trying like mad to get the baby quilt I’m making her done before her little one arrives. And I got distracted for just a moment when the bratty sister on that royalty show—the British one, you know—she was just about to take off her clothes for that photographer—you know, the scandalous one—” His phone buzzed.

  Kyle: You done?

  He and his brother had driven to work together, and he would now be waiting for him. Kyle hated waiting. Mrs. Renfro was still talking.

  “And I thought about waking up Foster, but he’d just gotten back from a long-haul run to Las Vegas—you know, Sin City—and he was so tired, so I just got in my car, and—”

  “And gave me the opportunity to take my first 90/14 quilting machine needle out of an index finger,” Daniel said quickly, trying to wrestle the conversation back as gently as he could.

  “I was afraid to pull it out myself,” Mrs. Renfro explained, holding out her injured hand so they could see the damage.

  Kyle: Hello?

  Daniel: Be right there.

  “She hadn’t had a tetanus shot in a while, so we got that done . . .”

  “Didn’t even get any blood on the fabric,” she boasted. “It’s going to be beautiful.”

  Kyle: Where are you?

  “But she should be ready to be discharged as soon as her husband gets here.” He turned so that he was facing away from Mrs. Renfro and lowered his voice. “She was a little hysterical when she got here, so we had to give her a mild sedative. Don’t let her drive home alone.”

  “Gotcha.” Greg smiled, turning back to Mrs. Renfro. “All right, Pamela, I’ll check on those discharge papers for you. Dr. Durand’s got to run on home now.”

  Kyle: Earth to Danny . . .

  Daniel: I’m coming, I’m coming.

  He was grimacing at the nickname he’d outgrown in third grade when he stepped out into the hallway and saw a very tired Winifred coming his way, eyes shining, hair wet, flip-flops on, giant bag slung across her chest, bouncing against her back. How she still managed to look so great, he’d never know. Yes, there were bags under her eyes and a definite slower pace to her walk, but she was smiling to herself, and the quiet joy of her took his breath away.

  “Nope,” he called, and she looked up sharply. “Still cute. Sorry.”

  She gave him a real smile as she slowed to a stop in front of him. “This doesn’t count. I already showered, and my other shoes are in my bag, carefully wrapped in plastic to contain the grossness.”

  Winnie was gazing up at him, biting her lip, still smiling like someone had turned on a light inside her. Her teeth against that petal-pink skin . . . It made him forget what he wanted to say. It made him want to kiss her gently, touch the soft skin of her cheeks, stroke the gold of her hair. It made him a little lightheaded.

  His phone rang, and he answered it without breaking their staring contest. “Yeah?”

  “Are you coming or what?” Kyle asked. “I’m beat. I want to go home.”

  A thought formed in Daniel’s mind, and he was self-aware enough to realize that his lack of sleep might be creating crackpot ideas in his brain . . . but maybe it was worth a try.

  “I think Winnie’s going to give me a ride.”

  “Fine. See you later.” Kyle hung up.

  “You might’ve asked me first,” she said, raising one blonde eyebrow.

  “Do you mind? I’m going to your apartment; Ainsley needs help building a theatre for puppets or something.”

  “Oh,” Winnie said, turning toward the locker room, “is that what all that lumber was for? I wondered.”

  “Did she at least get a kit?”

  “Didn’t look like it. And you’ll have to be outside. I need sleep.”

  “She probably hasn’t thought that through . . .” Daniel sighed. “You wanna drive through Rico’s?”

  Winnie stopped suddenly. “How did you know I was craving nachos?”

  “I didn’t. Lucky guess. Kyle and I like to swing by there after work. Good breakfast burritos.”

  She held up a hand. “Say no more. Get your stuff. I’ll be in the car.” Daniel ducked into the changing room only to grab his backpack, but when he got to the parking lot, he found himself slowing to a stop. He had no idea what her car looked like. A dark-blue Corolla flashed its lights, and he grinned. There were some fir twigs strewn across the gravel parking lot as he crossed it, and it made him realize how out of it he was; he hadn’t even heard the wind in the night. Maybe he shouldn’t be operating power tools this morning, but he’d already promised.

  The line at Rico’s wasn’t long, but the silence in the car between them once they’d ordered was. He had her alone—finally. He wanted to talk to her, to impress her. But his tired brain just wasn’t cooperating. He’d have to settle for small talk.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Northern California, originally,” Winnie said, running a hand through her wet hair.

  Daniel winced. “Oh dear.”

  “I know. It made me an instant object of scorn and ridicule in school.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Oregonians really hate Californians, don’t they?”

  “I’m afraid so. It runs deep. It may actually be deeper than hate . . . Is loathing a word?”

  “I believe it is, but I’m so tired, I can’t be sure.” Winnie smiled.

  “Same. At least you’re from Northern California. That’s a little more forgivable. They’re more crunchy, like us. At least you’re not from LA.”

  “Mom wouldn’t be caught dead in LA. We have standards.”

  They pulled forward and, salivating, received their long-awaited food. The smell of eggs, salsa, and cheddar filled the car.

  “Oh, that smells amazing,” Winnie moaned. “I want it now. But I can’t drive and eat.”

  Daniel paused in unwrapping his burrito as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Pull over, we’ll switch. I don’t care. Mine’ll keep, yours is going to get soggy.”

  Winnie gave him the side-eye. “I can’t let you drive my car. We barely know each other.”

  I’d really, really like to know you, though, he thought as he took a huge bite. Still, driving her car would probably be seen as possessive and relationship-y by anyone who saw them. And he knew someone from the town would see, and then they’d mention it cas
ually (read: pointedly) under the hair dryer at Shear Brilliance, and then his mother would know. And then he’d get grilled.

  “Why’d you guys move to Oregon, then? Your dad get a job here or something?”

  She focused on the road. “My mom, actually. And my grandparents, my dad’s parents, are here.”

  He frowned. “Do I know them?”

  “Heloise and Howard Baker?”

  “Not ringing a bell,” he said between bites. Sweet potatoes. Sweet potatoes are amazing. This burrito is amazing.

  “They live in Lyons,” she said, turning onto the highway going east. “Mom wanted to be closer to Salem for the schools.”

  “Hey, what’s wrong with our schools? Coop knows all twenty-three letters of the alphabet already!”

  She laughed softly. “Who’s Coop?”

  “My brother Philip’s kid. You know Claire at the hospital? She’s an admin?”

  Winnie nodded.

  “That’s his wife. They’ve been married a couple of years. She’s pretty cool.”

  “And how old is Cooper? I assume it’s Cooper and not some strange, hippy amalgamation of a name.”

  “Yes, it’s Cooper, and he’s five. Just started kindergarten, and I thought my brother was going to have a fit in the days leading up. Parents are weird.”

  “His son was nervous?”

  “No, Philip was nervous. Cooper was fine. Cooper’s always fine; that kid can roll with it like a pro wrestler. He’ll make a great doctor someday.”

  Winnie kept looking over at his side of the car, but she wasn’t looking at his face. She was looking at the brown paper bag on his lap, damp with condensation from the hot food trapped inside.

  “How do you know he’ll be a doctor?”

  “All Durands are doctors,” he said, unwrapping the paper on his breakfast a bit more. “It’s in our blood.”

  “Your brother’s not,” she pointed out.

  He tipped his head, conceding the point. “No, Philip’s kind of the black sheep, but he’s still in medicine; he’s a physical therapist.” He started to take another bite, then stopped. “Wait, no. Maggie’s the black sheep,” he said, chuckling.