she picked up the forgotten magazine and flipped through the pages, hoping to find her favorite actor’s handsome face. All she found was Billy Crystal and Jack Palance with a big cow.
Exasperated, she slapped the magazine shut against her chest and pressed the earphones to her head. “Kevin, Kevin…” She shook her head and exhaled a long, weary breath. “Where are you when I need you?”
“Kevin!”
Dr. Kevin Singleton stopped at the end of the hall and looked over his shoulder, annoyance pinching his forehead.
The chief of staff, Paul Westerfield, closed the distance between them. “Have a couple minutes?”
Kevin looked at his watch, already knowing the answer. “Not really, Paul. Got one in postop and another up in half an hour.”
Paul placed a hand on Kevin’s shoulder and nudged him back toward his office. “I’ll be brief.”
Kevin eyed his friend as they stepped inside the office. Paul closed the door behind them and motioned for Kevin to sit. Instead of taking the seat beside him as usual, Paul sat heavily behind his desk, sending a clear message.
“Since you’re in a hurry, I’ll get right to the point.”
Kevin crossed his arms, ready to take his medicine. It was probably another resident complaint. Those poor delicate egos. Okay. He’d take the reprimand, promise to try harder, and be out of here in two minutes.
“I’ve been looking over your schedule.” Paul held up a printout. There were numerous pencil markings and what looked like calculations in the margins. “Are you aware that you logged more hours than any other doctor on staff last year? And outoperated the next-closest by nearly twenty percent?”
Kevin shrugged. It didn’t surprise him. So where was the problem?
“And that this year you’re ahead of last on a per-week basis?” Paul dropped the paper and leaned back, the creaking of his worn leather chair the only sound for the next few moments.
Kevin watched and waited while Paul studied him over the rims of his half glasses. Finally Kevin propped his elbows on his knees and hunched forward. “What? Just tell me.”
“You’re pushing yourself too hard, my friend…and you’ve lost something along the way.”
Kevin bristled. “Like what?”
“Your sense of humor, for one thing.”
Kevin slapped his hands on his knees, then stood. “I’ll try to get to a comedy club next week. If that’s it, I have work to do.” He turned and started to leave.
“Sit down.” Paul raised his voice, bringing Kevin back around. “We’re not finished.” He pointed to the seat.
Kevin ground his teeth. With great restraint, he lowered himself into the chair, not masking his irritation.
In a quieter voice, Paul continued. “We’ve been friends a long time, guy. I have to tell you, you’re headed for trouble.” He shook his head and smiled. “All work and no play. When was the last time you got—”
Kevin narrowed his eyes and glared. “Is this personal or business? Because if it’s personal—”
“See what I mean? No sense of humor. I was going to ask, before you so rudely interrupted, when was the last time you got eight hours’ sleep? But if you’d care to share other information with me, feel free.”
Kevin slouched back in his seat. “Okay. Guess I had that one coming.” Maybe he was a little uptight lately. If all Paul wanted him to do was shave a few hours off his schedule, he’d see what he could do.
“I’m not going to sit here and say I know how you feel. If my marriage ended like yours…” Kevin looked at the floor between his knees and Paul changed tacks. “It’s been nearly four years, Kev. I know you don’t need the money. Hell, you give more away than most people make. And the new cardiac care wing you donated is fully operational now. You can’t use that project as an excuse anymore.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll cut back.”
Paul took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never pulled rank on you, Kev, but this time’s different. It’ll take more than cutting back. I’ve scheduled you for two weeks’ vacation, beginning April 15th.”
Kevin’s head snapped up. “I can’t. I have surgeries booked—”
“Reschedule.”
“It’s not that easy, I—”
“It never is. If you can’t fix it, I will.”
Kevin held Paul’s even stare. He could see the determination in the set of his boss’s jaw. Kevin could argue, but he knew he wouldn’t win. Besides, there wasn’t time for a major confrontation. “If that’s it, I have to get going.”
Paul’s face relaxed, seeming relieved. “Just one more thing. No seminars or anything work-related. A real vacation.” Kevin was halfway out the door when Paul called out, “Someplace warm, with women in bikinis.”
“Yeah, yeah.” In spite of himself, Kevin smiled over his shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He strode down the hall, raking his hair off his forehead, trying to feel annoyed with the chief, but not succeeding. Actually, a vacation didn’t sound half-bad. Someplace warm, huh? Florida in April was out of the question. With his luck, he’d find himself in the middle of spring break and all those raging hormones. No, something more sedate, maybe farther south.
He pushed open the door to Recovery vowing to do two things on Saturday: get a haircut and visit a travel agency.
As long as he stayed in Recovery, his every thought remained with his patient. But a few minutes later, scrubbing for his second bypass surgery of the day, he let his mind drift back to the conversation with Paul. He despised being ordered around, anyone telling him when, where or what to do. But as the idea took root, he had to admit to feeling a certain amount of excitement. When was the last time he’d taken a real vacation? It had to be before Jessica.
Damn. He was doing it again. Measuring everything in terms of Jessica. Before she this. After she that.
With his sterile hands pointed to the ceiling, he pushed the operating room door open with his back. Later, he’d thank Paul for forcing this command down his throat. But for now, taking a closer look at the young mother of two on the table in front of him, he said a silent prayer, and put all other thoughts from his mind except this young patient and the precarious life he held in his hands.
* * *
For the next two weeks, Michelle worked with a vengeance, refusing to dwell on the calendar and the significance of each passing day.
It was Easter Sunday and she’d planned to go to St. Mary’s for mass, then Greektown for breakfast. But at eight-thirty, as she looked out the seventh-floor window of her waterfront apartment, ice pelted against the glass and she changed her mind. The Detroit River and Windsor beyond hid behind a curtain of sleet
