“Hello?” Becca waved her hand in front of my face and brought my thoughts back to the stadium. “Are you in there? I said the blue cotton candy is better than the pink, and you didn’t even bat an eyelash. Those are usually fighting words with you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because they make it the same, there’s no difference in taste.”
“Says you.” She took another bite of her blue treat. “What were you thinking about?”
“Dr. Mitchell.”
“Still?”
“I can’t stop.”
“I know what you mean.” Becca took a sip from her diet soda. Her eyes took on the same mischievous expression they’d held when she’d been discussing the best-looking players on the field. I wanted to stop her before she took off in that direction with Dr. Mitchell, but there was no slowing her down. “When he first started working at the hospital, I couldn’t stop thinking about him either. That short black hair and three-o’clock shadow. What girl could forget that?”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it!” I said, ribbing Becca in the side. “I definitely donotthink of him that way. In fact, when I see him, I just want to hide.”
“Not the first thought that comes to my mind, but you pick,” said Becca with a shrug.
“I don’t know how you can even look at him that way,” I said in half disgust. “He thinks the world revolves around him. He doesn’t look at people or consider anyone’s feelings but his own. And you, more than anyone else, know how I feel about a man who has no regard for others.”
“It’s all these hot baseball players—they bring out the estrogen in me.” Becca waved her hand toward the field, chuckling. “You have to admit, he isn’t bad to look at.” She let out a sigh. “When he first started, I had such high hopes.”
I could concede the point that Dr. Mitchell was a fine specimen of a man without being threatened. Like looking at an expensive car, I could appreciate the package without feeling the need to test-drive. “Sure, until he opens his mouth. Then it is all over.”
We cut off at the sound of the ball meeting the bat. The hit went to the shortstop and was thrown to first for the out.
Becca kept her eyes on the field, like she wasn’t sure I was going to like what she had to say so she wouldn’t make eye contact with me. “There has to be some redeeming quality in him.”
“According to you, it’s his looks.”
She winked. “That, and he is the only surgeon that I’ve ever seen talk to Ben.”
I blinked at the information, as if a gust of wind had thrown it in my face. Instantly, I remembered seeing him chat with the custodian on several occasions. But that could be because Ben was the type of guy who was everyone’s friend—even the guy no one else wanted to be friends with. Still, why would he talk to Ben, whom he didn’t work alongside, and refuse to be civil to me? A knot formed in my neck, and I rubbed at it. I didn’t do well with confrontation nor with being seen as the bad guy. If only Dr. Mitchell could understand where I was coming from; then he might give me some slack. “If this tension keeps up, I may have to transfer departments.”
“What?” Becca sat forward, dropping her feet to the concrete and staring at me. “You can’t be serious. You love the TICU! This is your dream job. And I didn’t have a dream job, so I followed you out here and now this is my job.” She shoved my leg.
I dropped my head back. “He is so difficult, and it’s like he blames me for all his problems. Sure, I filed that last complaint with the ethics committee, but I know he’s had other complaints too. And I had nothing to do with those.”
The next batter struck out, and we moaned along with the crowd. We were back to the top of the lineup.
“I almost wonder if he’s having a hard time adjusting to Chicago.” Becca shielded her eyes from the stadium lights to watch the ball fly out of the park in right field. The stands erupted. Not only had we scored a run, but the game was tied.
“Adjusting to what?” Honestly, I couldn’t imagine a better hospital to work at or a better city to live in than Chicago.
“Didn’t he do his surgical residency in New York?” she asked.
“I think so,” I replied, trying to recall the information.
“Well, from what I understand, New Yorkers are more direct. Like my cousin Rob, who told me I was bossy. I didn’t take offense, because that’s just who he is and he grew up in the Big Apple. What seems normal for them might feel rude to us.”
I shifted, not liking the sound of that at all. Could it be that I’d been too sensitive? No. The man had refused to operate—that wasn’t a matter of sensitivity. Still … the knot in my neck tightened. “Stop making sense.” I folded my arms. “Besides, just because he was raised that way doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try to fit in better, maybe soften his approach.”
She shrugged. “I’m in your court. I was just thinking about the differences I noticed when I moved from Montana. There were some hard days.”
I remembered those times. They usually ended with the two of us putting a big dent into a carton of Ben and Jerry’s.
The next batter hit a double, and Becca’s attention stayed on the game. I cheered when I was supposed to and growled at the ump for a bad call, but in my mind, I was arguing with a small voice that told me Becca was right. I’d judged Dr. Mitchell as if he’d grown up here and should know the social rules, and that didn’t sit well with my conscience.But I wasn’t the one to help him figure it out. I’d tried “fixing” someone like that before, and that had ended in disaster.
Chapter Five
