Dianne Drake - A Family for the Children's Doctor

“Do you hate all men, or is it just me?” he asked, still hanging onto the sleeping girl.

Caprice narrowed her eyes in anger. “This mission is about the children, Dr McCallan. That’s all it’s about. You don’t get to ask me personal questions.”

“So do you like your work?” he asked, stopping next to the old, green, dented, rusty truck and turning to face Caprice.

“I said no questions.”

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You said personal questions. Asking you about your work is totally professional.”

Caprice opened the door to the passenger section behind the front seat and climbed in, then stretched out her arms to take Isabella. “How I feel about my work is highly personal, Dr McCallan,” she said as he slid the child over to her. Then, instead of continuing the discussion between them, or the argument, depending upon the perspective, she slammed the door shut, leaving Adrian to climb into the front seat with Grant and a local named Don Pepe, who’d volunteered to bring the truck to the landing strip.

No one said a word all the way to the hospital, partly because Isabella was still sleeping soundly—sleeping the way only a child could under the circumstances—and partly because Caprice’s bad mood seem to permeate even the rusty metal of the old truck. It wasn’t rational, the way she was feeling. She knew that. She even tried to force herself into a better mood, but something about Adrian McCallan was setting her off, and she simply didn’t know what it was. Meaning there was no way to put it right. She tried convincing herself that his preference to leave was the reason but, honestly, she knew better. That was only part of it, and the rest was a great big blank.

Sleep. After a good night of it things would be better tomorrow. She was sure of that. Well, not so sure as much as she hoped that would be the case. Because one thing was certain. If she didn’t get over it, working with Adrian McCallan was going to be impossible.

Briefly, she wondered if him going back to Miami might have been better for all concerned.

“I don’t know what you did to her,” Grant Makela said, showing Adrian to his little room. It was a sparse cell—bed, bathroom, chair, closet. Nothing inviting. Nothing nice. Just basic living space in the hospital resident quarters. “One of the reasons we all come out is because of Caprice. She’s extraordinary. Such passion.” He tossed Adrian’s duffle in the door. “She was pretty cheerful when we went to San José, but now…” He shrugged. “All I can say is good luck. She’s scheduled you to be on her surgical team, meaning the two of you are going to working in some pretty tight quarters. With the way she’s acting right now, all I can say is better you than me.”

“That ought to be fun, the two of us in the OR,” Adrian replied, thinking about the corrosive way in which the two of them had started. It was his fault entirely. He admitted that. Regretted it. But Caprice was as stubborn a woman as he’d ever met, and she wasn’t going to give him any mercy. Briefly, he wondered if anybody had ever earned her forgiveness.

Grant shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, I hope you get it worked out pretty soon, as we’ve got a full docket to get us started. Starting at seven tomorrow morning, by the way. And brace yourself for some long days. We work, on average, sixteen hours. Sometimes more. People are already lining up outside.”

Adrian went to the window and pulled back the blinds. Sure enough, there was a single line with about thirty people standing in it—mothers and fathers with children, grandparents, brothers and sisters—all people affected by a facial deformity in their lives. All there with the same purpose. “They’ll be here all night?” he asked.

“Some of them have been here since this morning. They come prepared for this.”

“But you won’t be able to see them all.”

“One way or another, everybody gets seen. Whether or not all the children get scheduled for a procedure is another thing. We prioritise. First, severity. Is the deformity affecting a substantial life issue like eating or drinking? Second, age. Caprice is very sensitive to how cruel people can be to children with facial deformities and she also knows that the older the child gets the more hurtful people can become, so she likes to get to the older children as soon as she can. Then another priority is the children who are likely to be abandoned because of the way they look, or may have already been abandoned. They go to the top of the list, too.”

“Then it’s not just about the procedure.”

Grant laughed. “Once you’ve been around for a couple of days, you’ll learn that there’s much more to this than only the medical procedure.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, it’s going to start early, and I’m ready to turn in for the night. If you’re hungry, there’s a staff lounge down the hall. Refrigerator is full. We keep it stocked as there won’t be any regularly scheduled meals, so help yourself. And I’ll see you bright and early.” With that, he gave Adrian a salute, backed out the door and closed it after him, leaving Adrian standing in the middle of his sparse room, wondering just what in the world he’d volunteered to do.

He didn’t stand there thinking for too long, however. Once he’d shoved his foldable clothes into a drawer and hung up the rest in the closet, he left his room and hurried down the hall in search of a telephone. His first few hours with Caprice Bonaventura had gotten off to a rocky start, but maybe there would be some good news from home. Maybe Sylvie had come to her senses, brought Sean back, and life was back to normal.

She was always restless the night before they opened the clinic. Tonight she was even more restless than usual. Probably because she was tired. Probably because she wasn’t sure that, come morning, her anesthesiologist would still be there. Certainly, he’d started off on the wrong foot, and not just by almost leaving. Actually, it wasn’t that he was mean or grumpy or had any personality traits that truly rubbed her the wrong way either. It’s just that, well…she didn’t know what it was. More than that, she didn’t want to think about it.

Taking a look to make sure Isabella was fast asleep, Caprice decided to wander down to the cafeteria and scrounge a cup of coffee. There was always a pot brewing, and while a good jolt of caffeine wasn’t what she needed to calm her nerves, just sitting and relaxing might help. So she let Josefina, Isabella’s caregiver, know where she was going before she trotted off to the cafeteria. Josefina—she counted her blessings for that woman! She was a smart, sharp-tongued, outspoken, grandmotherly woman who truly loved Isabella. Caprice had known her since the first time she’d come to Costa Rica, nearly five years ago, and counted her as a dear friend. In fact, Caprice trusted her with Isabella as much as she trusted her own mother. If not for Josefina’s devotion, these long trips wouldn’t have been possible as Caprice would not have left her daughter home in California for more than a week or two. Not even with her own mother. Yes, the woman was truly a godsend, she thought as she closed the door behind her and scurried down the hall.

The cafeteria was dim inside when she got there, with only the minimum of lighting turned on. And so quiet that the faint electrical hum of the vending machines and refrigerator seemed almost an intrusion. A very nice mood here for the middle-of-the-night coffee craving, she thought as she found the coffee-pot, poured herself a cup, and took a seat at the table in the corner. It was obscured from almost everything else in the room by the vending machines, and she was glad to tuck herself away to be alone for this little while. She rarely got to do that, rarely got to have time to herself.