* * *
Frannie stood against the wall outside Ian’s office. She knew he was in there. She could hear him moving around his desk and papers being shuffled. She knocked on the door and waited for an answer while she fought her instinct to run. This was going to be a disaster—especially after the way she’d tricked him into meeting with her.
Hearing a bark ordering her to enter, she opened the door.
“Ian, thanks for meeting with me,” she said as she entered the room.
She’d never gotten the nerve before to seek Ian out in his office. At least now she’d have him cornered. He had no choice but to talk to her.
Sitting behind his desk, the man looked even more powerful, and the hospital-issue furniture seemed dwarfed by his size. Watching as he looked up at her with eyes that flared with impatience, she caught herself taking a step back.
No, he wasn’t going to scare her off this time. Squaring her shoulders, she forced her chin up and held her ground. This man was not going to ignore her again.
“I know we’ve both been busy, but I would really like to talk to you about some of the progress I’ve been seeing with your patients this week.”
Ian leaned back in his chair and gave her his usual uninterested stare. It was as if the man looked straight through her—as if he couldn’t stand to look her in the eye. Or was scared to.
“Is Danny Owens eating?” he asked.
She’d checked on the teenager during her afternoon rounds and knew Ian wasn’t going to like her answer. While Danny’s nurse had reported that he had eaten a few bites of his lunch, his appetite was still far from what it should be for a growing teenage boy. Frannie had an idea that until his girlfriend started making some progress toward recovery they wouldn’t see a lot of change in his appetite—but he had started to talk to her and his parents now, so at least she had begun to see some improvement.
“Some, but not enough. He’s not eating like he needs to.”
The pointed look he gave her told her the conversation was over as far as he was concerned. But if he thought she was going to be that easy to get rid of he’d underestimated her. They needed to get everything out in the open. No more tiptoeing around Dr. Spencer and his issues. If she was going to work with the man they needed to do it now.
“Exactly what is it, Dr. Spencer, that you don’t like about me? Is it that the board chose to fund my program without your approval? Or is it something more personal?”
She wanted the truth. If she could take it.
“There is nothing ‘personal’ between us, Dr. Wentworth. And the fact that the board approved your program is not surprising, considering your family’s involvement in the hospital.”
She burst out laughing, aware that it sounded more bitter than humorous. “You think my father helped me?” she asked. “You should take some time to talk with my father. He wants nothing more than for me to fall flat on my face, so that I’ll come to my senses and go back to school so that I can become a ‘real’ doctor.”
He had to have heard how disappointed the senior Dr. Wentworth was that his only child hadn’t followed in his footsteps. Her father had been very public about it.
“Nevertheless, as I said, this isn’t personal. I have nothing against you or your program. I’m sure your services are useful in some cases. But with the tight budget we have to operate on at this time I just don’t think that your services make enough difference for these children to justify their cost. These kids need a lot of healing time and physical rehab which is expensive.”
“So what you’re saying is that as long as we take care of a patient’s medical problems their psychological issues will go away? Because I can tell you a lot of people look healthy from the outside while hiding deep psychological scars inside. If you’d read any of the literature on adverse childhood experiences I handed out when I started my program, you would know that these children often suffer from both mental and physical problems later in life. Many of these children will never be the same, no matter how well you fix the trauma to their bodies. For some there will be scars deep down inside them that will never heal if they don’t get help. Is that what you want? Is that what you’d want for your child?”
His jaw tightened and his eyes jerked away from hers. She saw his hands whiten as he gripped the chair-arms. All telltale signs that she was getting to him. Maybe the man wasn’t as indifferent to her cause as she’d thought. Maybe he did have a heart.
She watched as his fingers relaxed their hold and his body sank back into his chair. When he opened his mouth, once more the distant man she had seen earlier, she knew she had lost him.
“My job is to fix the injured kids who come into this hospital,” he said. “I do that by using all my surgical skills and the best technical equipment I can get my hands on. My goal is to make them well so that they can get back to their lives as soon as possible. I understand that you want to help these kids, but—”
He put up his hand to stop her when she would have interrupted. She held her comments. She’d let him finish his high-and-mighty speech, but then she’d have her say.
“I’m a surgeon. I use test results, vital signs and physical examinations to tell me how a patient is recovering. All of those give me tangible information that helps me make decisions for the patient’s care. I’m sure you want to help these kids, and I’m sure you do in your own way, but my focus needs to be on their medical health. I’m a surgeon—it’s what I do, what I’m good at. I’ll be glad to leave their psychological wellbeing in your hands as long as it doesn’t interfere with the plan of care I have for them.”
“And if it does interfere? I understand your need for control of your patients’ care. I get that. But what you did with Danny today could have set him back. Using ultimatums with teenagers can often backfire. I only want what’s best for your patients too. All I’m asking is that we work together. If you have a problem with something I’m doing, tell me. My ego can take it, believe me. But this has to go both ways. If I disagree with how you’re handling a situation, I get to tell you, too.”
She sat still and waited as Ian stared at her. She’d let things go too long between the two of them. They needed to settle their differences. She suspected he was trying to find a way to avoid agreeing with her, but she’d put it to him in a way that left him no loophole. He either agreed to work with her or he came off as the biggest jerk in the hospital.
“I’ll agree to that, but for anything related to my patients’ physical health I get the last word. Now, if we’re finished here, I need to check on a couple of my surgery patients,” he said as he rose from his chair.
She’d been close to getting through to him—she just knew she had—but then he’d retreated, shutting down those emotions she was certain she’d seen and turning back into the same detached surgeon she had been dealing with for the past five months.
She wanted to fight him. To tell him that she had seen that crack in his armor before he’d closed it. But she knew it wouldn’t help. She’d spent years trying to get through the barriers her father had built around himself after her mother’s death until she’d finally realized that it was useless to continue.
Not that she was giving up on Ian. She’d seen enough of
