Chapter 7 - EMILY PUT ON SCRUBS AGAIN AND COULD NOT MAKE HER HANDS STOP SHAKING
Emily’s first pair of new scrubs cost thirty-eight dollars.
She stood in a Phoenix discount uniform store for twenty minutes deciding between navy and gray.
Lucy wanted pink.
“Doctors wear pink.”
“Some do.”
“You should.”
Emily looked at herself in mirror.
Navy.
Safer.
Less noticeable.
Then realized she was choosing invisibility.
“Blue.”
Lucy frowned.
“Navy is blue.”
“Boring blue.”
Emily bought navy anyway.
Returning to nursing required more than restored license.
Continuing education.
Competency modules.
Background checks.
Health clearance.
References.
The licensing board had cleared her, but employers still Googled.
The internet did not vacate disciplinary headlines automatically.
Some stories updated.
Some did not.
Emily applied to nine positions.
Three replied.
One hospital recruiter called politely:
“We support second-chance professionals, but given litigation…”
Emily interrupted.
“It wasn’t a second chance.”
Silence.
“My findings were vacated.”
“Of course.”
“We just—”
“Thank you.”
She hung up.
Cried in bathroom.
Then applied again.
A rehabilitation clinic called.
Mesa Recovery and Mobility Center.
Patients after surgery, stroke, trauma.
Not emergency medicine.
Good.
Clinical director Dr. Nina Patel interviewed.
She had read file.
“Why do you want nursing again?”
Emily almost gave polished answer.
Helping people.
Calling.
Purpose.
Instead:
“Because I was good at it.”
Dr. Patel smiled.
“Better.”
Then:
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Also better.”
They hired part-time pending orientation.
First morning, Emily sat in car outside twenty minutes.
Hands numb.
Lucy at preschool.
Tasha had emergency pickup.
No excuses.
She walked in.
Badge:
EMILY CARTER, RN.
She stared at RN.
Two letters.
Four years.
Orientation.
Medication scanner.
EHR updates.
Policies changed.
She learned.
Then first patient.
Mr. Alvarez.
Seventy.
Post-hip replacement.
Needed pain medication.
Emily scanned.
Barcode beep.
Her hand shook opening unit dose.
He noticed.
“You new?”
“Yes.”
“Bad?”
She laughed.
“Returning.”
“Like sequel?”
“Yes.”
He grinned.
“Sequels usually worse.”
“Thank you.”
Normal.
By lunch, she breathed.
Then overhead announcement:
Medical response room 214.
Her body froze.
Not her assigned role.
She did not have to go.
Nurse nearby ran.
Emily heard another:
“Need airway kit.”
Everything inside her turned cold.
Marcus.
Dominic.
Closing throat.
She stayed still.
Dr. Patel appeared.
Saw.
“Emily.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking if fine.”
She waited.
“Do you want to respond?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then no.”
That was allowed.
Someone else handled.
Patient stabilized.
Emily cried in supply room from shame.
Dr. Patel found.
“You think nurse has to run toward every emergency?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You are rehabilitating too.”
That sentence saved day.
Weeks.
Emily gradually handled more.
No emergencies initially.
Medication safety.
Education.
Wounds.
Then one afternoon patient had allergic reaction to antibiotic.
Mild at first.
Hives.
Throat scratch.
Emily’s hands started shaking.
She said out loud:
“I need help.”
Another nurse came.
They followed protocol.
Medication.
Monitoring.
No drama.
Patient improved.
Afterward, Emily sat.
Hands shaking.
But she had done it.
Not alone.
That mattered.
She called Dominic.
Why him?
Maybe because he understood.
He answered from Chicago board meeting break.
“What happened?”
“I treated an allergic reaction.”
Silence.
“And?”
“Patient okay.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“No.”
He laughed softly.
“Progress.”
She smiled.
“Shut up.”
“Also progress.”
Their relationship had become strange.
Not romance.
Not exactly friendship.
Regular calls.
He asked about Lucy.
She asked audit.
He sent no money.
She sent him articles about medication safety.
He actually read.
Dominic’s current case moved.
Ward remained detained then released under strict conditions? Fiction. Court process.
Rourke cooperating.
Media pressure.
Vale Maritime board hired independent compliance chief.
Dominic voluntarily separated family-office relationships from vendor procurement.
Carlo furious.
Good.
Then Lucy’s cardiology appointment.
Surgery recommended in three months.
Emily sat with surgeon numbers.
Insurance.
Travel.
Out-of-pocket.
$11,400 estimated.
She had $9,200 now after legal costs, missed work.
Panic.
She considered credit card.
Loan.
Second job.
Then remembered pediatric cardiac center Dominic had mentioned.
Her cardiologist recommended too.
Chicago.
High volume.
Potential charity support.
Emily hated idea.
Tasha said:
“You’re being stupid.”
“Thank you.”
“You saved billionaire and now won’t even apply to charity because it happens to be his foundation?”
“It looks—”
“To who?”
“Me.”
“Exactly.”
Emily applied Vale Foundation through public portal.
No Dominic contact.
She disclosed conflict? Yes, she knew founder. Foundation administrator routed to independent committee because relationship with Dominic. Good.
Approved partial travel lodging.
Not surgery bill directly. Hospital financial aid + insurance.
Emily felt relief and shame.
Dominic called later.
Not because committee told? Since privacy, he shouldn't know until Emily says.
She told him.
“I applied.”
“Good.”
“You sound smug.”
“I am.”
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
Then:
“Thank you for not interfering.”
He paused.
“You’re welcome.”
That was growth too.
Then Dr. Patel offered Emily more hours.
“Are you ready?”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe.”
Emily thought.
“Yes.”
Full-time in six weeks after Lucy surgery? She chose after surgery.
Good.
One evening, Lucy asked:
“Is airplane man coming surgery?”
Emily froze.
“Why?”
“He likes you.”
“What?”
“Children at preschool know.”
Emily stared.
“How would preschool know Dominic?”
“They know when grown-ups like.”
This was terrifying.
“Dominic is my friend.”
Lucy rolled eyes.
“You talk fancy too.”
Emily laughed.
She later told Dominic.
He was silent.
Then:
“Your daughter is perceptive.”
“Do not encourage.”
“Would you like me there?”
He asked.
Not assuming.
Emily thought.
Surgery day.
Parents absent—Ruth gone. Tasha could come.
Dominic’s presence complicated.
But she wanted.
That surprised.
“Yes.”
“Not in operating areas.”
“Obviously.”
“Not paying.”
“I know.”
“No security circus.”
He sighed.
“Difficult.”
“Dominic.”
“Fine.”
Lucy’s surgery scheduled.
The night before, Emily could not sleep.
She packed rabbit.
Cardiology records.
Pajamas.
Then found Ruth’s card.
You knew what you saw.
She whispered:
“I’m trying.”
Morning, Lucy wore hospital gown.
Rabbit tucked.
Dominic arrived downstairs alone except driver.
He brought no giant toy.
Just stickers.
Lucy lit.
“Airplane man!”
He closed eyes.
“Dominic.”
She laughed.
Surgery lasted four hours.
Emily paced.
Dominic sat.
Tasha drank coffee.
No one said false reassurance.
At hour three, surgeon’s assistant came out.
Emily’s heart stopped.
“Everything is proceeding as expected.”
She nearly collapsed from relief.
Dominic stood but did not touch.
Wait.
When surgery ended, surgeon said repair successful.
Lucy stable.
ICU observation.
Emily cried.
Dominic turned away briefly.
He was crying too.
Later, Emily found him near coffee shop.
“What are you still doing?”
He held terrible coffee.
“I was waiting.”
“You could leave.”
“I know.”
Then:
“You stayed with me at thirty-one thousand feet.”
“You were unconscious.”
“Mostly.”
She laughed.
He looked.
“Can I hug you?”
That question.
Emily nodded.
“Yes.”
The hug lasted five seconds.
Maybe six.
Long enough for something inside her to notice him as a man instead of case.
She stepped back.
Dominic did too.
No exploitation.
Good.
Lucy woke later.
Whispered:
“Bunny?”
Emily handed.
Then:
“Airplane?”
“Downstairs.”
Lucy’s eyes closed.
“Tell him stickers bad.”
Emily laughed.
Dominic received review by text:
STICKERS BAD.
He replied:
THIS RELATIONSHIP MAY NOT SURVIVE.
Emily stared.
Relationship.
He probably meant Lucy.
May you like
Probably.
Her heart disagreed.
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