“Excuse me,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m Doctor?—”
“Why didn’t anyone come to get me?” she interrupts, and only now do I see the slight tracks on her face from the mascara, the way her hands shake slightly as she holds her son. This is, obviously, a woman used to keeping her shit together, even when the only thing she wants to do is fall apart.
I quirk an eyebrow at her, glance at the IV that’s still obviously hooked up to her arm. If this boy was in an accident, so was she. Shifting back on my heels, I cross my arms over my chest. “Is it possible someone in this hospital is discovering an empty bed right now?”
She huffs out an annoyed breath, pushing some of her honey hair—or is it darker?—out of her face. There are so many highlights and lowlights flashing through her hair that it’s hard to get an exact read on the color.
Not that it matters. Not that I’m checking out this woman—this patient—on my first day here. Especially not when she’s giving me a look like that. Almost challenging. Defiant.
“They got their stupid scan,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “Itoldthem from the moment that I got here that I needed to see Gus.”
“I understand, but?—”
“How wouldyoufeel if your son was in a car accident and you didn’t even get to see him, to make sure he was at the same hospital as you? They could have switched him with another kid, or?—”
“I don’t think it’s likely that another kid here would be wearing such a cool dinosaur costume,” I say, tugging on the tail and making him break into nervous giggles. His eyes flit from his mother, then to me, and I try to send her a message that she should stay calm, avoid working up her son with how upset she is.
The look on her face tells me she knowsexactlywhat I’m saying, and what she wants me to do with that suggestion.Which is fine—I would much rather be focusing on her animosity, the cute wrinkle of her brow, than the sharp pang in my chest at what she said before.
How would you feel if your son was in a car accident…?
“Look,” she says, letting out a breath, “I just need?—”
But she’s cut off by an older nurse arriving, looking with raised eyebrows between me, the little boy, and the woman.
“Gus here is ready to check out,” the nurse says, turning to me, her soft blue eyes darting over me. “Are you his father?”
Even worse than her question. I let out a strangled noise and take a step back, raising my palms to the nurse and shaking my head. “No, sorry about that—we haven’t met, I’m?—”
Her face transforms, just like they always do when they see the resemblance and realize who I am. That they’ve seen my pictures propped up on my father’s desk or seen me and Alena playing or waiting in the lobby, or us at any number of fundraisers and events with him through the years.
“Oh, mygoodness, I’m so sorry,” she breathes, bringing a hand to her chest and looking me up and down. “I didn’t even realize, I?—”
But the nurse is cut off—mercifully—by the arrival of yet another person at the open curtain leading into the little area. It’s starting to get far too crowded in here.
“Mrs. Harper? Are you—?” It’s Dr. Jonston, and when her eyes land on the woman—Mrs. Harper—her face relaxes, and she’s already shaking her head. “It’s not a good idea to leave your room without?—”
Harper. I glance at the whiteboard with basic patient information on the wall.Mother: Juliette Harper.
“I needed to see my son,” Juliette says, crossing her arms, standing her ground. “I told you that.”
“Right, okay,” Dr. Jonston says, clearly not wanting to argue the point. She pinches at her nose, glances at the nurse, “Well,your scans came back free and clear. And Gus looks like he’s good to go as well. I can show you to the discharge room so you can complete your paperwork.”
Juliette seems to visibly relax. “Okay.”
With one final, lingering glance in my direction, she takes her son by the shoulders and leads him out of the room, which seems to get darker when she’s gone.
“Dr. Burch,” Dr. Jonston says, holding her hand out to me, smiling up at me with emerald eyes. “So happy to have you on board. I know we called for an all-hands down here, but the pile-up wasn’t as bad as we expected, and they’re splitting up the patients between us, STJ, and Northwestern. So, we won’t needyourparticular hands, since I’m sure you’re just getting settled in.”
I blink, tearing my eyes from Juliette’s retreating back and turning to look at this doctor instead. “Right—yes,” I say, taking her hand and shaking it. “It’s great to be here.”
Saying good-bye to Dr. Jonston and making my way back out of the trauma unit and to the employee parking ramp, I mull over what just happened.
My first day back at the hospital, in my first week back in Chicago. The stares of adoration and pity I’d hoped to avoid, but should have known better than to think I could duck.
And meeting that woman. Something about her sits heavy on my brain, and I can’t quite figure it out.
Any other day, I probably would have stayed in the trauma bay, helping with the cases as they came in. Just to take my mind off of the situation, off the grief.
