Chapter 9
Laine
I stare at my computer screen, trying to think of the right thing to say. Suddenly, I have a meeting invite to interview Jack Drake on Monday. “Does he know I’m coming?” I ask Linda over the phone.
“Well, he approved your questions. He didn’t like the other story angles we received, but he felt comfortable with yours.”
But he’s not going to be comfortable with me. “Linda, did you set him up?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she singsongs.
My heart drops. “You should tell him and give him a chance to cancel. I don’t want to waste everyone’s time.”
“He’ll be fine,” she assures me. “He just needs some help getting out of his own way. I know you have history, but I know you’ll be professional, and that’s all I care about. You’re the right person to write this story.”
“I’ll run the article by you, but I can’t control what the Sun does to it after I submit it to them.”
“Perfect. That’s all I ask. Stop by after, and if I can sneak out, we’ll go to lunch and I’ll give you some background.”
“Sounds good.”
I spend the weekend doing additional research and reviewing my questions. I outline a general sense of the article and decide on the best way to structure what I want to ask Jack. He could totally derail this, but if it stays on track, I should be able to send something to the Sun by Monday afternoon and maybe get it in Tuesday or Wednesday’s paper.
I didn’t sleep well all weekend. I’ve realized this interview is important to me, for many reasons, I think. I’ll pitch it as a four-part series—the surgeon, the boy, Worldwide Medical Care, and Canada’s humanitarian response to the civil war in Sudan. These are all topics that deserve attention, and I feel like my work could be a positive force for awareness and change. I think part of me also wants to prove myself to Jack.
I don’t know why he chooses to believe my article was the source of his professional review last year, but I know it wasn’t. His friends know it wasn’t. The hospital knows it wasn’t. I wish we could have talked about it, but I’ve never seen him the way he was in those weeks before he left for Sudan. He had nothing at all to say to me. Maybe he’ll never see the truth, but I want him to know he didn’t change the way I do my job. I’m still damn good at it, and that deserves his respect, even if our life together is over.
As a result of all this thinking, my apartment is a disaster. I must have gone through eight outfits yesterday, and Trish finally helped me settle on a black pencil skirt and a light blue sweater jacket with a crisp white shirt underneath. She also lent me a pretty necklace and a wide leather belt. She was ready to take me shopping, but I stopped her.
When it’s time to go this morning, I tuck my pumps into my bag, cinch my raincoat tight around my waist, and tuck my hair in underneath the hood. The rain is relentless as I splash my way to the hospital in my Wellies.
I’m still shaking the rain from my coat when I spot Michael Khalili at the hospital. He crosses the lobby dressed in green scrubs and his white coat with his arms wide. “Hey! Nadine and I were just talking about having you over. The twins are missing you.”
That makes me smile. Their twins are the best, and we’ve become special friends. The girl is all Michael, exuberant and full of trouble, and the boy’s just like Nadine, very serious. He’s the type of kid who’ll wear a suit to school one day.
“I’d love that,” I tell him. “You guys have the crazy calendar, so just let me know and I’ll make it work.”
He nods and pulls out his phone. “I texted Nadine. She’ll get some dates to you.”
I nod. “Great.”
Then Davis walks up and kisses my cheek. “Please tell me Trish is crazy about Phillip,” he says. “I’m pretty sure he’s fallen for her.”
I laugh. “Well, that’s good news. She’s been working hard not to fall too hard for him.”
“My mom was asking about you too,” he adds. “She’d love to see you.”
“I was just telling her how much the twins miss her,” Michael interjects. “Maybe we should have everyone over?”
“That’s perfect,” Davis says. “And if Dimwit decides he doesn’t want to come, that’s his problem.”
Everyone has been kind to me since the breakup. And it’s been long enough that I suppose it shouldn’t really matter anyway. But, now that Jack’s back, I wonder if things are going to be awkward, especially after the library gala. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to have anything to do with him—socially at least. My stomach lurches as I remember why I’m here at the hospital in the first place.
“What brings you in on this delightful winter morning?” Michael asks.
“I’m interviewing Dimwit for a piece on his work with WMC and the boy he brought back from Sudan.”
Their eyes go wide.
“I don’t think publicity told him he’s meeting with me,” I add in a low voice.
“Can I come and watch?” Michael asks.
I chuckle and shake my head. “And you can’t warn him I’m coming. He’ll run away.”
“I’m not getting in the middle of that,” Davis says with a laugh. “Michael, get a dinner set up so we can all get together.”
Michael gives him the thumbs up and takes off as his phone beeps.
“I would wish you good luck, but I don’t think you need it,” Davis calls as he heads down the hall.
The butterflies in my stomach ruffle their wings. “Thanks. It’ll be fine,” I say, more for me than him.
After leaving my coat and Wellies in Linda’s office, I put on the correct shoes and walk down to Jack’s office. He has a fancy office he shares with a group of plastic surgeons in a glamorous building on the waterfront, but he spends most of his time here in the hospital, in a small office on the eighth floor that overlooks the top of other parts of the hospital.
I stop in and see Natalia, the assistant to the group. I’ve watched other people treat her poorly, and that’s a giant mistake. She controls the surgery schedule.
She rushes over with her arms wide. “Laine!”
I pull out a small bag of frosted sugar cookies from a bakery in my neighborhood I know she loves.
She squeals. “God, how I’ve missed you!”
“Is he treating you okay?”
“He hasn’t been the same since you two broke up.” She leans in, and her voice drops. “I think he needs to get laid.”
I laugh. “He never has a problem with that.”
“I know. But I don’t think he’s been seeing anyone.”
“He once told me he usually hooks up with someone while he’s off with Worldwide Medical Care.”
She shrugs. “Anyway, what brings you up here to the dark side? Going to write another story about addiction to plastic surgery?”
“No, I think my work there is done. The last one pretty much torpedoed my life.”
“I’m sorry. When a client dies on the table—even if it isn’t yours—the College of Physicians and Surgeons of BC has a review arm that wants to check it out. They don’t love plastic surgery, except for reconstructive purposes.”
I nod. I know what she’s saying is true, but Jack yelled and screamed at me for a solid hour and then kicked me out of his house. It’s hard to come back from that. Even if I did nothing wrong.
I waited for him to call, and after a week, I texted him and called, but he ignored me. He just canceled me out of his life. I know he went through a lot during the review of his cases, but we could have done that together. And then he left for Sudan.
“Well, then what brings you up here?” Natalia teases.
I clear my throat. “I’m Jack’s ten-thirty appointment,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
Her mouth falls open, but quickly closes. “Great. You know where he is. Should I tell him you’re coming?”
“That’s okay. We don’t want to give him an excuse to flee.”
She laughs. “He’s not on call, and Linda has told everyone not to disturb him for any reason until noon today.”
That means we have an hour and a half. My bet is I won’t last anywhere near that long in there. “Thanks, Natalia. Enjoy the cookies.”
“Trust me, I will.”
I take a deep breath to fortify myself and walk down to his office. I knock on the door and wait for him to invite me in. It takes a minute, but he can’t see me, so it can’t be that he’s avoiding me—yet. He’s just being a jerk, thinking he’s taking control. But those kinds of games only make people think you’re an ass.
“Come in,” he finally bellows.
Here goes nothing. I push open the door, and the smile on his face dissolves.
He stands. “I’m expecting someone at ten thirty.”
I give him a forced smile. “I believe I’m your ten thirty.”
He picks up the phone immediately, probably to call Linda. But whoever he’s trying to reach, they don’t answer.
He sighs loudly. “This won’t work.”
I stand and hand him the list of questions. “If you can’t handle this, then fill these out and email them to me. My email address is on the last page, in case you forgot it.”
He seems surprised. “You’re not going to interview me?”
“I’d like to, but you can answer the questions with me or without me. I just need to get it done.”
“I don’t have time to fill this out.”
“Actually, you have an hour and a half, according to Natalia. Linda made sure you wouldn’t be disturbed until noon. If you don’t want to talk to me, you can use the time to type out your answers. I can funnel any follow-up questions through Linda.”
I turn to leave, and I’m nearly out the door when I feel his hand wrap around my bicep. “Wait.”
I turn and look at him.
“I guess you can take notes.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“I see why Linda didn’t tell me who I was meeting with.”
“Well, I guess she wanted me to write the article.” I take a seat.
“Why does she care?”
“Because I’ve already sold it to the Vancouver Sun .” That’s not entirely true, but close enough. I feel like they’re going to want it.
He nods. “Does that mean you’ll be quitting Steaming Mugs?”
I shake my head. “Nope, four articles will feed me this month, but it won’t pay my rent or bills.”
“You need to find a different job.”
“You’re no longer in a position to offer me that kind of advice. Would you like to start with the first question?”
Jack purses his lips. He definitely isn’t happy. He’s not in control today. “It says, tell me why you spend half your year working for Worldwide Medical Care.”
I have my phone set to record, and my pencil is poised, ready to take notes.
“You already know the answer.”
“I’d like to hear it from you. The last time I assumed I knew your answer, you kicked me out of your life.”
“You never apologized.”
“You wouldn’t talk to me, and it was a complicated situation. I think you blame me for things that weren’t my fault. You weren’t quoted. Your name was not in the article. And it was my job .”
“My name wasn’t in the article, but the College of Physicians and Surgeons found me easily enough. I spent months defending procedures I’d done that were perfectly legitimate.”
I work hard to suppress an eye roll. “Everything Stacy had was needless.”
Jack performed multiple plastic surgeries on my friend Stacy Spears. When he became concerned about how many she thought she needed, he encouraged her to talk with a therapist. Instead, she went to another plastic surgeon.
“It didn’t feel that way to her. Part of what a plastic surgeon does is help people feel better about themselves.”
“And is that why you work for Worldwide Medical Care?”
He purses his lips. “Maybe I am better off answering these on my own.”
I stand. “Fine.”
He sighs. “Sit down. Most people do as I ask.”
“I know you too well to fall into that trap. In the end, you gut them with your scalpel.”
“I never did that to you.”
The hell you didn’t! I take a deep breath and remember I’m a professional. He needs to at least respect that. “It’s not worth arguing. Let’s focus on the task at hand. Can you talk about why you spend half of each year volunteering with Worldwide Medical Care?”
He takes a deep breath. “Because people who need to feel better about themselves or who need surgery to live better lives aren’t only people who can privately pay for it.”
“But you don’t do breast augmentations or tummy tucks when you’re abroad,” I note.
“No. With WMC I mostly repair cleft palates and work with burn victims.”
“Is that how you met the boy you brought with you to Canada?”
Jack nods and gives me a gut-wrenching story about his experience of the violence in Khartoum. “The fighting has never been so close to the city, but now, each of the warlords’ skirmishes can kill hundreds of innocent bystanders. And they even target civilian spots, like the children’s play area, to incite fear and drive people away.”
“That must have been just awful.” I look away for a moment, hoping the tears in my eyes aren’t obvious.
“It was.” Jack stares out the window. “Abdo’s mother was named Nadia. She’d already buried three other children and her husband.”
“Were they killed the same way Abdo was injured?”
He shakes his head. “No. They were forced to join the war. Her other sons were much older than Abdo.”
That breaks my heart all over again. “How were they conscripting them?”
“From what I understand, someone would show up at their homes and remove them at gunpoint. She found her three boys in the street, riddled with bullets, and then her husband. For all she knew, they’d been on competing sides. They had no training, and they were young. She was young.”
“Why isn’t the United Nations involved?”
“They were forced to retreat to neighboring nations, but they’re supporting the Sudanese refugees who are able to leave.”
“I read that almost all international support has left Sudan. No one has kept their people on the ground. Why aren’t countries doing more to stop this crisis?”
“I think they want to help, but it’s really dangerous, so they have their limits. Again, from what I understand, Sudan—like lots of countries in Africa—is a baby when it comes to political autonomy. This has led to instability, including coups, dictatorships, and corrupt or ineffective governments. That means unrest and violence as different factions compete for power and for control of the natural resources. Those are plentiful on the continent, and powerful people from around the world want them. Sudan has gold, uranium, chromite, gypsum, mica, marble, and iron ore. It’s all about the control of those resources.”
“Okay, thank you for helping me understand that better. So back to why you brought Abdo—and I plan to change his name for the story, by the way. I need to talk to my editor, but he’s still a minor, and my goal is not to make things more difficult for him in any way.”
Jack’s shoulders fall. “Linda was right.”
I tilt my head, but don’t ask the question.
“You are the right person for the article.”
I would love to rub this moment in his stupid face, and I’d love to point out that I was the right person for that other article too. But he’s going to have to come to that conclusion on his own. Instead, I just smile. Of course, I’m the right person for this article. This is what I do, and I’m damn good at it.
We continue talking, and when his phone rings, I realize it’s been more than two hours.
He excuses himself to answer. “I’ll be down shortly,” he says after a moment. “I’m doing something for Rushton.” After another moment, he hangs up.
That’s my cue to leave. “Thank you for your time,” I say as I begin to gather my things. “I don’t want to make you late for any appointments. I have more than enough to get started with. I’d like to start with a focus on you and why you give up six months of your life each year to practice medicine on the other side of the globe. And I’m hoping to continue with a piece about Abdo’s story. I think it will put in human context what’s happening so far away and hopefully make people more engaged and involved. I’ve spoken to the Ministry of Global Affairs and the Foreign Affairs Office, and I have their take on what’s happening in Sudan.”
“By chance did they say whether they were going to finance Abdo’s care?”
“That didn’t come up, but I’m sure I’ll speak with them again, and I can ask. But Linda mentioned that there’s a private donor covering the cost of his care?”
Jack nods and shifts slightly in his seat.
The light goes on in my head. “Wait, are you the private donor?”
He schools his features. “Off the record?”
I nod.
“Yes. But I don’t want that to get out.”
That adds yet another layer to this story, but I understand his desire for privacy. I’m not about to cause trouble for him again. “If it gets out, it won’t be from me,” I assure him.
His eyes soften. “Great. Let me know what else you need. Do you still have all my numbers?”
I nod, but I won’t be using them. I’ll reach him through Linda if I need more information. That’s the only reason I’d be contacting him.
His phone rings again. He glances at the screen. “It’s Linda.”
“If you want me to assure her you played nice, you can put her on speaker. Or you can leave her in suspense and let her know I just left.”
He lets it go to voicemail. “She’s probably already spoken to Natalia and knows you’re still here.”
I finish packing up my notepads, pens, and recorder. “I’ll get this written up tonight and send it over to Linda for fact checking. I can’t guarantee that the Sun ’s editor won’t make changes, but you can at least confirm that what I submit to them is correct.”
“Thank you.” Jack stands and pushes his hands into his pockets.
I nod. “I’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.”
“One last thing before you leave…” Pain flashes through his eyes. “Why did you return the ring?”
I sigh. “Because we’re no longer engaged? There’s no reason for me to have it. I don’t want your money.”
“I never thought you did.”
I shrug. “Your dad did. I have a check to prove it.”
His eyes widen. “What?”
“Never mind. Ask him about it if you want to know.”
I knew Jack’s father hadn’t told him he once tried to pay me to go away.