Page 8 of No Greater Love
"Hey, Meghan, it's Nate Crawford, Paige's dad. I'm in the ER parking lot waiting. Please call me as soon as you get this."
Paige shifted in her seat, closing her book; "The Giver" by Lois Lowry. She'd been engrossed in it all week, breaking my heart by pointing out that the main character had never seen color until after a special experience. "Dad, aren't you going to be late?"
"I've got a few minutes." The lie rolled off my tongue easily, alongside the forced smile. I'd been imbued with a rigid sense of duty—show up fifteen minutes early or don't show up at all. The military had only reinforced that. But Metro General's HR department had reinforced it even further with their new "three strikes and you're out" attendance policy.
Six thirty-five.
I scrolled frantically through my contacts. Mrs. Smith from two doors down? No, she was at her daughter's for her baby's birth. The Thompsons? On vacation in Europe. Every name blurred together as my anxiety mounted.
Six forty.
"Dad?" Paige's voice was small now.
"It's okay, Paige. We'll figure it out." My fingers flew over the phone, sending a rapid text to Mrs. Swanson on the off chance she'd returned early.
Mrs. S - Desperate situation. Are you back in town by any chance? Meghan no-showed, and I'm about to start my shift.
Six forty-three.
My stomach dropped as the reality set in. I was utterly screwed. Call in late and face a potential write-up that could jeopardize everything I'd worked for? Or bring my daughter into an ER filled with HIPAA violations waiting to happen, infectious diseases, and God knows what else?
Some choice.
Six forty-five. My official start time.
I stared at the steering wheel. Sophia would be looking for me. The night nurse would need to hand off report. Every minute I sat here was another mark against me.
Six forty-seven.
"Dad, I can stay in the car," Paige offered, looking so grown-up and serious that it broke my heart. "I've got my books. It's not even hot out."
"Absolutely not, Paige." The thought of leaving her alone in a parking lot made my skin crawl. "That's not safe, not even a little bit."
Six forty-nine.
A desperate plan formed. I'd punch in, find Sophia immediately, explain the situation, and... then what? Take the write-up? Beg for mercy?
"Okay, Paige, here's what's going to happen. We're going inside. I need to talk to my boss, Miss Sophia—you met her at the holiday party a while back—and we'll figure something out. Just... stay close to me, okay?"
She nodded solemnly, tucking her book into her cat-shaped backpack.
Six fifty-one.
We half-jogged across the parking lot, through the ambulance bay, and straight to the time clock. My badge swiped through with a merciful beep.
06:52.
Made it. Barely. But now came the hard part.
I guided Paige through the maze of corridors, hyperaware of every privacy curtain, every exposed patient chart, every potential hazard. The break room door loomed ahead, and I could hear the murmur of the day shift getting their assignments. Sophia would be there, clipboard in hand, wondering where the hell her usually punctual nurse was.
My hand on the doorknob, I looked down at Paige. "Remember, sweetheart, just?—"
"Stay close and be quiet," she finished. "I know, Dad."
Then we were in, and every eye in the room turned to us. The sudden silence was deafening. I felt Paige shift closer to my side, and my face burned with shame. Eight years as an ER nurse, and I'd never felt more unprofessional than in this moment, standing in the staff break room with my eleven-year-old daughter at my side.
Sophia's eyes found mine, surprise quickly replaced by concern. "Nathan. The charge office, please?"
