them through.” He paused, shaking his head slowly at Tamara. “It’s powerful.”
“Very,” she whispered, shivers racing up and down her spine. She felt more connected to him than she’d ever imagined was possible before today.
They gazed at each other for several charged moments as lightning flashed outside the window.
A half smile quirked the corners of Victor’s mouth. “Have you ever questioned your sanity for choosing cardiothoracic surgery as your specialty?”
Tamara grinned. “Why? Because we have to undergo four years of college, four years of medical school, seven years of a general surgery residency, and three more years of a 120-hour-per-week cardiothoracic surgery fellowship? Nahhh.”
Victor grinned. “Piece of cake, right?”
“Ab-so-lute-ly.”
They looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
When their mirth subsided several moments later, Tamara let out a long, deep sigh. “Honestly? I have occasionally wondered whether I should explore a less demanding field, like dermatology or ophthalmology.
Something that would allow me to have some semblance of a life outside work.”
“Marriage,” Victor murmured. “Children. Guilt-free family vacations.”
“Exactly,” Tamara agreed. “I’ve never wanted to become one of those self-absorbed workaholics who’s never around for my family, who’s stuck in a hospital on gorgeous weekends while my husband and kids do fun things without me.” She sighed. “On the other hand, I’ve always wanted to be a heart surgeon. The best of the best. I can’t achieve that goal unless I’m willing to make some hard sacrifices.”
Victor nodded slowly.
She knew he understood where she was coming from. They were both driven to succeed as cardiothoracic surgeons, who were considered among the most talented and sophisticated of their surgical peers. Not only were they required to master the field of general surgery, they also underwent extensive training, charted new areas of research and technology, and performed extremely dangerous and complex operations. Being a cardiothoracic surgeon was not for the faint of heart—no pun intended.
“So what about you, Aguilar?” Tamara ventured, turning the tables on him. “After a grueling eighteen-hour day, have you ever thought about throwing in the towel? Just surrendering your scrubs and walking away from the madness?”
He chuckled softly, dragging his hands through his thick dark hair. “Even if I ever wanted to quit, I have too many people depending on me not to.”
“Your parents,” Tamara surmised.
He nodded. “They came to this country with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, and they worked their asses off to give me and my younger brothers a better life than the one we left behind in Colombia. I’m the first in my family to graduate from college. So my parents are counting on me to seize the American Dream so that I can reach back and help my siblings do the same thing. I’m not about to let them down.”
Tamara gazed at him, filled with newfound respect and admiration for his loyalty to his family. At the same time, she was struck by the realization that they were halfway through their two-year internship, and she didn’t know much about him.
She knew that he had at least one younger brother, who bore such a striking resemblance to him that Tamara had done a double take when she saw him. Alejandro Aguilar had stopped by the hospital one day to have lunch with Victor. Before they left, Victor had introduced his brother to Jaclyn and Isabelle, completely snubbing Tamara who’d been standing nearby, pretending not to notice or care.
Shoving aside the unpleasant memory of the slight, she asked curiously, “How many brothers do you have?”
“Four.”
Her eyes widened incredulously. “Your parents have five sons?”
Victor gave her a crooked smile. “That’s generally what four plus one equals.”
“Shut up, smart-ass.” But Tamara was grinning. “I feel sorry for your poor mother, being outnumbered like that.”
Victor chuckled. “If you ever met my mother, you’d save your pity. She’s always run the show in our family. Although my father would never admit it, we all know Mama’s the boss. So being the only female in the house has never made any difference to her.”
Tamara smiled softly, enjoying this rare glimpse into his background. Although he was well liked and respected by their fellow interns, he’d been known to keep the details of his personal life close to the vest. Which was something else he and Tamara had in common.
“It sounds like you and your family are pretty tight,” she observed.
“We are.” A quiet, reflective smile touched Victor’s mouth. “We’ve been through a lot together.”
Tamara nodded, then couldn’t resist asking gently, “Why did your parents leave Colombia?”
She watched as sorrow settled over his face like a veil. He looked past her, staring out the rain-streaked window. When he spoke, his voice was pitched low. “It was too dangerous to stay there. At the time, many parts of Bogotá were overrun with gangs. My parents lived in constant fear of something happening to one of us.” He paused for a long moment, and Tamara instinctively braced herself for what he would reveal next. “One day, my uncle and his daughter were sitting on their front porch when a gunfight broke out between two rival gangs. They were killed in the crossfire.”
A horrified gasp escaped Tamara’s lips. “Oh, my God, Victor,” she breathed. “How awful.”
Pain flickered in his eyes. “That’s the way it was,” he said grimly. “Even if you were at home minding your own business, you could still be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His brooding gaze returned to Tamara’s. “Not long after my uncle and cousin died, my parents packed up the family and fled to America, along with my aunt and her surviving children.”
Tamara nodded, swallowing tightly. “Have you ever gone back?”
He nodded. “We still have many family members there. And I know it may sound hard to believe, but despite what happened, Bogotá will always be home.”
“Of course. I understand.” She shook her head mournfully. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Victor.”
He inclined his head, silently acknowledging her condolences.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Seeking to distract him from his painful memories, Tamara asked softly, “Would you like a snack?”
Victor eyed her blankly. “A snack?”
“Yeah.” She reached for her backpack and dug out a large plastic bag filled with an assortment of goodies. As she emptied the bag onto the bed, Victor lowered his feet to the floor and leaned forward to survey her stash.
“Whatcha got?”
Tamara grinned. “I got
