Kevin doesn’t look satisfied with that answer, but before he can ask more questions, a man rushes into the room. He’s a few years older than me and expensively dressed in a well-cut suit and tie. Everything about him screams that he thinks he’s a big shot.
“Claire, sweetheart,” the man says, stepping around Kevin to get to the bedside.
Troy Thompson. Claire’s father and Melissa’s ex-husband. He’s a decent-looking guy, but I notice his hair’s thinning on top. Call me petty, but I find this gratifying.
“I came as soon as you called,” he tells Melissa, asthough he deserves a medal for rushing to his sick kid’s bedside. He’s carrying a huge Starbucks cup, so at some point in his rush he managed to stop for a caffeine fix. “Olivia’s parking the car.”
From the way Melissa’s expression changes, I’d bet Olivia is Troy’s girlfriend. Or maybe his wife? I’m not sure how long Melissa and Troy have been divorced.
“The ER has a limit of two visitors per patient,” I say stiffly.
Troy frowns. “Surely they’ll make an exception. She can help look after Liam.”
“Olivia could probably pass for a pediatric patient,” Melissa remarks.
I bite my lip to hold in a laugh. Definitely Troy’s new woman.
Troy glares at Melissa and jerks his head toward Claire. “Not the place for this, Melissa,” he whispers angrily.
Melissa rolls her eyes. “It’s a compliment, Troy. Olivia is very youthful looking.”
Troy finally notices me and extends a hand. “I’m Troy Thompson, Claire’s father. Are you the doctor?”
“Yes. Luke Carlton.”
I search his face for any hint that he recognizes my name, but there’s nothing. Evidently, Melissa didn’t tell him about her first boyfriend, or if she did, it was so long ago that he doesn’t remember. I guess that’s not surprising.
I shake Troy’s hand and squeeze his fingers a little harder than necessary. He takes his wallet from his pocket and hands me a business card, which reads ‘Troy Thompson, JD. Partner. Barrett and Fulbright Corporate Law.’
I slip the card into the pocket of my scrubs. At least he’s not a medical malpractice lawyer.
“So, what’s going on with my daughter?” Troy’s tone is accusatory, as though I’ve already failed his kid.
I step back toward Claire, in an effort to include her in the explanation. She’s old enough to know what’s going on, and there’s nothing worse than having adults talk about you as though you’re not there.
“Claire has appendicitis,” I explain. “She’ll need surgery to remove her appendix, which?—”
“Will she have a scar?” Troy interrupts.
I really can’t believe Melissa married this moron. I’ve just told him his nine-year-old daughter will need surgery, and his first question isn’t about the risks, the recovery time, or whether she’ll be in pain. No. This genius wants to know whether she’ll have a scar.
“I’ll have to make incisions in her abdomen to get the appendix out,” I explain. “I’ll try to do it laparoscopically, which will need three small cuts?—”
“Can’t you do, like, keyhole surgery?” Troy interrupts again.
“As I was saying, I may be able to do it laparoscopically, which is the medical term for keyhole surgery.” I’m sure if we were discussing a legal problem, Troy would take pleasure in snowing me with jargon, so I don’t feel guilty about doing it to him.
“But can’t you just go through her belly button?”
Great idea, Troy! I never thought of that. Maybe you should do the surgery instead of me?
But Troy Thompson, JD, doesn’t look like the sort of man who appreciates sarcasm, so I don’t actually say it. Instead, I take a deep breath and try to keep my expression professional.
“I’ll need to make three incisions for the camera and instruments,” I explain. “One incision will be through the belly button.” Someday, I may be replaced by a robot that can do an appendectomy through a single incision in the belly button, but that day hasn’t come yet.
Claire nods bravely, and I smile at her. “A lot of people think scars add character,” I tell her. I always thought Melissa’s appendectomy scars were sexy as hell, and I imagine they still are.
Troy Thompson interrupts this pleasant thought.
