My curls bobbed against my neck; I kept my hair short because wearing it up all day gave me a headache. There was a time when I’d allowed my hair to grow, blow drying it straight, but those days were long gone. That was in my late twenties. Now, I was about to hit the big 4-0, and practical it was.
“Then you must celebrate the holiday with us. I bet you signed up for extra shifts here at work. By the way, I know you don’t have to check on me here in rehab, but you do anyway. You work too hard, Dr. Bianchi. Take some time off.”
“Someone has to take care of all those people—you know, the ones falling off ladders, hanging their lights and mistletoe,” I joked.
“I wanted to hang the bells where they have been for decades…” Mrs. Anthony explained her fall for the millionth time.
“I know, and we got your hip all patched up,” I responded. I didn’t get into how I was one of a handful of women in orthopedics, a male-dominated field, and I had to work that much harder than everyone else. Christmas wasn’t at the top of my priority list—also, I was half Jewish but that was a different story.
“You must meet my grandson, Andrew. I insist. He will be so appreciative of who helped his grandmama. I’m very dear to him. You’ll come…I won’t take no for an answer.”
To be clear, I wasn’t going to Christmas or to meet Andrew, but there was no sense in arguing with Mrs. Anthony. And as luck would have it, Regina, my PA, appeared at my side, which usually meant one of two things: I was needed for an emergency, or the head of the department was looking for me.
For the record, there was another service who took care of this floor, but it was within my rights to check on my surgical patients who were recuperating there.
“Hi, Mrs. Anthony,” Regina said. “Looking good.”
“Did you see my nails?”
“Give me one sec. I need to borrow the doc, and I’ll be back to take a look.”
Regina was the yin to my yang, the patience to my hustle, the calm to my temper, the excitement to my lackluster attitude. She’d look at red nail polish all afternoon if it made a patient feel cared for. She’d probably be set up with said patient’s grandson too…
“What’s up?” I stood a few feet from Regina in the hallway, our voices soft so as not to disturb anyone.
She rocked from one foot to another.
“Someone need help in the OR? An emergency? What’s got you pacing like a lion at the zoo?”
She shook her head. “No, no emergency.”
“Spit it out,Genie. I got a code hot red—a potential fix-up with a grandson named Andrew to get out of—and an office full of patients to see downstairs.”
“Sorry, this is unusual, and doesn’t happen often. There’s been someone calling all morning, saying you’re old friends and somewhat insisting you’d take his call. Honestly, he seems kind of nice, not mean, but I’ve never heard you mention an oldfriend. He asked if I would page you, and I told him if he left a message, I’d get it to you, but he refuses to leave one. He kept saying he needed to tell you himself. Pretty sure it was his sexy accent that convinced me to say anything at all, so here I am.”
“His what?”
“Whatwhat?” She stared at me as if I had three eyes. This was one of the downfalls of Regina—she loved to spin a tale. Her medical knowledge was top-notch, but her penchant for drama could get to me.
“Genie,” I prompted.
She finally answered me. “Accent. Maybe Irish?”
“Scottish,” I corrected without hearing any more.
There was only one person in my life who had an accent, who would also be considered bossy or belligerent. I knew him way back…when we’d shared two dates and a lifetime of emotions.
We’d known one another for all of a few weeks, and it had been enough to change the entire course of my life.
“Yeah, that’s it! His name is…”
I filled in the blank. “Daniel Campbell.”
“So you do know him?”
I nodded. “I did. A long time ago.”
“Ohhhh.” Regina’s eyes lit as she spoke, her mind likely spinning theories.
