Radclyffe - Love On Call

“Even cafeteria brew?”

Mari shuddered but nodded gamely. “Bring it on.”

“Sure, if you’re willing to chance it.” Glenn laughed, the deep chuckle a momentary breeze that blew the storm clouds from her eyes, lifted Mari’s spirits. Glenn was off again in that fluid, loping gait, and Mari hurried after her.

Trying to keep a mental map of where they were going, Mari concentrated on memorizing the series of turns and staircases before they came to a pretty typical hospital cafeteria—bustling with people moving through the coffee line, grabbing food from the racks and hot trays, and clustering at round tables filling a long rectangular room. She winced at the dark brown liquid that came from the industrial urn as she filled her cup and contemplated adding cream just to dilute the acid content but didn’t see any reason to start bad habits. She’d had plenty of bad coffee in her life. Plucking a decent-looking raspberry Danish from a tray, she paid and followed Glenn to one of the smaller tables on the far side of the room. She slowed and stared, coffee and Danish in hand. Windows. Big windows taking up half the height of the wall, and oh, the view.

Glenn sat and broke a bagel in half. “Something wrong?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this. I guess I’ve gotten used to being closed up inside the hospital. I mean, there were always windows, but there was nothing much to see outside them. Parking lots and other buildings. So you just sort of stopped looking, you know? As if the world outside was gone. But here—just look! There are honest-to-God flowers out there. Everywhere. And not a car in sight.”

“The architects were smart when they added the lots—they’re below the crest of the hill, so you still have the effect of being above it all up here. You should see it in spring. The rhododendrons and azaleas are blinding. It’s even nice when it snows. The windows in the ORs face the mountains, so it’s pretty spectacular.”

“Oh my God. You have windows in the OR suites? How do you work?”

“It’s nice.” Glenn’s expression grew distant. “Nice, but strange, to look up from the table and see the world out there. It kind of reminds you that this person you’re working on is still connected to people and places beyond the spotlights and the machines and the instruments. Humanizes it all somehow.”

“You really like the OR, it sounds like.” Mari sat down across from her.

“I like doing.”

“Me too, but the surgery rotation was my least favorite part of training.”

“Why is that?”

“Too removed. I like talking to people, listening to them, finding out what’s wrong by putting the pieces together. I’d miss the connection, I guess.”

“I suppose it might seem remote,” Glenn mused, “but I don’t think you can be any more connected than touching another person. Surgery’s intimate, as personal as it gets.”

Glenn’s gaze flickered, like a page turning, and Mari knew instantly her thoughts had fled elsewhere again. She desperately wanted to know where Glenn went when memories—or something more than memories—pulled her away. What did she see, what power held her in its grip? When Glenn’s gaze refocused on her, Mari knew she’d returned. Pretending she hadn’t noticed the brief lapse, Mari said quietly, “I can’t argue that touching is uniquely intimate.”

“Different strokes,” Glenn said casually.

Subject closed, but Mari wasn’t ready to give up. “You were the regular first assist for Dr. Rivers in the OR?”

“I was pretty much her first assist for everything—I didn’t work with anyone else on a regular basis. I saw patients in the ER when she couldn’t, made rounds, took call, did cases with her.”

“Like a partner.”

“I suppose.” Glenn sighed. “Yeah, pretty much. Flann let me do what I could do.”

“This sounds like my kind of place.”

“You’ll have a lot of independence in the ER—if we get approval for level two trauma, we’ll double our census.”

“Is that likely?”

Glenn laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the new CEO pushed for level one. We’re ten minutes by air from a major interstate with no other major hospitals around.”

“I’m looking forward to the challenge.”

“Where did you train?”

“USC in LA.”

“Big place,” Glenn said.

“Oh yes. Four hundred beds, level one trauma, Children’s Hospital next door, advanced training programs in everything. Very big place.”

“Cog in a wheel?”

“Maybe a little, but great training.” Mari smiled, remembering how easy it was to get lost in the system. “How about you?”

“Uncle Sam,” Glenn said abruptly. “So what did you do when you finished—before here?”

Mari had known this question would come up and hadn’t practiced how she was going to answer. She wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed or overly private about personal matters, but still, she hadn’t wanted to drag the past with her to this new life. Of course, this was one thing that would never be the past. For now, though, partial truths would suffice. “I didn’t—do anything, that is. I had a job lined up, but that fell through.”

“How did you find out about us?”

The question was natural enough but alarm bells rang. All Mari wanted was to fit in, to have a place where she could work and be herself and not catch sidelong glances of curiosity or concern or condemnation.

“My previous program director contacted me. He’d heard about the new program and the openings here.” Truth. Mari could still hear his cautious tone, his careful question as to whether she was ready to go to work. The opportunity had seemed heaven-sent, and the interview she’d had on Skype the next day had almost been a dream. She’d been so anxious for her long-distance face-to-face with the ER chief, she’d checked and double-checked her computer to make sure she could connect and was sitting in front of a blank monitor ten minutes before the appointed hour. Abigail Remy had been friendly and straightforward. She’d also said Max Gardner had talked to her personally and told her Mari was one of the best graduates he’d had in years. After twenty minutes, Mari had a job. She left all that out when she recounted the story to Glenn. “I guess you were busy that day. We didn’t get a chance to talk.”

“Abby hadn’t convinced me to take the job yet.” Glenn studied her. “So you’re new at this.”

Mari tried not to bristle. “Not exactly. I’ve had plenty of hands-on experience. Our program was very intensive, one of the best.”

“I don’t doubt it. We put on a big push to fill our instructor slots with good clinicians, and Dr. Remy wouldn’t have taken anyone who wasn’t the best. But there’s a difference between boot camp and boots on the ground.”

“I assure you, my boots are ready.”

Glenn laughed again, such a rare sound it was as surprising as it was pleasing. She nodded and glanced at the coffee, untouched in front of Mari. “You ought to try it. Start getting indoctrinated.”

Mari sighed and sipped. She tried another swallow. “Huh. It’s quite good.”

“That’s Flann’s doing. She got them to upgrade the brand of coffee and change out the urns every couple of hours. One of the perks of a small place like this. You won’t be a cog in a wheel here.”

“I’m glad.” Maybe this place would be the community she’d lost. “I think I’ll like—”

“Hey, Archer. Seven ten and you’re still lounging over coffee. No wonder you jumped ship.”

Mari stared up at the woman in navy scrubs and a wrinkled, shapeless green cover gown, rather like a giant cloak, standing beside the table. A surgical mask dangled around her neck and her disheveled mop of dark hair still showed the imprint of a surgical cap. Her face was all edges and long lines, attractive, Mari supposed, if you liked the dark, edgy type. She preferred Glenn’s cooler, classic contours…and stopped herself before that thought went any further. Glenn was very good-looking, and the swift changes that came over her face—from light to dark, cool to warm—along with the fleeting hints at whatever she kept so close were fascinating. Mari had never looked at a woman and thought fascinating in her life, which ought to be caution enough. Glenn had secrets, just as she had, that was all. She felt a flush rise in her neck when she realized the newcomer was studying her with unapologetic frankness. She lifted her chin, refusing to be embarrassed by the scrutiny.