Radclyffe - Turn Back Time

"Six months. Then we'll reevaluate the situation."

Wynter was aware of Pearce shifting ever so slightly in the chair beside her. "Thank you, Dr. Rifkin. I'm honored. Truly. I'm afraid I can't do that."

The room was very quiet. Ambrose Rifkin's face remained composed; his eyes, not quite as dark as Pearce's but just as sharp, moved slowly over Wynter's face.

"Why would that be?"

"I have a daughter, and there's no way I could arrange for child care up there in a reasonable amount of time. We just moved here, and I've barely gotten her settled."

"You're divorced, aren't you?"

Wynter felt her face go hot, but she held his gaze. "Yes."

"But you have a workable arrangement here for the child?"

"Yes," Wynter said quickly. "The wife of one of the anesthesia residents..." She realized he wouldn't be interested in the details. "A very good one, sir."

"And she's how old?"

"She's three." Wynter couldn't help but smile.

"Three. Well, I can't imagine that your being absent for that period of time would make all that much difference, since you have established a good child-care situation here."

Wynter heard Pearce's sharp intake of breath, but she was too busy trying to understand what Ambrose Rifkin had just said. Then a wave of heat followed by a sudden chill passed through her. "You mean leave her here while I go there?"

"Yes."

"Sir," Pearce began, her voice tight. "I don't think--"

"I'm sorry," Wynter said calmly. "That won't be possible."

Ambrose Rifkin appeared unperturbed, as if Wynter had not just told him no. "Since she's not in school, or--"

"Sir, I wouldn't care how old she was or what the situation. I'm not leaving her for six months. It's difficult enough as it is with the amount of time I have to spend away."

"I see. And what are your plans for the future, Dr. Thompson?"

"I've always planned on a subspecialty in breast surgery. I'll be looking for a fellowship after I finish general surgery."

"That's a nice field for a woman," Ambrose Rifkin said with just the slightest hint of condescension. "Not particularly demanding and very little emergency work."

Wynter said nothing. He was right, insofar as his assessment had gone. A practice limited to surgical treatment of breast disease was usually a Monday-through-Friday, seven-to-five kind of job, and it would allow her time to spend with her daughter. It was also a critical facet of women's health care, and she'd always been drawn to that.

Oncologic surgery was on the forefront of medical science, and she had no doubt that she would be challenged as well as rewarded by her choice. There was no point in mentioning any of those things, because for a man like Ambrose Rifkin, the rewards would be far too meager to satisfy.

"Starting tomorrow, Dr. Thompson," Ambrose Rifkin said, "I'm moving you to the vascular service as the acting chief."

"Yes sir," Wynter said. It was not a particularly welcome transfer, but it wasn't horrible. Vascular surgery was technically challenging and interesting. She'd miss working so closely with Pearce, but she'd also have more responsibility. It was all part of the game.

"I've decided to bring Dr. Dzubrow out of the lab," the chairman said, turning his attention to Pearce, who sat rigidly upright. "He'll take over as acting chief on my service. That will free you up to go to Harrisburg. Tonight."

v Wynter and Pearce did not speak as they walked side by side to the women's locker room. Once inside, Pearce went directly to her locker and opened it. She pulled out a handful of scrubs and piled them on the bench. She reached back inside for her lab coat, and then pulled her arm out abruptly and slammed the door so violently that the entire row of metal lockers shook.

"Fuck." Pearce leaned her back against her locker and closed her eyes.

Wynter sat down on the bench and placed her hand gently on the pile of scrubs, wishing it were Pearce she was touching. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. You heard him. I'm getting farmed out and he's moving Dzubrow in."

"Is it my fault? Because I said I wouldn't go?"

Pearce opened her eyes and gazed down at Wynter. Slowly, she shook her head. "No. I don't think so. That took balls, by the way."

Wynter grimaced. "No, it didn't. It didn't take anything at all.

There's no way I'd leave her."

"He could probably get rid of you for that."

"Maybe. It wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change my mind."

"Really?"

"Really," Wynter said quietly. It had just begun to hit her that within a matter of hours, Pearce would be gone. For weeks and months and most probably, forever. Life would carry on much as it had before their brief interlude. The sadness was swift and aching. She stood. "It doesn't mean you won't get the chief resident's job next year."

"Maybe," Pearce sighed. "Maybe not. He's grooming Dzubrow for something."

"Can you talk to him? Tell him you don't want to go?"

Pearce laughed hollowly. "Sure I can. If I want to finish up with the crappiest rotations and no shot at all of ever getting an academic job." She tried to focus on what she needed to do to keep her career on track, but all she could think was that she was going to have to walk out the door and get into her car and drive away. That she wouldn't be able to take Wynter to dinner that night, or breakfast the next morning, or spend another night in her bed--perhaps ever. She couldn't think about that now. She didn't have the luxury to worry about her personal life.

She sighed and opened her locker again. As she drew out her lab coat, she said, "If I'd known this was going to happen, I wouldn't have come over last night. I'm sorry."

"Time has never been on our side."

"No," Pearce said. She pulled a key off her key ring and held it out. "Here. To the old resident's room. Look after...it...for me."

"I will." Wynter's throat ached as she rose and kissed Pearce on the cheek. "Drive carefully."

"Yeah. I will." Pearce watched Wynter turn and leave. She ignored the pain in her chest. Loss was nothing new, and she should know by now not to let anyone in deep enough to miss. She shrugged into her leather jacket, palmed her keys, and grabbed her scrubs. Time to move on.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Wynter came instantly awake at the sound of the door opening.

The small, windowless room was completely dark, without even a digital clock to cut the blackness.

"Occupied," she called out irritably. She'd never understand why huge academic institutions couldn't afford decent on-call rooms, but she'd never run across one yet. Whenever she'd had a rotation in a small community hospital, the residents were treated infinitely better. She'd had one rotation where she received three meals a day for free, and there'd even been a television in her private on-call room. Amazing. At the University Hospital, however, that was not the case. Everyone vied for limited sleeping space, and even though she'd heard rumors that new on-call rooms were planned for the next addition to the megalithic complex, she'd believe it when she slept in one.

"It's me," Pearce whispered as she closed the door and flipped the lock.

"Pearce?" Wynter bolted upright. "What time is it?"

"Quarter after one."

Wynter snapped on the bedside table lamp and checked her beeper to make sure it was working. When she saw that it was, she put it down and swung her legs over the side of the narrow bed. She pushed both hands through her hair and then dropped her hands to her sides, curling her fingers around the thin mattress. She looked up at Pearce, who still stood just inside the door. She was in jeans, her black boots, and a black fisherman's sweater. She held her leather jacket in her fist. "What are you doing here?"

Pearce shrugged. "I don't know."