Radclyffe: Turn Back Time

"When is she starting?"

"She should be here at seven."

" Today ?"

"Problem, Dr. Rifkin?"

"No sir," Pearce said quickly, reshuffling the day's priorities in her mind. Every night before she left the hospital, she double-checked the surgery schedule to make sure that nothing had been changed without her knowledge. Nothing made a staff surgeon angrier than showing up for a case and discovering there was no resident available to assist him.

Unfortunately, sometimes the secretaries canceled or, worse, added cases without informing the resident in charge, and it was the resident who paid for such miscommunication. She'd already assigned today's cases to her team, and she had no one who could orient the newcomer.

"Uh, could Connie take care of her this morning, until I'm done with the aneurysm?"

Connie Lang was the department chair's admin, and the go-to person for anything that the residents needed.

"Call Dzubrow and tell him to assist on the aneurysm. Whatever he's doing in the lab can wait."

Pearce bit back a protest. An abdominal aortic aneurysm resection was a major case, and as the senior resident on the service, it was hers.

She needed every major case she could get if she wanted the chief surgical resident's position the following year. Henry Dzubrow was her only real competition for the position among the other fourth-year residents, and he was supposed to be spending the next six months working in the shock-trauma lab. It seemed to her, though, that he was showing up in the operating room at every opportunity.

She stood, because she knew if she stayed much longer, she was going to complain about Dzubrow's preferential treatment. And that would surely doom her. A surgery resident did not complain about anything. Period. She could still remember her first day and her father standing in front of the auditorium where the twenty-five new first year residents sat nervously awaiting his instruction. His expression had been unreadable as his cold blue eyes had swept the room, passing over her face as if she were just one of the indistinguishable bodies. She could remember his words and knew that he'd meant them.

If you're not happy here, all you need to do is come to me and say so. There are fifty people waiting for every one of your positions, and I can guarantee they will be happy to take your place. Never forget that being here is a privilege, not a right. He'd looked over the room one more time, his gaze settling on Pearce just a moment longer, it seemed, than on the others. Privileges can be lost.

"What's her name?" Pearce asked.

The chairman looked down at a folder on his desk. "Thompson."

"Okay."

He said nothing, and Pearce left, closing the door behind her without being asked. She took a deep breath and let it out, forcing down her anger and the frustration that always accompanied any kind of interaction with her father. The only time they ever seemed to be comfortable together was in the operating room. She probably should be used to it by now, but she wasn't.

"Fuck."

"Having a rough day already, Pearce?"

Pearce jumped in surprise and spun around. Connie Lang stood behind her balancing two cups of coffee in cardboard containers and a Dunkin' Donuts bag.

"The usual," Pearce said. "You're starting a little early, aren't you?"

Connie nodded toward the closed door. "He's got a budget meeting at six thirty." She smiled, a predatory gleam in her eye. "He knows that the desk jockeys can't think clearly this early in the morning, and he has a much better shot at getting exactly what he wants this way."

"Doesn't he always?"

Wisely, Connie said nothing. "He told you about the new resident?"

Pearce nodded.

"She's downstairs at the admissions desk. I heard her ask for directions to the surgeons' lounge."

"Jesus. Already?"

Connie smiled. "She's eager. Isn't that what you want?"

"Oh, sure. Can't wait." With a sigh, Pearce started toward the elevators. "I better go find her. What does she look like?"

"Just a little bit shorter than you. Nice looking. Shoulder-length hair, a little bit blond, a little bit reddish brown. She's wearing navy scrubs."

"I'll find her," Pearce said, wondering just what Connie meant by nice looking. She was getting tired of dating the usual suspects--nurses and other residents. She didn't date anyone for very long and didn't have much time to look elsewhere for new prospects, so new faces, especially pretty ones, were welcome. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

CHAPTER THREE

Pearce turned the corner toward the elevators and caught sight of a woman in navy blue scrubs at the far end of the corridor heading toward the surgeons' lounge.

"Hey, yo!" She sprinted down the hall. "Are you the new--" She skidded to a halt, her voice trailing off as she looked into the face she had not expected to see again. Wynter's face had lost the soft fullness of youth and taken on the angular lines of full-blown womanhood. She looked tired, but that was to be expected. She looked leaner than Pearce recalled, too, as if she had taken up running in the intervening years.

"Are you...Thompson? We met--"

"Yes," Wynter said quickly, not wanting to bring up the specifics of an interaction she still didn't understand. She had expected to run into Pearce at some point, because she remembered Pearce mentioning where she had matched. She just hadn't expected it to be so soon, and not this way. "Pearce, right?"

"That's right," Pearce said, trying to fit the pieces together in her mind. The match card had said Wynter Kline. She knew, because it was still stuck in the corner of the mirror over her dresser. Why she'd never thrown it away, she wasn't certain. Married name, Pearce thought with a jolt. Thompson must be her married name.

"I, uh...I'm starting today," Wynter said into the silence.

"I know." Pearce tried to hide her shock. It didn't matter who Wynter was. Didn't matter that for just a moment four years ago they'd shared...something. She needed to stay on track, needed to regain control of the situation. "I'm your senior resident, and we've got two minutes to make it to rounds. Follow me." Then Pearce turned and pushed through the fire door into the stairwell at the end of the corridor.

Wynter hurried to keep up.

The senior resident? God, we're going to be working together every day for the next four or five months. She could only imagine what Pearce thought of her. She'd practically let Pearce--a total stranger- kiss her, in the bathroom of all places. And then, to make matters worse, she'd just walked out without a word. Could you have been any more stupid, or more unkind? She'd thought of those moments often over the years. It was a night she'd regretted ever since, for a multitude of reasons. With a deep breath, Wynter put the memories of that brief interlude out of her mind. That was in the past and had nothing to do with her current situation. There were much more important things to deal with now. "We're on Rifkin's service, right?" Wynter asked of Pearce's back. "The chief's service?"

"Yeah." They reached the bottom of the stairwell, and Pearce shouldered open the door, belatedly holding it for Wynter. Reluctantly, she started her orientation spiel. It was the last thing she wanted to do at any time, but especially not right before rounds when it was going to cost her a great case. "Did Connie give you the breakdown of the services?"

"Not exactly," Wynter said, pulling even with Pearce, who had picked up her pace again. "This all happened kind of fast, and I only interviewed with Dr. Rifkin a couple of days ago. Connie walked me through getting my ID, parking sticker, payroll information, and my employee health physical yesterday afternoon. Then she just told me I'd start on Rifkin's service today and that someone would pick me up at seven."