A Gift to Remember (7 page)

Given that the guy was out walking his dog, and wasn’t wearing a suit or carrying a briefcase, it seemed unlikely that he was on his way to work. Much more likely that he lived close by
this part of town, perhaps the Upper West or East Side? But there was little point pondering such things; Darcy realised she had no clue about anything to do with Aidan Harris, other than that he
liked dogs and had good taste in clothes (and, it seemed, gifts).

She reached for the bag again and carefully removed the heavy gift box. The box had such an expensive, luxurious feel to it; so tactile and firm to the touch with faint wired embossing. The bow
was equally exquisite, a rich red, almost maroon in colour. Darcy wondered for whom the gift was intended. Had Aidan Harris been out on an important errand when she’d crashed into him,
diverting his plans, and quite possibly his life?

She swallowed hard, tears in her eyes. It just didn’t bear thinking about. What if she’d caused serious, maybe even permanent damage? If so, she didn’t think she’d be
able to live with herself and was trying her utmost to banish the thought when just then she heard her phone ring. She stared at the handset for a moment, almost afraid to find out what news her
workmate might have for her.

‘Joshua . . . hi,’ she greeted, her voice watery.

‘Well, it turns out that I was right, which as you know is a regular occurrence . . .’ Darcy waited impatiently for him to finish his typical long drawn-out introductory spiel,
before eventually getting to the point. ‘So it seems your victim,’ Darcy winced afresh at his choice of words, ‘has indeed been taken to Roosevelt ER.’

‘Your friend actually confirmed that the man I hit is there?’

‘Well, of course not. It would be more than his job’s worth to give out confidential information like
that
, but after some cajoling, I did coax it out of him that a
pedestrian injured on Sixth and Fifty-Ninth Street had been brought into the ER this morning. So unless Bergdorf are doing the kind of special that would cause pile-ups round there . . .’

‘That’s wonderful to know, Joshua, thank you,’ Darcy said. ‘I don’t suppose your friend happened to let slip anything about the guy’s condition? If he was
still unconscious or . . .?’ She inhaled deeply, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

‘Sadly, my legendary powers of persuasion aren’t
that
good,’ he intoned. ‘Patient confidentiality and all that.’

‘I see.’ Joshua went on to give her a detailed and sobering run-down on the ins and outs of patient privacy rules before assuring Darcy again that she shouldn’t worry about
things at the store and that he was very capably holding the fort.

‘Thank you, I owe you one,’ she said, hanging up, but the phone call had given her little comfort other than confirmation of her ‘victim’s’ current location. Darcy
shuddered and tried to look on the bright side. The hospital wasn’t too far away, at least – a plus, seeing as she would have to walk there, though in truth she wasn’t sure she
could face getting back on the bike just yet in any case. The warmth of the café had dried off the worst of the dampness on her trouser legs, and the sugar hit had helped stave off the worst
of the shock, so she guessed she should be good to go.

Bailey’s lead in hand, and wheeling her bike at her side, Darcy slowly made her way along the snow-filled streets to Roosevelt ER.

She thought again about the privacy issues Joshua had just outlined. Given that she wasn’t a family member, it was a long shot that she would find out anything about Aidan Harris’s
condition, she thought, locking up her bike outside the hospital. But surely if she explained the situation – that she too had been involved in the accident, they would at least let her know
if he was or wasn’t seriously injured, wouldn’t they? Darcy certainly hoped so, but first things first.

She rubbed Bailey behind the ears. ‘Time to let your master know where you are, buddy.’

Taking a deep breath, she approached the double doors of the Emergency Room, only to be immediately blocked by a security guard. ‘Excuse me, miss. You can’t take that dog
inside.’

Damn.

‘I understand, but he’s not my dog – he belongs to a patient here.’ Darcy launched into a full account of the accident and how she needed to reunite Bailey with his
owner.

‘I’m sorry but I can’t allow it – no matter the circumstances. Dogs are not allowed in the hospital.’

Darcy exhaled deeply. She guessed she should have expected this, but she had been so focused on bringing Bailey back to Aidan Harris that she hadn’t really thought much more beyond that.
‘But what am I supposed to do?’

‘You can tie him up over there beside the bikes, if you like. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him for you.’

Darcy had actually been referring to more longterm issues, but this option would have to suffice for the moment. At the very least, she would be able to get the hospital to pass on the
information to Mr Harris that his dog was safe. She just hoped he was in a fit enough state to receive the message, she thought, biting her lip to stem a fresh flow of tears.

‘OK, thank you.’ She duly walked Bailey towards the nearby bike-stand and looped his lead through the metal. ‘Sorry, boy,’ she said, ruffling him behind the ears, but the
Husky seemed to understand and simply sat down alongside Darcy’s bike, as if he’d been doing the same for years. ‘I’m just going to see if I can get you back to your owner,
OK?’

The dog just stared back and settled in for a wait. He was so well behaved, she noted, recalling how easy it had been to negotiate the streets with him and her bike. Clearly well-trained, he
wasn’t in the least bit skittish and Darcy instinctively knew this one was no brainless mutt.

Going through the double sliding doors, she headed straight for ER Reception, all the while noticing little seasonal touches inside, like the small tree blinking in the corner, and a white tree
skirt covered with gaily wrapped packages that Darcy guessed were just empty boxes. Coloured lights blinked on and off, and cheesy Christmas carols played from a speaker somewhere. Currently
someone with a lisp was singing about his ‘two front teeth’.

Emergency Rooms were possibly the last places anyone wanted to be in at this time of year, but at least the staff were making an effort.

A sudden image of the airless grey hospital waiting room in which she and Katherine had spent tortuous hours waiting for news of her parents after the crash wormed its way into Darcy’s
brain and she tried her best to shrug off the unwelcome memory and concentrate on the task in hand.

Approaching Reception, Darcy swallowed the lump in her throat. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know the condition of the man she’d upended earlier.
What if his injuries were critical?

She cleared her throat and tried to project a casual air to her voice. ‘Excuse me, hi,’ she began, smiling at the receptionist who looked at her coolly. ‘I’m here about a
patient, Aidan Harris. I believe he was brought in this morning, about an hour ago?’ She wished to give the impression that she was family or a close friend, in the hope that the woman might
inadvertently reveal some information about his condition.

The woman typed a couple of commands into the PC in front of her. ‘Harris, you say? And you are?’

But try as she might, when it came down to it, Darcy couldn’t pretend. In fact, she was a terrible liar and shared that much with Aunt Katherine in her ability to speak the truth, albeit
in a decidedly softer manner.

‘I’m the reason he’s here,’ she blurted out. And then, much to her embarrassment she burst into tears, all her fears and worries since the accident suddenly overwhelming
her. ‘I collided with him this morning on my bike. The light was green, honestly, and he just came out of nowhere, I swear, and . . .’ She sniffed tearfully. ‘I’m sorry, but
he was unconscious when the ambulance took him away, and I’ve been going out of my mind with worry over what might have happened to him. Is he all right?’ she pleaded with the
receptionist. ‘I know you’re not supposed to give out personal information, I get that, but can you at least tell me if he’s OK? For all I know, I might have killed him. And I
have his dog . . . he was out walking him at the time, and I want Mr Harris to know that Bailey is fine, and that I’m taking good care of him.’

The receptionist had kind eyes that looked at her sympathetically. She seemed taken aback by Darcy’s distress and heartfelt desperation. ‘You’re right honey, we’re not
allowed to give out patient information,’ she said, but she picked up the phone. ‘Can you wait just a moment? Let me see if there’s something I can do.’

Darcy exhaled in relief at this, though the phone call seemed to take forever as she waited to hear some news – any kind of news – about Aidan Harris.

Eventually the receptionist hung up and turned to her. ‘Like I said, I’m not allowed to give out patient information.’ She took a deep breath. ‘So let’s put it this
way: nobody brought in this morning to this ER with reported head injuries has suffered any serious trauma,’ she added meaningfully, her gaze locked on Darcy’s, ‘and all are now
stable,’ she finished.

Darcy wanted to cry with relief. The woman was, in her own way, letting Darcy know that he was not in danger.

‘Oh, thank God!’

‘However, stable doesn’t necessarily mean one hundred per cent OK either,’ she cautioned. ‘Often victims of TBI – traumatic brain injury – become
disorientated.’ The receptionist eyed her. ‘Like I said, I can’t give out specific patient medical information – even to a family member – without patient consent.
Unfortunately, not all of our patients are in a state of mind to provide that consent.’

This time, Darcy was having trouble following what she was trying to say. So Aidan Harris’s condition was stable, but he was disorientated, so not quite out of the woods? Still she guessed
that she’d learned just about as much as she could at that point.

‘Thank you, and yes, I completely appreciate your position,’ she said, playing along. ‘Just something else in general. If there are items – pets, for example – left
behind at the scene of an accident, how does the hospital usually reunite them with patients?’

‘I’d imagine the care of such animals would be given over to family members or next of kin.’

‘So there’s no chance of my giving the dog back to Mr—’

‘No chance whatsoever.’ The receptionist’s tone was firm but kind. ‘Animals are not allowed in hospitals, sweetie.’

‘OK.’ Darcy thought hard. ‘Well then, is it possible to leave a message letting the patient in question or their families know that the dog is in safe hands, and is ready to be
returned to them as soon as possible?’ She guessed Aidan’s family would have been contacted by now and would surely be worried about Bailey and anxious to get him back. ‘May I
leave you my number and they can call me? And Mr Harris too – I’m sure he’ll be anxious to find Bailey as soon as he’s back on his feet. I mean . . .’ She trailed off,
kicking herself at her unfortunate choice of words.

‘Sure, I’ll arrange to have the information passed on,’ the woman replied, but Darcy could tell she was becoming anxious about the line of people beginning to form behind
her.

‘Thank you, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your kindness,’ Darcy said, writing down her mobile phone number on a piece of paper.

‘You’re welcome,’ said the receptionist. ‘Have a great day and happy holidays.’

‘Same to you.’ Darcy smiled, buoyed by the news that her victim seemed to be recovering, and Bailey would be back with his family in no time. It felt as if a huge weight had been
lifted off her shoulders, to know that she hadn’t caused any lasting damage.

Her day was finally starting to look up. Aidan Harris would be a chance encounter, a quirky story to tell now and then over drinks, a cautionary lesson before life returned to normal once
again.

Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read
.
Groucho Marx

As Darcy exited the hospital, going through the double sliding doors again, the winter chill cut through her jubilant mood and brought her back to reality. What exactly, she
wondered, was she supposed to do with Bailey in the meantime until his family called to take him back?

She was exhausted by now, and all she wanted to do was go home, take a bath, curl up with a book and try to put the morning’s dramas behind her. But she could hardly drag both Bailey and
the bike all the way downtown, not when her legs were just about ready to collapse from under her.

He was much too big for public transportation and in any case would need to be in a carrier for the bus or the subway. What she was supposed to do?

There was only one thing for it: she’d try to nab a cab driver who’d be willing to take a dog Bailey’s size, and hope for the best. She wasn’t permitted to keep pets in
her building, but she figured it would be easy enough to sneak him in for just a couple of hours.

‘Good news, Bailey; it looks like Aidan is OK,’ she said, untangling his leash and her bike from where they waited outside. Bailey looked up sharply, and she realised it was the
first time she’d mentioned his owner’s name in the dog’s presence. ‘You can go home soon.’

At the mention of the word ‘home’, Bailey’s ears perked up even more, and a small whine emitted from the back of his throat. Darcy frowned as a feeling of sadness crept up on
her. Never mind her own concerns, the dog must be really confused about what was happening and why his owner had seemingly abandoned him for some weird stranger.

‘I know, buddy, I’m sure you do want to go home.’ She put a hand behind Bailey’s silky ears and rubbed them. ‘But for the moment, my place is going to have to do,
OK? So let’s go and find a cab,’ she continued, resigned to the fact that this might take a while. Her plan was to try and get one on Fifty-Seventh Street going in the right direction.
Wheeling the bike alongside them, she and Bailey reached the intersection at Eighth Avenue, two blocks down from where the incident had occurred just hours before. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Checking her watch – a treasured gift from Joshua with the Dr Seuss quote,
How did it get so late so soon?
inscribed across the face – Darcy noted that it was now past
lunchtime. Small wonder she was feeling tired.