Chapter 2
TWO
LUKE
I walk Melissa to the nursing station and grab her a scrub top, and to my relief, she slips it on immediately. I could see the outline of her bra through her farce of a tank top, and it was clouding my reason.
The sight of Melissa hit me like a punch to the gut—and maybe a punch to an area a little lower down. And it caught me completely unprepared, since I had no idea she was back in Somerset, or that she was divorced.
She looks so much like she did ten years ago; the deep blue eyes, the freckles, the way her nose tips up at the end.
Her hair’s the same, long and dark, and I can still picture the way it looked spread out across my pillow.
She’s a little curvier now than she was when we were together, and it suits her.
But she says we’re ancient history, and I have to remember that, since it’s the only way I can justify operating on her daughter. Even still, I should probably try to find another surgeon to do the case, but I can’t bring myself to make the call.
I guess I have the typical surgeon’s ego, because I’m convinced I’m the best person for the job. I don’t trust anyone else to take care of Melissa’s daughter.
Melissa and I walk the short distance back to the cubicle to find that her toddler has dragged a chair to the sink. He’s having a wonderful time with the soap dispenser, and the sink is full of foam soap.
My medical student, Kevin Talbot, appears oblivious to what’s happening at the sink. He’s sitting by Claire’s bed, pointing at his iPad, and I realize he’s giving her a detailed description of the steps of an appendectomy. Not surprisingly, Claire looks terrified.
I never should have left Kevin in here with the two kids—he’s a hard worker, but he’s sorely lacking in common sense. Just another example of how the sight of Melissa has robbed me of rational thought.
“Liam!” Melissa exclaims. She rushes over to the sink to deal with her son, and I walk over to Claire.
“Was Kevin giving you the technical explanation?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
Claire nods nervously.
“The good news is, you don’t have to do the surgery,” I quip. “I’ll do the operation, and you can have a nap.”
That gets me a tentative smile. “A nap?”
“Yeah. We’ll give you some medicine to put you to sleep, and when you wake up, it’ll be done.”
She nods bravely, but I can tell she’s still anxious.
“I bet your mother had her appendix out,” I tell her.
“Yeah, she told me she did,” Claire admits. Fortunately, she doesn’t ask how I know this.
“And I bet it wasn’t as bad as she thought.” I turn toward Melissa, who’s dabbing at her son’s wet shirt with a paper towel. “You probably went home the next day, right? When you had your appendix out?”
Melissa doesn’t meet my eye, but she nods at Claire. “Yep. It really wasn’t bad.”
Kevin’s looking at me as though I’m psychic. “How did you know that?”
I pause for a beat to consider my answer, because I certainly can’t tell him the truth.
I know about Melissa’s appendicitis because it’s the reason I became a surgeon.
She was seventeen at the time, and since she got sick at my house, I was the one who drove her to the hospital.
I remember holding her hand in the ER and wishing the nurses and doctors would move faster.
And when the ultrasound showed appendicitis, the surgeon came in like a hero.
Melissa was whisked in for surgery, and when they finally let me see her a couple of hours later, she was almost back to normal.
It was like a miracle. Her appendix was inflamed, the surgeon cut it out, and just like that, the problem was solved.
So that’s when I decided I wanted to be a surgeon. I’ve spent the past fourteen years chasing that dream, often at the cost of my sleep, my sanity, and my relationships.
I turn back to Kevin. “Just a lucky guess,” I say dismissively. I’m glad my resident is away at teaching, because he’d see through me in a heartbeat.
Kevin doesn’t look satisfied with that answer, but before he can ask more questions, a man rushes into the room. He’s a few years older than me and expensively dressed in a well-cut suit and tie. Everything about him screams that he thinks he’s a big shot.
“Claire, sweetheart,” the man says, stepping around Kevin to get to the bedside.
Troy Thompson. Claire’s father and Melissa’s ex-husband. He’s a decent-looking guy, but I notice his hair’s thinning on top. Call me petty, but I find this gratifying.
“I came as soon as you called,” he tells Melissa, as though he deserves a medal for rushing to his sick kid’s bedside. He’s carrying a huge Starbucks cup, so at some point in his rush he managed to stop for a caffeine fix. “Olivia’s parking the car.”
From the way Melissa’s expression changes, I’d bet Olivia is Troy’s girlfriend. Or maybe his wife? I’m not sure how long Melissa and Troy have been divorced.
“The ER has a limit of two visitors per patient,” I say stiffly.
Troy frowns. “Surely they’ll make an exception. She can help look after Liam.”
“Olivia could probably pass for a pediatric patient,” Melissa remarks.
I bite my lip to hold in a laugh. Definitely Troy’s new woman.
Troy glares at Melissa and jerks his head toward Claire. “Not the place for this, Melissa,” he whispers angrily.
Melissa rolls her eyes. “It’s a compliment, Troy. Olivia is very youthful looking.”
Troy finally notices me and extends a hand. “I’m Troy Thompson, Claire’s father. Are you the doctor?”
“Yes. Luke Carlton.”
I search his face for any hint that he recognizes my name, but there’s nothing. Evidently, Melissa didn’t tell him about her first boyfriend, or if she did, it was so long ago that he doesn’t remember. I guess that’s not surprising.
I shake Troy’s hand and squeeze his fingers a little harder than necessary. He takes his wallet from his pocket and hands me a business card, which reads ‘Troy Thompson, JD. Partner. Barrett and Fulbright Corporate Law.’
I slip the card into the pocket of my scrubs. At least he’s not a medical malpractice lawyer.
“So, what’s going on with my daughter?” Troy’s tone is accusatory, as though I’ve already failed his kid.
I step back toward Claire, in an effort to include her in the explanation. She’s old enough to know what’s going on, and there’s nothing worse than having adults talk about you as though you’re not there.
“Claire has appendicitis,” I explain. “She’ll need surgery to remove her appendix, which—”
“Will she have a scar?” Troy interrupts.
I really can’t believe Melissa married this moron. I’ve just told him his nine-year-old daughter will need surgery, and his first question isn’t about the risks, the recovery time, or whether she’ll be in pain. No. This genius wants to know whether she’ll have a scar.
“I’ll have to make incisions in her abdomen to get the appendix out,” I explain. “I’ll try to do it laparoscopically, which will need three small cuts—”
“Can’t you do, like, keyhole surgery?” Troy interrupts again.
“As I was saying, I may be able to do it laparoscopically, which is the medical term for keyhole surgery.” I’m sure if we were discussing a legal problem, Troy would take pleasure in snowing me with jargon, so I don’t feel guilty about doing it to him.
“But can’t you just go through her belly button?”
Great idea, Troy! I never thought of that. Maybe you should do the surgery instead of me?
But Troy Thompson, JD, doesn’t look like the sort of man who appreciates sarcasm, so I don’t actually say it. Instead, I take a deep breath and try to keep my expression professional.
“I’ll need to make three incisions for the camera and instruments,” I explain. “One incision will be through the belly button.” Someday, I may be replaced by a robot that can do an appendectomy through a single incision in the belly button, but that day hasn’t come yet.
Claire nods bravely, and I smile at her. “A lot of people think scars add character,” I tell her. I always thought Melissa’s appendectomy scars were sexy as hell, and I imagine they still are.
Troy Thompson interrupts this pleasant thought.
“Have you done many of these before?” he asks critically. “Because I wouldn’t mind getting an opinion from someone in Toronto. They have a specialized children’s hospital there. Sick Kids, should she go there?”
As though I’m not aware that Toronto has a specialized children’s hospital.
Toronto is a great place to be if you have a rare or challenging problem, but there’s no diagnostic dilemma here; Claire’s ultrasound shows she has appendicitis.
A medical student could make the diagnosis, and I could have done the operation as a second-year resident.
If she were in Toronto, the operation probably would be done by a resident, but no one would tell Troy that.
On most days of the week, there’d be a resident involved here too, but they’re all away at teaching this afternoon. I’m not sorry they’re gone; there’s no way I’d let a resident operate on Melissa’s daughter.
I look up and realize that Troy’s still waiting for an answer.
“Why don’t we step into the hallway, Mr. Thompson?
” Despite my efforts to include Claire, I don’t think this is an argument she needs to hear.
“Kevin, can you keep an eye on Liam, please?” It’s poor form to ask a medical student to babysit, but hopefully it will keep him from scaring Claire again.
Troy, Melissa, and I move into the hall. “I’m a board-certified general surgeon with a fellowship in trauma,” I tell him. “I’ve done over a hundred appendectomies, and I’m very capable of doing this procedure.”
“You don’t think you should call Toronto?” Troy asks.
I bite back the urge to say that if I thought I should call Toronto, I would have already done it. “I don’t have a question for the doctors in Toronto,” I explain. “This is a surgery that I’m qualified to perform.”
“But if I want to take her there?” he persists.