ONE
MELISSA
“Dr. Carlton is the surgeon on call today,” the nurse says. Her tone seems far too perky for someone who works in an emergency room. “He’ll be down soon to talk to you and your daughter. He’s a great surgeon.” As she turns to leave the room, she winks at me and whispers, “he’s also easy on the eyes.”
Easy on the eyes. Such a quaint expression, but it seems appropriate from this cheerful, middle-aged ER nurse. I’m sure the nurses rate the doctors’ looks pretty leniently; the scrubs and stethoscopes work a sort of alchemy to make them more attractive.
But in this case, I suspect easy on the eyes is an understatement. If Dr. Carlton is the man I’m afraid he is, he’s probably smoking hot. He was certainly smoking hot during the six years I dated him, and I doubt that’s changed in the ten years since we broke up.
He’s a year older than me, so he’ll be thirty-two now. In his prime.
And somehow fate has brought me to this emergency department with my nine-year-old daughter Claire, whohas just been diagnosed with appendicitis. Fate apparently also decided that Claire should fall sick on a day when Dr. Luke Carlton was the surgeon on call. I remind myself that Luke—Dr. Carlton—is a professional. I’m sure his focus will be on treating Claire, not on the fact that I broke up with him over the phone ten years ago.
But I wonder if he’ll look twice at Claire’s birthdate. She’s not Luke’s—she’s four months too young for that—but it might be close enough to make him pause and do the math.
I give my head a shake. Luke’s probably married with kids of his own by now. For all I know, he won’t even recognize me.
“Mommy, I’m bored.”
I glance down at my three-year-old son, Liam, who I had to bring to the ER with us. The sad truth is, I had nowhere else to take him. It’s ironic—one of the reasons I moved home to Somerset was to be closer to my parents, who could help with childcare in an emergency. But now that an emergency has arisen, Mom and Dad are on vacation in Italy. They booked their trip a year ago, before my marriage imploded, and I insisted they still go.
Of course, I didn’t expect appendicitis, but I don’t imagine anyone does.
And since I only moved from Toronto to Somerset three weeks ago, I haven’t had time to find a babysitter. I’ve met a few of the other moms at Claire’s school and Liam’s preschool, but there’s no one I know well enough to call for help with Liam.
My high school friends aren’t an option either, since I haven’t kept in touch with any of them. We fell out of contact about ten years ago, mainly because I didn’t want to answer questions about why I broke up with Luke.
So Liam’s been with us through this entire ER ordeal,and he’s been remarkably well-behaved until now. One of the nurses found him some paper and crayons, and he scribbled happily for over half an hour. I’ve let him watch somePaw Patrolvideos on my phone, but I’ve had to limit that because I didn’t bring a phone charger. The last thing I need is for my phone to run out of juice.
My phone pings, and I look down and see a text from my ex-husband, Troy.
Troy: 30 min away.
Considering I only called him two hours ago, he’s making good time. Somerset’s almost an hour and a half away from Toronto.
My phone pings again:
Troy: Don’t consent to anything until I get there.
Troy’s a lawyer, and he seems to think that no one without a law degree can make a rational decision. I don’t reply right away, because I don’t want to make any promises. If Claire needs surgery, I’m not going to tell the doctor to wait for Troy.
The doctor. Who happens to be Luke Carlton. My ex-boyfriend.
Although I’ve been tempted to google Luke many times since we broke up, I haven’t given in until now. But I’ll never have a better excuse; no one can fault me for looking up the surgeon who’s going to operate on my daughter.
So I type his name into the search bar and click on the top result: the Somerset Hospital Department of Surgery webpage. It brings me to a picture of Luke, and yep, he’s still attractive. Hazel eyes, dark blond hair, and a killer dimple in his left cheek.
There’s a short bio under the picture, stating he graduatedsumma cum laude from Somerset University Med School. He then completed his general surgery residency at McGill, where he was chief resident, and a trauma fellowship in Toronto. He even won the F. Derek Gardner Award for outstanding patient care.
He’s eminently qualified to take out my daughter’s appendix, but the thought of seeing him again makes me want to throw up.
Nonetheless, I’m disappointed when the next face that peeks around the cubicle curtain isn’t Luke’s. The face peeking around the curtain looks like it belongs to a high school kid, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need to shave yet. He introduces himself as Kevin Talbot, a senior medical student.
If he’s a senior medical student, the junior ones must look like they’re in kindergarten.
Kevin explains that he’ll do an initial assessment and Dr. Carlton will come by later. I nod, and Kevin pulls out a tablet and starts to rattle off questions. We go over such useful things as whether Claire’s immunizations are up-to-date (they are) and whether she smokes or drinks alcohol (she doesn’t). Finally, we move to her symptoms. I explain that Claire had a stomachache yesterday and started vomiting this morning. I took her to a walk-in clinic, and they directed us here.
Kevin Talbot finally finishes his list of questions and tells us he’ll be back with Dr. Carlton soon.
