Page 59 of Peppermint Bark

Antsy to escape my office, I headed to the pediatric nurses’ station, scanned through the list of admitted patients, and frowned at the name of a familiar patient spending her favorite holiday in the hospital.

Ruby was curled up in bed, a delicate pallor to her skin and an IV connecting her to a saline drip. Her heart monitor pulsed.

Her grandma Jean was crocheting quietly in the chair. I could tell the stress of grieving her daughter Sarah during the holidays was taking a toll, plus caring for a high-energy preschooler with a rare heart condition. After multiple heart surgeries most of her symptoms were mild, but she still had occasional lapses.

I washed my hands and whispered to Jean, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jean whispered, casting on more yarn. “Wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Medical care doesn’t stop for the holidays,” I shrugged.

“I thought you’d be with the guy who played Santa, your … boyfriend?”

My face flushed. “Not my boyfriend.”

“You sure?” she grinned. “From how he looked at you, I figured —”

“Only friends. I’d met him three days before that,” I said, trying not to blur the lines between personal and professional. Her expression was skeptical.

I gestured to Ruby. “What happened?”

“Tet spell,” she said, lips tight. “Dizzy, blue tinge, too tired to eat.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked, leaning against the counter. Over the years, I’d been with Ruby and Sarah through many hospitalizations. The doctors managed the treatment, but I could have helped Jean navigate the process.

Plus I wanted to make sure she was ok.

Jean didn't look up from her yarn. “It was Christmas Eve, and I … maybe I overreacted.”

I looked again at Ruby’s peaceful sleeping face and slightly blue lips, then squeezed Jean’s shoulder and told her what she needed. “Sarah would have brought her in too. How are you?”

“Good,” she said with a lip wobble. “Things are good.”

On the bed, Ruby stirred. Her eyes blinked open and when she recognized me, they lit up. I wasn’t supposed to have favorite patients, but I couldn’t help it. Most of my patients were quick intakes and releases, but I developed a special bond with the kids with chronic conditions. A bittersweet bond, because it meant they spent a lot of time here.

“Merry Christmas, Grace!” she said with a stretch overhead, IV pulling taut.

“Merry Christmas,” I said, perching on her bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” she said groggily, which was a good sign. When I offered to check in with the nurses about food, she nodded and asked, “Did Santa visit your house?”

My mind flashed to the man who’d arrived late last night. “He did.”

Ruby’s brows furrowed with worry. “Does Santa know I’m here, or did he go to our house?”

I had no idea whether to tell her that he’d dropped off her gifts or not. Jean looked as uncertain as I felt … then I had an idea.

I lifted a brow to ask Jean permission to improvise, and she nodded.

“Want me to call him?” I asked, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket.

Ruby’s eyes widened, round as a wreath. “You have Santa’s phone number?”

“Of course, I set up the community room visit,” I said casually.

Her brows scrunched, bracing for disappointment. “Won’t he be tired?”

“He might be, he worked late last night. But I can tell him you’re here, ok?”

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