Radclyffe - Turn Back Time

"Plus four in the posterior tib."

Pearce raised her head. "What about the dorsalis pedis?"

"I couldn't feel it."

"It wasn't there or you couldn't feel it?"

Pearce's expression made him squirm. "I...don't know the answer to that."

"Go back and find out. Next."

Wynter leaned close to Pearce. "Got another piece of paper?"

Wordlessly, Pearce slid a second sheet out from beneath her fresh page and passed it to Wynter, who began to make her own list.

It took another twenty minutes to go through the fifty patients on the service, the other two residents chiming in with the information on the patients assigned to them. They finished at six fifteen.

"Liu, you've got the mastectomy at eight with Frankel. Bruce, you're with Weinstein for the amp, and Kenny, you're out of here.

Thompson and I will take the floors."

Wynter noted the use of her last name and knew it was a subtle reminder that she was not yet part of the team. She had to earn that right, although none of them would actively exclude her. She simply would be invisible until she had shown that she could do the job and not make more work for them.

"What about the chief's aneurysm?" Liu asked.

Pearce carefully folded her list and slid it into her breast pocket.

"Dzubrow will take it."

The three men looked at each other, but no one said anything.

"Okay, hit the floors and get your notes done before the OR. I don't wanna have to clean up behind you."

Wynter waited until the three men gathered their paperwork and cleared their breakfast remnants before she spoke. "I guess I lost you that case, huh?"

"You didn't." Pearce slid her smart phone from the case on the waistband of her scrubs where it kept company with her beeper and the code beeper. The weight of her various electronics pulled her scrubs down over her narrow hips to the point where it seemed like she was about to lose her pants. "Got one?"

Silently, Wynter slid her PDA from her shirt pocket.

"I'll beam you my cell phone, my beeper number, and the other guys' beeper numbers. Connie can get you the departmental numbers that you need to know."

"What's the chief's number?" Wynter asked as they synchronized their data via the infrared beam.

Pearce grinned. She'd expected Wynter to be smart. That had been apparent even as a medical student. The one critical number you always wanted to answer promptly was the chief's. "3336."

"What's yours?"

The second most important number. "7120."

"Then I'm all set," Wynter said with a small smile.

"I guess it's time for the grand tour, then. Let's make rounds, and I'll tell you about the attendings."

"How many are there besides Rifkin?"

"Five, but only two are really busy."

"What about him? Most chairmen don't really do much surgery."

Pearce shook her head. "Not him. He does four or five majors, three days a week."

"Jeez. How?"

"He runs two rooms from eight until finishing Monday, Wednesday, and Friday."

Wynter groaned. "Friday?"

"Yeah. That sucks. Especially if it happens to be your only night off for the whole weekend."

"Two rooms," Wynter noted. "So a senior in both rooms?"

"You got the system down. You and I start and close his cases.

He'll bounce back and forth between the two rooms for the major parts.

That satisfies the insurance requirements because he's there for the critical part of the case."

Wynter didn't want to ask too many questions too early in the game, but it seemed that Pearce was willing to provide the kind of inside information that was going to make her life a lot easier. So she persisted. "Does he let you do anything?"

"It depends. Are you any good?"

"What do you think?" The question was out before she could stop it, and she wasn't even sure why she'd said it. First days were always tough. And now she was starting all over again in a new place and needing to prove herself yet again. She hadn't expected to see Pearce, not today, and not like this. It rattled her. It rattled her to realize that she'd be seeing Pearce every single day, and every day she'd be wondering if Pearce remembered those few minutes alone when something so intense had passed between them that the rest of the world had simply faded away. She remembered, even though she had no place for the memory.

"Well, you were right about my lip," Pearce said softly.

Wynter studied Pearce's face. A faint white line crossed the junction of the pink and white portions of Pearce's lip, and where the scar had healed unevenly, there was a notch in the border. "I told you you needed stitches."

"Yeah, you did." Pearce suddenly stood. "Let's get going."

"Sure," Wynter said quickly, standing as well.

"Hey, Rifkin," a male voice called. "It's going on seven. Don't you have any work to do?"

Wynter didn't hear the reply over the buzzing in her ears. She stared at Pearce as the pieces fell into place. She saw the nameplate by the chairman's door. Ambrose P. Rifkin, MD. Ambrose Pearce Rifkin.

"You're related to the chairman?" she said in astonishment.

"He's my father."

"Nice of you to tell me," Wynter snapped, trying to remember if she'd said anything negative about him. "Jesus."

Pearce appraised her coolly. "What difference does it make?"

"It would have been nice to know, that's all."

Pearce leaned close. "Kind of like knowing you have a husband?"

Before Wynter could reply, Pearce turned her back and walked away.

Oh God , Wynter thought, she hasn't forgiven me . But then, she hadn't forgiven herself, either.

CHAPTER FOUR

You don't usually make floor rounds, do you?" Wynter asked as she matched her stride to Pearce's. The attending surgical staff delegated routine daily patient care--changing bandages, removing sutures, ordering lab tests, renewing medications, and dozens of other tasks--to the residents. The most senior resident on each service ensured that the work was carried out by the more junior physicians.

Pearce should be exempt from such menial tasks.

"I see every patient on the service every day," Pearce said, "but the juniors do all the scut. I just like to make sure they don't miss anything."

As they hurried along, Wynter tried to set landmarks in her mind so she wouldn't get lost the first time she was alone. The University Hospital was a labyrinth of interconnected buildings that had been erected at various times over the last hundred years, and to the uninitiated, it appeared to be a haphazard jumble of walkways, bridges, and tunnels. Despite having a good sense of direction, she was already a little disoriented.

"Thanks for showing me around." Wynter was starting to huff just a little as Pearce made a sharp right and directed her into yet another dark, narrow stairwell. I won't gain any weight on this service if this is her normal pace.

Pearce shrugged, taking the stairs two at a time. "Part of the job."

But it wasn't, Wynter knew. Many other residents wouldn't have bothered, leaving her to fend for herself in a strange place with a heavy load of brand-new patients. Nor would they take the time to double check on the patients the way Pearce apparently did. Even though Wynter barely knew the woman, Pearce's professionalism didn't surprise her. She remembered the way Pearce had cradled her face, examining her jaw, her eyes focused but compassionate, her hands- "Oh!" Wynter exclaimed as she caught the toe of her clog on a tread and plunged headlong toward the railing. She thrust out her arm to break the impact and landed in Pearce's arms instead. They went down in a heap on the stairs.

"Umph," Pearce grunted. "Jesus Christ. What is it with you?"

"Believe it or not," Wynter gasped, "I'm usually very coordinated."