My mood was foul as I entered the operating room. I just wanted this day to end so I could wake up in 2001 and then survive that day so I could see if I’d lost 1861 forever. Part of me wanted time to hurry, while the other part was deathly afraid of knowing.
“You’re late,” Dr. Philips said as he looked up from a clipboard.
I tried not to scowl, though if anyone deserved the blunt end of my bad mood, it was him. He’d been moody almost every day I had known him.
“Our first case was canceled,” he said. “Our next surgery is not scheduled for another hour.”
“Then why does it matter if I’m late?” My voice was sharper than I intended, surprising us both.
A frown deepened his brow. “What’s wrong?”
I tried to calm my mind. He didn’t deserve my wrath. No one did. Thankfully, there was no one else in the room. “Nothing.”
“You’re usually the brightest one in here. I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Perhaps I’m finally giving you a taste of your own medicine.”
Dr. Philips was my senior officer and the head surgeon, but at the moment he was just a man—one who confounded me daily.
He set down the clipboard and walked over to me, concern on his face. “What made you decide that today was the day?”
His usual scowl was missing, and he didn’t look well. His face was pinched with pain, and the skin on his hands looked red and blotchy again.
My anger fizzled, replaced with concern. “What’s wrong with you?”
He looked down at his hands. “I’ve been adding foods back into my diet. I think I found the culprit—at least, one of them. Yeast.”
I frowned. “Yeast?”
“I added bread back into my diet, and I began to have symptoms again.”
Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to tell him it wasn’t the yeast, it was the wheat causing his problems. But I shut it again. He’d have to figure it out for himself or not at all.
It made me angry all over again.
If I knew, why couldn’t I tell him? Why had God given me this gift if I couldn’t use it? It was Bull Run and the soldier all over again. Would I be penalized for using my skills and talents?
Turning away, I went to the instrument table and began to look over the tools we’d need for the next surgery, rearranging items with more force than necessary.
Dr. Philips was quiet for a few minutes, and then he slowly walked over to me. “Have I made you upset?”
I turned and found he was a bit closer than I had anticipated. He had never cared if he’d made me upset before.
“No. At least, not recently.”
One of his elusive smiles appeared—and then just as quickly disappeared as he went over to the clipboard again and picked it up. “I have some news, actually, and I thought I should tell you before you hear it from someone else.”
I was still a little shaken by his behavior and had to work to focus on what he was saying. “News?”
“I’ve been given new orders. I’ll be leaving the Naval Medical Center in less than a week.”
His announcement took a moment for me to process. He was leaving? Now, when we were just learning how to work well together? I wasn’t prepared to say good-bye to him.
“Where are you going?”
He set the clipboard aside again and hitched up a leg on the corner of a desk, crossing his arms. “For most of my naval career, I’ve worked on hospital ships. I was only sent here to help get this place up and running. I’m being sent to a new ship, the USSSolace. It’s being converted from an ocean liner to a hospital ship in New York City as we speak. It will be sailing out of New York on August ninth. At least, that’s the plan right now.”
“You’ll be on a hospital ship?” I felt like my feet were sinking. I didn’t want to feel so disappointed that he was leaving, and I didn’t want it to show on my face. It didn’t make sense. He was difficult, moody, and hard to please. But he was also brilliant, thoughtful, and he’d come to trust me enough to ask for my opinion.
