Jack had spent a couple of hours at the hotel, talking with those who remained and offering his own personal support to make sure the employees were taken care of. He made notes, and shook hands… and let more than one woman cry on his shoulder.
Trent stood by, watched.
While Jack walked through the hospital, Trent worked his way to where Monica had been when she was at this location. He was pleased to see a few familiar faces from their flights over, assuring him that the relief staff hadn’t yet started their exit from the island.
Trent heard his name through the throngs of people.
He searched for the source of his name and found Kiki lying on a bed.
His heart flipped. “Kiki?”
She reached her hand toward him. Her ever-present smile on her lips. “Trent, my friend.”
He moved to her side, and swept her frame with his eyes, and clasped her hand. “Kiki, my God, are you all right?”
“I’m better.”
Trent hadn’t seen Reynard in days. “Does Reynard know you’re here?”
She nodded. “He found me yesterday.” She lifted a hand to her head. “Out cold I was. The American doctor said I’ll be fine.”
Her left leg was in a splint and she appeared in a bit of a daze. “Reynard told me you were tough,” he said with a wink.
“You flirt.”
“I try.” He made her smile. “Where’s your husband now?”
Her brow pinched together. “The last of the house fell yesterday. He’s looking for shelter. The kids are too many for my mother.”
Trent knew their home was small, and could only imagine Kiki’s mother’s house held less space.
“Perfect,” he said with a smile. He knew he had to play this right or Reynard’s pride would keep him from saying yes.
“What?”
“I need someone to stay in my home when I leave. You, Reynard, and the kids can stay there. Keep an eye on it for me.”
Kiki angled her head, as much as she could while lying flat on a bed. “Trenton! That is not—”
He placed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “My brothers need me back home. I’ll be back… eventually. If I leave it without someone inside the jungle will take it back.”
Kiki shook her head, but her eyes softened as if a heavy weight had been lifted.
“When will you leave?”
“When I’m no longer needed here. One, two weeks at the most.”
Saying this aloud made it real. He had been hiding from life and it was past time to start living it again.
“You tell your husband to take you there when you get out of here. You don’t want the kids to get sick.” Trent knew how to push a mother’s buttons. “I’m home only to sleep right now.”
He stood ready to make his exit.
Kiki held his hand, tears swam in her eyes. “Your mother would be proud.”
Yeah… she would have been.
Trent found Jack waiting outside. “Did you find who you were looking for?”
Jack shook his head. “I was told she’s at the other hospital.”
“Let’s go then.”
“What?” Monica took a call from Deb, who was still in California and taking a break from her day job.
“Pat’s on a warpath. Said you didn’t clear your schedule before you left and that it was your responsibility.”
Monica’s jaw ached from grinding her teeth. “I had the shifts covered.”
“Someone called in sick.”
“How the hell was I going to fix that? Staffing said they’d take care of any issues.”
“That’s not how Pat’s spinning it. We’ve had two short shifts when you were supposed to be on.”
“Ah, f**k.” Losing her job was not supposed to be part of a relief effort.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Word has it that one of the patients there died because of a nursing mistake.”
“Here?” Monica’s insides started to boil.
Deb went on to tell her about a reporter somewhere on the island that was following a story of a rich tourist who didn’t make it and how the family was holding the Borderless Nurses and Doctors responsible for their death.
“That’s ridiculous,” Monica told her friend. “We’re all doing our best with toothpicks and duct tape. I’m out of tape, bandages, most of the antibiotics. It’s a freaking war zone, Deb.”
“Either way, Pat’s gunning for you, and not in a good way.”
Monica couldn’t think about this now. “What the hell am I supposed to do about that now?”
“I just don’t want you to stress about getting back.”
“I’m on the schedule next week.” Monica’s stay was self-limited.
“Not anymore.”
“What?”
“Pat took you off.”
That bitch.
Her job was her independence. Her life.
“I’m sorry, Monica.”
“Not your fault. I’ll take care of it when I get back.”
“Be careful.”
Monica disconnected the call and leaned against the back of the building where she’d taken herself for privacy. A legal team worked with the doctors and nurses in the program. Walt and Donald would vouch for her, raise hell if the hospital, or Pat, fired her for being in Jamaica.
But it sucked that she even had to think about any of that here.