The Coroner, page 2
“He’s going into ventricular tachycardia.”
“Heart rate?”
“One fifty … one fifty-five …,” he replied.
“That’s rising too fast.”
“One sixty …”
“Prep for defib!” Emily deftly removed the scope in a single sweeping movement. Its thin, long wand reappeared from the patient’s abdomen into Jan’s hand. Another nurse shoved the defibrillation paddles into the anesthesiologist’s hands.
“Everyone back. Counting. One. Two. Three.”
Emily took a step back as the paddles jolted the patient. But the current didn’t work. The patient’s heart rate raced on.
“Once more! In three, two, one!” she shouted, and the team watched anxiously as the paddles activated their voltage across the patient’s chest. The second shock worked. The patient’s heart responded, and the heart monitor dove back into a normal rhythm.
“Heart rate normal. All clear,” said the anesthesiologist.
“Nice work. Let’s get back on track. I’m going back in. Scope.” Jan handed her the freshly sterilized instrument, and Emily immediately slipped the wand back into the belly of the patient. She came at a different angle this time.
“Where are you going with that thing?” Jan asked.
Emily’s intense eyes darted to the monitor. She carefully worked the wand into a new position.
“I think I’ve got it … yup, it’s right … there. Yes. Recto-cecum. It’s hiding behind the colon.”
“How on earth did you know to look there?” asked the anesthesiologist.
“I need a smaller scalpel and suction.” Jan was on it.
Emily leaned in and performed the tiny laceration, removing the offending tissue.
“Got it.”
“Beautiful,” said Jan.
“Now, let’s get this guy stitched up and ready for recovery.”
The team gave her a quick round of applause.
Emily left the operating room and went to scrub out. Jan followed her. The anesthesiologist and a couple of other nurses entered behind them.
“Doctor, come on—how did you know what to do?” asked the anesthesiologist again.
“I’ve never seen anything like that, and I’ve been a nurse for twenty years,” said another attending nurse.
“A pretty impressive way to start off your birthday,” said Jan.
“Hey. You don’t have to tell everyone.”
They finished scrubbing out and filed into the clerical station outside the OR. A nurse popped up from behind the desk, and the anesthesiologist raised his voice in a rousing first line of “Happy Birthday to You!” The whole team joined in by the second “Happy Birthday,” belting out a discordant melody from muffled face masks. As if on cue, Dr. Claiborne entered, holding a small round cake flaming with candles.
“Happy birthday, Emily. You definitely earned this today,” he said.
Emily shook her head, but her eyes expressed just how much she really loved it … and her team.
Dr. Claiborne held the cake in front of Emily. The candles were making their final descent into the frosting. “That move you just made in the OR requires some explanation.”
“I saw the same thing once during an autopsy of a forty-six-year-old male who died from a burst appendix. They couldn’t find it and get it out in time. He left behind a wife and three kids.”
“Well, I’m very impressed, but not at all surprised, Dr. Hartford. Well done,” he said. “Make a wish.”
Emily closed her eyes. But the only thing she could think to wish, she knew, would never come true. A thousand candles all blown out at once would never help her reconcile with the pain she’d run from in Freeport twelve years ago.
Instead, she wished that Brandon would do something spectacular for her birthday. It was a safe wish. One she could bet on.
Eyes still closed, Emily drew in a breath and extinguished the candles in an exaggerated exhalation. The crowd around her broke into applause, and when she opened her eyes, all the candles were smoking.
3
Fifteen years earlier, on Emily’s thirteenth birthday, thirteen smoking candles wafted up from her birthday cake toward the chandelier hanging over the Hartfords’ formal dining room table. Hartford family birthdays were special occasions and were always celebrated with china and cloth napkins, a tradition Mary Hartford started when she and Robert were first married.
“So … what did you wish for?” said Mary, Emily’s mother. Mary and Robert had declared that thirteen was a significant milestone birthday in the Hartford home, and Emily would be granted a special birthday wish. Anything she wanted. Within reason. Emily was usually very low-key and easy to please. She liked simple, practical things and rarely asked for much. She had decided on her birthday wish months ago, and she had been dropping hints to her parents: maybe she wanted a bike … or a Caribbean cruise … or a shopping spree to the outlets, like her best friend had gotten. Secretly, none of it was true. Emily wanted something much closer to home.
She was about to answer her mother when the landline rang from the kitchen. Mary looked up at Emily as she dumped a large scoop of ice cream in a bowl, next to a piece of cake.
“Are you expecting a call from one of your friends?” said Mary as the phone rang a second time.
“No, everyone wished me a happy birthday at school.”
“Could it be your mother?” Robert asked Mary.
“Grandma called me after school,” said Emily, and the phone rang a third time.
“Then, that can only mean one thing,” said Mary turning to Robert. “Never fails.”
“I think my wish just came true,” Emily said under her breath.
“What? What do you mean?” said Mary.
Robert rose on the fourth ring and rushed into the kitchen to grab the phone before the answering machine picked up the call.
“Dr. Hartford speaking,” said Robert. Emily had one ear to the kitchen as Mary placed a bowl in front of her.
“I just hope he can stay long enough to finish your birthday dinner. You only turn thirteen once,” said Mary.
Emily only heard this kind of frustration in her mother’s tone when death interrupted family celebrations or holidays. And it always did. Without fail.
From the kitchen, Emily heard her father ask his usual round of questions: “What’s the address? Uh-huh. Is that across from the Strong’s farm? Yeah. Dangerous corner there. Third accident this year. Okay. Are the police there? Okay. Have they cordoned off the area? I see. Okay. Give me twenty minutes.”
When Robert returned to the table, a plate of cake and ice cream waited at his place, but he didn’t sit. “I’m so sorry. I can’t stay. Mary can you wrap this up for me, please, and throw it in the freezer. You guys don’t wait for me.” He slid the plate to her, and she took it back. Emily hated that all-too-familiar disappointment that sucked celebration out of the room.
“What happened?” said Mary.
“Single-car fatality. Two victims.”
“Anyone we know?” asked Mary.
“I don’t have names yet.”
“Meaning, you won’t say.”
“You know I can’t.”
“Was it someone from school?” said Emily.
“Why do you always assume it’s someone from school?” said Mary.
“I’m just curious,” said Emily.
“Morbidly so, I’m afraid,” said Mary.
“Look how you’re raising me. Can you blame a girl?” Emily said, and Mary gave her a small smile.
“I don’t think it’s anyone from your school.” Robert said.
The vague nugget was enough to give Emily a silent sigh of relief. She was grateful that this call had not been one of the harder cases her father commonly investigated, like a suicide, house fire, or—worse—homicide. She wasn’t sure she was ready to attend one of those just yet. From how her father had described those types of deaths, she knew she would definitely have to develop a stronger stomach first.
“We’ll do this later. I promise, but right now there’s a whole team of responders out there waiting. Not to mention the victims’ families, who are probably wondering why their kids aren’t home yet.”
“Oh, Robert, it’s a couple of high schoolers?”
Robert nodded. “It’s gonna be a long night.”
Emily eyed him. Now was the time. She needed to speak up.
“Aren’t you guys wondering what I wished for?”
“Oh yes, we’re brimming with eagerness to see how much you’re gonna set us back,” joked Robert.
“Dad!”
“I’m all ears if you can follow me to the office,” said Dad.
“Can it wait until tomorrow, Em?” said Mary as she and Emily trailed him to the office on the other side of the house.
“No, it can’t. It has to be now. Tonight.”
“Wow, Em, you’re not giving us a whole lot of warning here,” Robert said, grabbing his camera equipment and a couple of new body bags from a box on the bookshelf where he stored them.
“What I’m asking doesn’t involve any planning.”
“Maybe not, but we still need time to make it special for you,” Mary added.
“You can’t.”
“We can try.”
“No, I mean, it’s nothing you need to spend money on.”
“I like the sound of that,” said Robert with a wink.
“Your father has to get going.” Mary said.
“I know. And I want to go with him,” Emily said, eliciting a startled reaction from both parents. Robert looked to Mary.
“On a case?”
“Yes, I want to see what Dad does. And … and I want to attend the autopsy.”
“Can she do that? Legally, I mean?” asked Mary.
“We’re not dealing with a crime scene here, so as long as she doesn’t get in the way, I don’t see why not,” said Robert.
“It’s different than looking at the pictures you sometimes see on Dad’s desk,” said Mary, drawing a concerned look.
“I know. But Dad’s always saying how it’s the best way to learn anatomy. Which I’m gonna need to know if I’m going to be a doctor.”
“She makes a good point,” said Robert.
“These are real people. Young people. Not much older than you. How are you going to handle seeing them on that table cut up?”
“I … I … I’ll try to think of it like the baby pigs we dissected in science.”
“Except smellier,” Robert joked. “And if at anytime during this you don’t feel good or it’s upsetting you, you can leave. Just step out. Okay, honey?”
“Okay. But I’ll be fine. I’ve thought about this,” said Emily. “Mom? Can I?”
“It’s not as surprising, I guess. Having grown up around all this,” Mary said after considering it for a moment. “I’m okay with this as long as your father is. He’s the one who has to watch you.”
“Probably best you stay in the car while we’re examining the scene,” said Robert.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Mary asked her brow still furrowed in worry.
“Completely,” answered Emily.
“Okay. Wish granted,” said Mary, planting a kiss on Emily’s forehead.
And with that, Robert handed her two wrapped body bags. Emily was about to embark on her first death investigation case.
4
After surgery, Emily freshened up at her locker. She changed into jeans and heels, a welcome relief from dirty scrubs. As she pulled out her bun and brushed her long hair, she heard someone approaching behind her.
A sexy voice crooned, “I know what you’re thinking in that beautiful, blonde head of yours, Emily Hartford. You’re saying to yourself, ‘It’s lunchtime and I’m gonna skip the salad and go for the grilled cheese and chocolate brownie because it’s my birthday.’ ”
“I would think that even if it weren’t my birthday.”
Emily smiled and turned to see Dr. Brandon Taylor, four years her senior, standing lean at six feet four inches in his scrubs and long black overcoat. As par for the course, he looked amazing. His wavy chestnut hair had a fingers-run-through look, and he smelled amazing, a warm, woodsy aftershave that smelled like fall lingering on his skin. She met his lips with a kiss. She wanted more, but another doctor entered, and she drew back.
“Hope you’re hungry. I need a long lunch to decompress after this morning’s surgery.”
“I wish I could, Em. But Dr. Claiborne needed me for the afternoon shift, so I’m gonna head back to the hospital. I just wanted to drop by for a few minutes to wish you happy birthday. And say congratulations. I heard about this morning’s game of hide and seek.”
“Why thank you and thank you,” she said with a playful bow. “But it was just an appendectomy.”
“Give yourself some credit. Dr. Claiborne said he had never had a resident make such an amazing appendix rescue before.”
Dr. Claiborne was also Brandon’s supervisor at a Northwestern University Hospital. Emily’s phone beeped as a text came in from Cathy Bishop. Emily shoved the phone into her purse.
“And did he also tell you he gave my chondroplasty away to Karen Connelly? I studied so hard for that,” Emily said.
“You’ll get your chance”
“I hope so. But Karen’s done, like, six now.”
“She probably needs the practice. Dr. Claiborne knows you’re competent,” said Brandon. “It’s hard to keep up with someone who’s been slicing open bodies since she was thirteen.”
“Dead bodies don’t count,” Emily replied. Her phone buzzed. She glanced into her purse and saw a voicemail coming in from Cathy.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“Not when I only have a few minutes with you.”
“Is it important?”
“It’s Cathy Bishop. From back home.”
“Okay, I remember that name. Remind me again.”
“An old family friend. She and her husband, Hugh, sorta became like second parents after my mom died. I would go over to the Bishops’ and hang out and have dinner, because Dad was always working.”
“Sounds like she was someone important to you.” Brandon said.
“She was. Yes.”
“And you stay in touch?”
“Off and on. She calls when she’s in town. We get together for dinner.”
“Sounds like she’s someone who cares about you,” Brandon said. “When are you going to introduce me to these interesting people from your past?”
“It’s just a happy birthday call,” said Emily as she dug into her locker for her coat. Cathy had been an integral part of her old life in that last painful year in Freeport that Emily had wanted to block from her life forever.
“And I haven’t really met anyone from your family,” Brandon said.
“It’s only my dad.”
“Case in point. We’ve been together two years. When are you going to explain to me the real reason I haven’t met him? Or why he hasn’t come down to visit? And why you don’t go up to visit him?”
Emily looked up at Brandon, who was smiling patiently. She knew he wasn’t accusing. He was truly curious.
“Are we really having this conversation now? It’s my birthday.”
“I just want to know you … all of you.”
“We come from really different walks of life, Brandon. My life in Freeport was boring.”
“I just wonder why you won’t let me in.”
“Does my past really matter that much to you?”
“It might help me understand more about who you are,” said Brandon smiling.
“What do you want to know?”
“Like, did you ever pull any crazy pranks on your teachers? Or who you dated in high school. Or why you keep a picture of your mother on your nightstand, but you never talk about her.”
“I never pulled any pranks on teachers because I was too scared I would get into trouble. My high school dating life consisted of one boyfriend my sophomore year. And my mom was … perfect.”
“And taken from you far too soon.”
“Exactly.”
“Why don’t you ever talk about what happened?”
“You know everything I do.”
“I doubt that, but I’ll press ‘Pause’ on this for now.” Brandon’s expression grew serious. He pulled a square box wrapped in a purple silk ribbon from his backpack. She would recognize that box anywhere. Treat of all treats.
He met her lips with a kiss and handed the box to Emily. “Happy birthday.”
“Violet’s Cupcakes.” She untied the purple silk and lifted the flaps to reveal a tan frosted cupcake inside. “Peanut butter and jelly.”
“You ordered that on our first date.”
“And you thought it was gross.”
“Still do.”
Emily brought the cupcake to her mouth.
“Emily, before you …”
She bit down, her teeth clinking on something metal in the frosting. She spit out her bite into her palm.
“Oh my gosh! There’s something in it!” Emily said. “Something hard. I almost broke a tooth.”
“Are you okay? Did you swallow it?”
Emily rubbed her tooth back and forth with her finger, trying to rub out the pain.
“What on earth was that?”
Then she looked down into her other palm. A two-karat diamond ring smeared with peanut butter frosting was staring back at her. “Oh. My.”
She glanced at Brandon, who was now down on one knee. And it hit her. This was the moment.
“Emily Hartford, I love you and I can’t imagine spending a single day without you. Will you please become my wife?”
Emily’s mouth gaped as hot and cold pulses surged through her body. She took the ring, pinched between her fingers, and instinctively started licking off the frosting. Then she noticed the panic on Brandon’s face as he watched her clean the ring.
“Emily? Emily! I’m asking if you’ll marry me,” he finally said.
The ring stuck around her tongue, Emily looked up at Brandon’s expectant smile. Brandon was effortlessly sophisticated, well traveled, and cultured in a way her family never even desired to be. Before Brandon, Emily hadn’t really lived outside university walls. She hadn’t the funds or any idea where to even start. Brandon had introduced her to exotic sashimi, taken her to comedy clubs, and surprised her with a beach vacation to Indonesia. Until that trip, Emily had never even been outside the Midwest. Dating Brandon was like staying at the Palmer House, the classiest hotel in Chicago, and diving into those soft, white, cotton sheets they refreshed every day. Brandon had showed her how to find the best life had to offer. And even though Emily didn’t always feel that she fit in to such a pampered life, Brandon made her believe she deserved it.
