Free Power of Attorney by Bethany Maines

Sand Trap
    “It’s a good thing you were with him,” said the doctor and Nikki nodded, twisting her ridiculous plaid beret round and round between her fingers. She was wearing the full plaid knickers in an utterly un-Scottish tartan of pink and green and a matching button-up and tall pink socks.
    “If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, he might not have made it.” Nikki nodded again, knowing it was expected. “Apparently, you really know how to drive a golf cart.” Nikki stared at the doctor, hating the formless baggy shape of his scrubs and their cheerful martini glass print. “The paramedics said you did a 360 burnout and had Mr. Merrivel in the back before the ambulance had even come to a complete stop.”
    “I know how to drive,” said Nikki, deciding that if she moved quickly she could strangle him with his stethoscope before he said anything else.
    “I guess so,” said the doctor smiling cheerfully as he flipped open the chart. “I understand that his wife is out of the country?”
    “Istanbul,” said Nikki. Why wasn’t he telling her that everything was going to be fine? Why wasn’t he telling her that adorable, grandfatherly, husband of the best boss Nikki had ever worked for, Mr. Merrivel was going to be fine. Why wasn’t he saying that it was a mild heart attack and that with medication everything would be better?
    “Istanbul?” repeated the doctor raising his head from the chart. “That’s adventurous.” His tone managed to imply that Istanbul was against doctor’s orders.
    “For some people,” answered Nikki stonily. She could have added that it was a crucial negotiation and that Mrs. Merrivel was the only one with the contacts to pull it off. She could also have added that she wasn’t entirely happy that the company had chosen to use a different team to back-up Mrs. Merrivel. But since coming to work for Carrie Mae, the at-home make-up sales giant and top secret espionage organization with the goal of helping women on a global scale, Nikki had learned that there were a lot of things she didn’t get to say.
    “Well, I think it would be best if she returned early.” The doctor was being careful now, she could see it in his posture. He was going into awkward truth mode.
    Nikki’s heart froze. Then carefully, she licked her lips and restarted her heart. She needed to think clearly now.
    “What is Mr. Merrivel’s condition?” she asked, pleased to hear that her voice reflected none of the hops, jumps and back flips that her stomach was doing.
    “Mr. Merrivel has a lot of scar tissue around his heart from, ah,” he consulted the chart again, “previous medical issues. The heart attack only complicated matters. He needs surgery. The surgery will be dangerous, particularly in his condition, but I don’t think we can wait.” The doctor spoke calmly, but quickly, as if trying to get the bad news out fast. She could see by the way his spine stiffened that he was preparing for her to burst into tears.
    “How soon?” she asked, eyeing the hand he was extending to pat her shoulder.
    “Er,” he withdrew the hand, “soon. I’ve put in a call to Dr. Colmar. He’s the top heart surgeon in the city. If he’s got an opening I’d like to get Mr. Merrivel in as soon as tomorrow or Wednesday. The problem is that during, and even after, surgery we may encounter situations that require a next of kin or someone with power of attorney to make decisions. It would be best if his wife could return now.”
    “She won’t be back until next week and even if she caught a flight now, she wouldn’t be back until Wednesday.” Nikki wasn’t really talking to the doctor, she was trying to weigh out the relative value of Mr. Merrivel’s life and marriage, against the lives that were at stake in Istanbul.
    “We might be able to put it off as much as a week, but I don’t recommend it,” said the doctor looking irritated. “Does he have any children who could make decisions for