Jon looks at me, then back at Nicolette. It’s the longest three seconds of silence I’ve ever been witness to, and I feel so gross and itchy from it.
“Um. Yea. I do have to check in with a couple of patients,” Jon says.
Nicolette smiles at him, then runs her fingers through his hair, and restyles it into that stupid side part. “Great. I’ll walk with you, babe. I need to show you this condo I want us to look at this weekend. You know how to get out, Margeaux? Or should I call security to show you the way?” Nicolette asks. My body is boiling from the inside. I wish I could turn into a fire breathing dragon and incinerate her, watch her turn to a pile of charred dust and call a cleaning crew to vacuum her up.
Instead, I give my fakest smile, mindful that Sammy is still sleeping, and I don’t want to make a scene. “I’ve got it,” I say, walking into the hallway. I stop and look back at Jon. “I’ll be here for a few more days, Jon. Maybe I’ll stop by again tomorrow. Visit Sammy again.” I watch Nicolette’s face morph to one of horror and dread. “I’ll take your silence as a yes! See ya tomorrow, Dr. J!”
I wave at them as I navigate my way out of the hospital. The entire walk back to my hotel I yell at myself, repeating the same thing over and over:He has a fucking girlfriend?!
9
JON
I needto see a massage therapist for all the tension I have in my neck and shoulders. I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep for the last couple of nights. After seeing Margeaux in the hospital, nothing has been easy. Sure enough, Margeaux came back to pay Sammy a visit, and he was over the moon. Sammy’s mom, Wendy, was with them, too, so I made myself scarce. As if she had a sixth sense for these things, Nicolette hovered around Sammy’s room when I went to check on him. I don’t think she knows anything happened between Margeaux and me, but that doesn’t help the prickly, nervous feeling in my stomach. Margeaux didn’t seem to talk to Nicolette. In fact, Margeaux barely acknowledgedmewhen she was chatting with Sammy and his mom. She acted like I wasn’t even in the room.
I guess I should feel relieved that Margeaux wants nothing to do with me. I find myself doing extra passes by Sammy’s room today, waiting to see if she stops by again. Nicolette keeps texting me reminders for our condo tours this weekend. I ignore her texts, not ready to deal with that right now.
Another notification pops up on my phone and it’s a page to come to Dr. Nash’s office. I hustle upstairs and find her sitting behind herdesk, which is piled high with patient files, textbooks, and scholastic journals.
Dr. Nash is the best mentor. She truly cares about her patients and medicine. Most doctors—especially here in Paramount Hospital—have their walls cluttered with diplomas, awards, accolades, and so on. Dr. Nash has photos of her patients, artwork made by her patients, and diagrams of the human heart.
Sitting on the opposite side of Dr. Nash’s desk is Wendy, and she gives me a weak smile. I close the door behind me and take the other empty seat beside Wendy.
“Thank you for getting here so quickly, Dr. Jacob. Wendy has told me she has some news for us, and wanted to tell us together,” Dr. Nash says. She adjusts her glasses, which I’ve come to learn is a sign she is apprehensive about something, and that causes my own nerves to rattle.
“I wanted to thank you both for everything you’ve been doing to help Sammy. He has seen so many doctors over the years, and he feels most comfortable with you,” she says, turning her gaze to me. “You’ve been wonderful, Jon. But the last few days have helped me and Sammy realize that he doesn’t belong in the hospital any longer. I’ll continue his at-home care, but he’s a kid. He deserves to be a kid for whatever time he has left.”
My chest tightens while her words sink in. She’s taking Sammy home. His status on the transplant list hasn’t changed. Staying in the hospital isn’t good for his morale. He’s getting sicker.There’s nothing more we can do.
“Are you sure that’s what you and Sammy would like to do?” Dr. Nash asks, not pressuring Wendy to keep her son in the hospital. If there were more we could do, she would say so. At this point, all we can do is keep Sammy comfortable with pain meds. Personally, I hate pumping little kids full of them.
“Yes,” Wendy chokes back her tears, and then reaches her hand out to me. “You have no idea how much you have helped him. You’re an amazing human being and doctor, Jon.”
I grab her hand, willing back my own tears, trying to maintainsome professionalism in front of my mentor and superior. “He’s a great kid. I won’t stop fighting for him, Wendy,” I promise her.
She nods, standing up from her chair. “I’m taking him home tomorrow. He’d love it if you stopped by before we leave.”
“Of course,” I tell her.
She leaves, closing the door behind her softly.
“I’ll handle the discharge paperwork. You go home early for the day,” Dr. Nash tells me, magically finding Sammy’s file in the mountain of paperwork on her desk.
“I’d like to help,” I say, leaning forward in my seat.
She looks up at me, adjusts her thin, silver frames, and gives me a half-smile. “You’ve already helped that family more than you know. You’ve done great work on his case. Go home. Relax. Get some sleep. It won’t be good to show up tomorrow looking exhausted and upset. He needs to see you looking confident that you’ll see him again. Send him home with a little hope,” she tells me. I open my mouth to argue, but she stops me again. “See you tomorrow, Dr. Jacob.” I know better than to argue with her when she’s like this. She hates losing patients, and in pediatric cardiology, the wins are rare.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Nash.”
I step outside the hospital, looking at the time on my phone. It’s just past noon. A new message from Nicolette comes through and I avoid opening the message. If she sees that I’m reading her texts without responding, she’ll just keep texting until I get back to her. I don’t have the mental energy to talk about apartments or moving in together. Sammy is leaving tomorrow, and I just want to be alone.
“What’s up, Doc?”
I startle, looking around to see who’s talking to me. I see her tattooed leg first, and I take my time observing all the details I hadn’t taken in before. Dark green vines twine around her calf and thigh, adorned with leaves of slightly lighter shades of green, with red veins. There are a few Venus Fly Traps in different positions—one smaller one that’s completely closed, then slightly larger ones that are opening up more and more. I’ve noticed a lot of women like tattoos with flowers, butterflies, and hummingbirds. Margeaux isn’t a delicate flower.Not a chance.She is one hundred percent a carnivorous plant, that doesn’t apologize for its brutal nature.It’s so fucking sexy.
“You okay there, Doc?” she asks, snapping her fingers.
I blink a few times and finally stare into her dark eyes. She’s wearing a long sleeve gray top, but my eyes flick back down to her legs that are clad in short denim shorts.I want to lick her legs. Whoa. Where are these thoughts coming from?I cannot think like this.
