She checked that her front door was locked, then rounded to the back of her SUV to stow her bag. “Hey,” she called, lifting a hand to greet her friends. “The moon is so full, it’s going to make things a little easier,” Sommer observed, “even with the usual mountain mist.”
Abbie tipped her head back, looking at the wisps of clouds that created lace over the light. When she tipped back down, her focus traveled over to the graveyard. “Hey, I looked things up for you. I was right about the salt across the threshold.” She turned back to Sommer. “And there’s a thing about putting a coin inyour hand and sprinkling cinnamon. I wrote it all down for next time.”
“Thanks.”
Marna chucked her bag in the back hatch then tugged the keys from Sommer’s hand. “You’re resting. I’m driving.”
“Fine by me.” Sommer pulled the hatch down and moved to the back passenger seat so she could put her legs up. Laced up in her boots, her feet throbbed from being up and moving for so long. She’d take the boots off once they started driving.
The three were quiet as they drove out of the neighborhood, down the road, then up the ramp onto the highway.
At this hour, it was mostly populated with long-haul truckers heading west.
Abbie turned toward Marna. “You were both at work. How’d that go for you? Should I be the one driving?”
“I worked last night,” Marna said. “But full moons seem to last for three nights in a row.” Marna glanced around, then switched lanes. “Okay, I’m not talking about a specific patient that might have come in last night,” Marna said, turning down the radio. “But I did use a new technique that isn’t what you might call textbook, though it worked well enough on a night when we were slammed.”
“Full moons are the worst for unusual patients and the best for ingenuity,” Sommer said, balling up her jacket to use as a pillow.
“Your hospital was busy tonight, too?” Marna asked.
“I was only there until ten, but it was a madhouse.” Sommer shifted around until she found a comfortable position with the jacket wadded between her neck and the window. “Tell me about your new technique.”
Marna glanced at Sommer in the rearview mirror. “Imagine a widow of a certain age. Said hypothetical woman wasfeeling lonely and decided she might try to pleasure herself with an oiled banana.”
“Haven’t we all had nights of quiet desperation?” Abbie asked, shifting in her seat so she was looking at Marna.
“Possibly, but I would counsel anyone attempting to indulge in a pleasure banana that they never peel it first.”
“No!” Sommer gasped.
“Hypothetically,” Marna said.
“What did the attending say?”
“All the doctors were elbow deep in people’s intestines. Surgery was backed up for hours, if not days. The waiting room was full to overflowing. I’m telling you it’s not one night of full moon, it’s three. There were no more chairs, and people were spreading their jackets on the floor, lying in fetal position. This hypothetical patient was lucky to get a room. And she only got a room because of the privacy of her situation. Hypothetically.”
“Let’s say that got called in for a preauthorization. What do you think would happen?” Abbie asked.
“I don’t know.” Sommer grimaced. “Is there a code for banana extraction?”
“That’s not what happened,” Marna said. “What happened was my hypothetical lady started to wheeze and clutch her chest. She said if I didn’t get it out, she was going to have a heart attack, so if I were actually living through this scenario, I would corner a doctor and come up with a plan.”
Did Sommer want to ask? Yes, yes, she did. “And the plan was?”
“To put her heels in stirrups—”
“Nope,” Abbie said with both hands waving through the air, “Stop. I don’t want to hear. I hate being friends with one nurse, but somehow, I’m friends with three.”
“Put your fingers in your ears. Sommer might need this someday.” Marna slowed as the traffic in front of her braked.“Heels in stirrups, use a rubber-coated baby food spoon. Work in small bits.”
Sommer was imagining her friend hard at work from the foot of the bed. And it was unusual, sure, but Sommer had done worse. There was the homeless guy who came in falling-down drunk with a leg covered in maggots. It had been her job to get him all cleaned up. And that had taken some spine-stiffening self-talk to get herself through.
In the end, the maggots were a blessing because they’d debrided his wounds, which were clean as a whistle. At first, from the smell, she was sure he had a case of gangrene, and he’d lose his leg. Surprise, surprise, he didn’t need surgery at all, just fresh bandaging and a round of antibiotics.
“Under the circumstances,” Marna said, “with the night going the way it was, that was the least problematic of our cases, just not something I’d learned in nursing school.”
“That’s unimaginable.” Abbie crossed her arms over her eyes. “I shan’t imagine it. I shall close my eyes and scrub that image from my cranium.”
