Imperfect Contract Read Free Page A

physical ones, continued to energize me, and I welcomed the opportunity to stay involved. 
    The result was my special talents were useful.  I had been a patrol officer most of the time and like other female cops in a small department, I did undercover work for Vice.  Being a nurse and a former sworn officer gave me special understanding of some situations and access to people and information not available to an officer who doesn't know the health care system—where to look or whom to ask.
    When I arrived on the unit, my friends, Connie Kuhn and Vanessa Vanderbilt, met me in the nurses' lounge. 
    Connie greeted me with a tight smile and said, "I'm glad you’re here.  I want to give report and get home before Darrell leaves for work.  I spent the night caring for Hutchinson, and I'm tired."  She fidgeted in her chair.
    I grabbed a cup of fresh coffee and sat across the table from them.  The blend smelled rich and strong—Connie had brought it in from Starbucks.  It tasted winey and had a snap.  I savored my first sip.
    "Sophia, you're assigned Hutchinson," Connie said.  "With him and the other patients, you're going to have a rough day."  Connie was middle-aged and matronly beyond her years.  She had two grown children, nurse Susan and college freshman Wayne.  Though she wasn't overweight, she seemed to have settled into her hips.  Her grown-out-perm hairdo hung in ragged curls around her ears and down her neck.  To top it off, she wore uniforms that looked like tents, or maybe like nun's habits without the overlay.  But I liked her—usually.
    I sipped the coffee and looked at Connie and Vanessa over the rim of my cup.  "I had him yesterday.  I know about his problems."
    "Seems to me he got what he deserved."  Vanessa picked her handheld computer off the crumb-covered table and tapped the small screen to open the ventilator settings.  Vanessa is the respiratory therapist on our unit and is responsible for managing the breathing treatments for all our patients.  She's had the same assignment for a long time, and we've become friends.  We shop together and sometimes take in dinner or a movie.
    "My God, Vanessa, why would you say that?"  I felt my jaw drop.  My shock must have been apparent.
    "I have a thing about realtors.  They seem to be such operators.  I don't know how they can live with themselves.  The way they jerk people around, I'm surprised more of them aren't shot."  Vanessa settled into her chair and glared at me. 
    She was tall.  Anyone over five-six seems tall to me.  I estimated her at five-ten or five-eleven, and she was thin.  She carried herself with grace.  Shoulder length honey-blond hair and bright blue eyes set off her fine features.
    "I hope Amelia doesn't notice your attitude.  She was a nurse.  You won't put anything over on her."
    "Amelia and I get along.  I keep my feelings to myself.  If it were a problem, I'd call another therapist to come upstairs and take care of him.  But a patient is a patient, so why not?"  She held out her device so I could review the ventilator data.  She knew I liked to know everything about my patients.  "He's stable, and he's triggering the ventilator, though he can't breathe on his own for more than a few minutes."
    "His doctors are trying to wean him?"  I was surprised.  The critical care nurse told me the pulmonologist believed Hutchinson would never get off the vent.
    "No, I took him off for a few minutes yesterday.  I wanted to see how he would do."  She flipped to the next screen of the chart.
    I raised an eyebrow and stared at her, but she avoided my gaze.  We'd been friends and co-workers a long time.  She'd managed to get rid of an abusive husband and was starting to get her life on track.  She lived in a shelter until her ex left town, then she rented a small apartment.  Over the years, she squirreled away enough money for a healthy down payment on a townhouse and was in the process of making a purchase.
    "I