“Now.” She bent at the waist, her hands on her knees and her braids swinging over her shoulders. “It needs to be now.”
I’d known Jenelle for years. I’d seen her at her best and at her very worst, but this was new and I didn’t like it. Even through the corn chowder of my present calamities, I was worried.
“Have a seat.” I placed a call to my medical assistant to push back my appointments since I was already one full showdown late. When I dropped into my desk chair, I asked, “What’s up?”
“I’ve been trying to talk to you for a couple of months now,” she said, her head bowed and her hands still on her knees.
“I know, I’m sorry about that,” I rushed to say. “Let me take you to dinner some night this week. We’ll get away from here and I’ll be able to give you my full attention so we can?—”
“I’ve been seeing Tori Tran since halfway through her transplant rotation.” When I didn’t respond right away, she peeked up at me, her brown eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry. It happened and then—then I couldn’t stop it, even when I tried. The last thing in the world I’d ever want to do is let you down.”
I sucked in a wobbly breath. “Did you give her preferential treatment while she was on the service?”
A watery laugh croaked out of her as she reached for the tissues on my desk. “No. I was probably tougher on her than the others.”
“Did you ever make access to cases or OR time contingent upon sex?”
Another laugh. “Hardly. She’s the dominant one in this relationship.”
“Didn’t need that detail, but thank you for clarifying.” I pressed a fist to my lips. “You didn’t let me down, Jenelle. The power dynamic around here is complicated, but you’re consenting adults and it sounds to me like you made an effort to keep the boundaries clean. I’m sorry we didn’t get to have this conversation sooner.”
She blotted her tears and blinked at me, confused. “You’re not going to kick me out of the program?”
Once again, my door banged open. This time, Cal Hartshorn, the Chief of Surgery, stepped inside. “Gonna need a minute with you,” he said.
Holding up an index finger to Hartshorn, I said to Jenelle, “Absolutely not.”
“I thought I was going to be the only one in my family in four generations to not make it out of residency,” she said, almost to herself.
“That won’t be happening. If anything, I expect to see you back here next year as a fellow. Text me with a few nights next week that would work for us to grab dinner. We need to talk about your future.”
She pushed to her feet and I could almost see the tension drain from her shoulders. She snagged a few more tissues. “I can’t believe it was that easy.”
“I’m sorry that you thought it wouldn’t be.”
“Thank you for understanding, Dr. Aldritch.”
I held out my hands. She’d heard everything Cossapino said. “How could I not?”
When Jenelle closed the door behind her, Hartshorn dropped into the seat she’d vacated. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
I clasped my hands in front of me. “Not really,” I said, as casual as I could force myself to be. “Cossapino is up in arms because I have a personal relationship with a resident. Oh, and he thinks I canceled procedures to get my sister an OR.”
“And this resident,” he said, rolling his hand for me to fill in the blanks.
I pulled together all the composure I had left in me. There wasn’t much in the tank. “We met before he was a resident. I didn’t supervise him when he came to transplant. He’s been off my service since the end of October.”
“Then what the hell is Cossapino’s problem?”
I cleared my throat. “He’s not alone in trying to catch me breaking—as he’d call it—my own rules.”
“Well, that’s just bullshit,” he said. “And we’re going to put a stop to it.”
I leaned forward, convinced I hadn’t heard him. “We’re—what? We’re doing what?”
He laced his hands behind his head, saying, “I’ve tried to let this play itself out over the past year, but I’m tired of these people mouthing off to you. I’ll deal with them now. If they want their preferred OR times and the surgical techs whose names they refuse to learn, they’ll have to go through me to get them. Be sure to loop me in the next time someone gives you a hard time. The last chief might’ve allowed it, but I’m not about to put up with that.”
“Thank you,” I managed. “I-I appreciate it. Very much.”
