And then done nothing.

"I still think you should have gotten in at Restcrest," Ellen was saying. "It would be such a wonderful place for him."

"So would Ireland," Timmie said. "I can't afford that, either."

Ellen frowned. "I mean it, honey. You know Dr. Raymond would take good care of him. He'd be so happy there."

What should she say? Timmie wondered. I'll try? "I'll try," she said. "Now, did you have a present for me?"

Ellen brightened. "How does a bus accident sound?"

Timmie looked up. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better."

"It hit two motorcycles."

"Donor cycles?" That got her to her feet. "Really?"

Ellen's smile was beatific. "We're saving them just for you, honey."

At that moment, Timmie decided that she didn't care if Ellen killed off every ex-husband in the hospital. She'd personally nominate her for lifesaver of the year.

Draping her stethoscope around her neck, Timmie stuffed her pockets with the tools of her trade and strapped on her watch. She was just turning for the hall when the door opened again.

"Timmie, there you are."

Timmie looked up and blinked, fast. Alex. No, she thought. Not now. Not when she'd been promised trauma to escape to.

"What can I do for you, Alex?" she asked, wrapping a hand around each end of her stethoscope, as if balancing herself with it. Next to her, Ellen just stood there, everything she'd said still telegraphed in her expression.

"I only have a second," he said, "but I wondered if I could have a word."

Timmie made it a point not to look at Ellen. "Sure thing. What's up?"

"Your dad," he said baldly, and Timmie noticed for the first time that he stood as stiffly as a man delivering unwanted news. "I heard what happened today," he said. "I'm really sorry, Tim."

The room seemed to close in on her. Timmie didn't question how he knew. She just didn't know what he wanted her to say about it. Or what she could do about it. "Thank you, Alex," she said because she had to. "Everything's okay, though."

Alex actually looked away for a second before speaking. "That bed he needs. I want to give it to him."

Timmie just stopped breathing. She saw Ellen's eyes go wide and couldn't bear it. "Thank you," she said, her voice unforgivably small with shame. "I really appreciate it. But I can't. I talked to one of your people..."

He was already nodding. "I know. I talked to her, too. But why did I come home if I can't help old friends? And Joe is an old friend. It'll probably take a couple of days, but somebody will call you. We can work out particulars later."

Timmie couldn't think. She saw Alex's gaze stray to the new bruising along her jaw where her dad had clipped her the night before and fought a new wave of embarrassment. "But..."

He pulled himself straight and smiled. "But nothing. I'll see you in a couple of days."

And without another word, he walked out. Timmie stood stock-still, stunned to tears, her hands still clenched tightly against her chest. Numb and shaking and trying to believe that the fairy godfather of old people had really just tapped her head with his magic wand.

"Well, for God's sake," was all she could manage on a gulped half sob that infuriated her even more.

Ellen wasn't nearly so shy about things. She gave Timmie the hug of a lifetime. "Timmie, that's wonderful!"

Safe. He'd be safe now. He'd be waited on by people he could charm, people who knew how to be patient with him. And Timmie would be able to have her daughter and her peace back again.

Jesus, she thought, fighting hard against the urge to hyperventilate herself straight into a coma. She just wasn't made for a day like today. One more emotional high or low, and she was going to just cash it in.

"Well, then," Ellen said as she held open the door. "Shouldn't we go out and play?"

The ER reverberated with pandemonium. It had been a fall hall to begin with. Word of the accident sent the staff into a frenzy. Nurses scurried back and forth, trundling loaded carts from room to room. A couple of techs were tossing IV bags and procedure trays through open doors. The radio chattered and the computer stuttered. Timmie stood for a second at the foot of the hallway and breathed in the activity like an ocean wind. Her heart rate picked up. Her headache eased, and she smiled.

Traumawoman stepped out of the phone booth.

* * *

The bus accident was only the beginning. As if rewarding Timmie for her patience, Puckett went on a rampage. Accidents, overdoses, heart attacks. One woman even gave birth in the backseat of a Geo Metro, and a ten-year-old came in wearing the three-inch pumps he'd Super-Glued to his feet. For the first time since she'd signed on, Timmie sang as she worked.

"Girl, you are havin' way too much fun tonight," Mattie accused as she delivered the chart for Timmie's latest patient, a three-hundred-pound man complaining of chest pains who was even now being maneuvered onto the cart by the tech.

Timmie flashed her friend a big grin. "Way too much."

"Oh, no... ooooh, no!"

Both Timmie and Mattie spun around at the same time, but Mattie was closer. Which meant she ended up on the floor under the patient when he went down in cardiac arrest. Timmie burst out laughing. Mattie growled and the tech tugged.

"Call a code!" Timmie yelled, gasping for breath, and added her shoulder to the job of getting the guy off Mattie. "How many times I gotta tell you, girl? You the nurse, you get to be on top."

"You really are having fun," Ellen all but accused when she skidded in to help.

Busy inserting an airway, Timmie didn't bother to deny it. "Everybody needs to know they're good at something, Ellen. And I'm very good at this."

They conducted the code on their knees, looking for all the world like worshipers at a hirsute altar. Timmie kept singing Irish rebel music, and Ellen patted the patient's mottled hands. Neither the code, the musical interlude, nor the comfort did him any good. But Dr. Chang had caught the patient at the end of her shift, and hated to give up what she'd started.

Then Ron hit the door at warp speed. "Township 105 is on the way with a crispy critter," he announced shrilly. "Will somebody get out here and talk to them?"

Everybody but Chang jumped to their feet. "Code is called at 11:01 p.m.," Timmie announced, peeling off her gloves.

When Chang didn't move, Timmie leaned down. "Principles of triage," she said quietly. "This guy isn't going anywhere but the express train to God. We need to get to the burn victim we can save. And if the ambulance is already en route, the guy's too bad to treat on scene. Let's go talk to them."

When Timmie held out her hand, Chang, a petite, wide-eyed pile driver of a doctor, shook her head. Even so, she took hold and pulled herself up.

"You asked for this," Ron accused as Timmie sprinted by.

"No," Timmie admitted with a silly grin. "I begged for this."

"I'll take the radio," Chang told Ron as she picked up the headset. "Dr. Adkins is due in for her shift. Let her do the patient... Township 105, this is Memorial, go ahead."

Timmie ran for another space suit. She collected morphine from the drug locker and fluids from the supply cart, singing all the while. She got sterile sheets and cut-down trays and intubation kits and wondered why she'd started the day in such a bad mood.