Bad Ideas (First & Forever 4)

I muttered, “Huh?”

“Okay, so, I was eavesdropping, and it suddenly occurred to me that you’re having this big breakthrough, just like Michael Caine,” Lark explained.

Eden whispered, “Michael Caine?”

Seth leaned in and told his boyfriend, “He played Scrooge in The Muppet Christmas Carol.”

Lark was still on a roll. “Don’t you see? You’ve finally realized the error of your ways, Casey, and Eden and Seth are like, Kermit and Tiny Tim, or whatever. But instead of the ghost of Christmas past, you’ve been changed by the boyfriend of Christmas present, and it’s made your heart grow three sizes!”

Seth pointed out, “I think that last part’s actually from the Grinch.”

I chuckled and said, “Just go with it.”

That afternoon, I parked my tree-mobile on the south side of the hospital and turned on the lights. Then I went inside and changed into my scrubs.

I was an hour early, so I headed straight to Oscar’s room. He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which were underscored with dark circles.

Nothing had changed with his mom, and the worry was wearing him down. The one positive was that Theo had pulled some strings to keep Oscar close to her, instead of letting him get shipped off to a care facility for the rest of his recovery. This was the best place for the boy until she woke up, no question, but I wasn’t sure how much longer Theo could stall the transfer.

After I helped Oscar into a wheelchair and tucked him in with two blankets, I brought him over to the window so he could take a look at the car. I’d told him all about it and it had put a smile on his face, so I’d thought he might enjoy seeing it for himself.

“I love it,” the boy said. “It’s like a one-man Christmas parade.”

Darice came in to change Oscar’s linens while he was out of bed, and she told me, “I don’t see why you haven’t sawed that tree off yet.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do that.”

“You get that’s what Christmas trees are, right? One of those, chopped down and brought inside?”

“That tree was meant to live on beyond Christmas,” I told her. “As soon as I’m not working seven days a week, I’ll figure it out.”

“Suit yourself,” she muttered.

I took over making the bed, and after Darice left Oscar and I chatted for a while as he sat looking out the window. Then I asked, “Do you feel like doing a lap?”

“I guess.”

After I helped the boy into the warm, blue bathrobe Theo had bought him, I checked the supports that held his legs in their casts straight out. Then I tucked a blanket around him again and we left the room.

We did a slow circuit around the pediatrics floor, stopping to talk to a few people along the way. When we reached Alma Dobrevski’s room, the girl waved and signaled us to come in. The two kids had struck up a friendship in the last few days.

I steered Oscar into the room and grinned as they smiled shyly at each other. “I’m glad I saw you,” Alma said. “I get to go home tomorrow, so I want to give you both your Christmas presents. Casey, could you please get them for me?”

There were several brightly colored gift bags lined up along her windowsill, and I found the two labeled “Oscar” and “Casey.” I noticed there was one labeled “Dr. K” as well. Oscar went first. When he unpacked a knit scarf in shades of blue and green, he exclaimed, “Thank you! I love it.”

The girl blushed a little as she said, “I made it myself. There’s also a card at the bottom of the bag with my email address. Do you think you might want to keep in touch after I go home?”

Oscar turned red too and nodded. He draped the scarf around his neck with his one good hand and asked her, “How do I look?”

The twelve-year-old’s blush spread all the way to her dark pigtails as she murmured, “You look really handsome.” Probably as a distraction, Alma turned to me and blurted, “Open your present, Casey.”

I pulled a lopsided, rainbow-striped scarf from the gift bag and exclaimed, “I love it, Alma, it’s beautiful! Thank you so much.” I draped it around my neck and opened the handmade card, then heaped it with praise, too.

“I thought you might like those colors since you wear that rainbow unicorn on your name tag,” she said.

“It’s absolutely perfect. I’m going to put it in my locker so no one barfs on it while I’m at work, but I’ll wear it with pride for years to come, and I’ll always think of you, Alma.”

Oscar chuckled and muttered, “Barf, gross.”

The kids chatted for a few more minutes, and once we were back out in the hall I told Oscar, “I think she likes you.”