8. Joel
8
JOEL
Sunday night stretches out like an eternity. The house is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling in for the night and the croak of a frog outside. I’m in bed, staring at the ceiling, but my mind refuses to settle. The kiss with Lucy plays on a loop, tangled up with the looming announcement on Monday.
I glance at the clock: 2:17 a.m. Sleep feels impossible. Every time I close my eyes, my thoughts spiral. What if I’m not on the list? Worse, what if I am? Being a candidate for chief of staff is a career-defining opportunity, but the pressure and Rivkin’s presence, makes it feel more like a minefield.
By the time my alarm buzzes at 6:00 a.m., I’ve barely managed three hours of restless sleep. I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water scald away some of the tension. When I finally step into the kitchen, Lucy’s there, flipping pancakes, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looks over her shoulder and smiles, but there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes.
“Morning,” she says softly.
“Morning,” I reply, my voice rough with exhaustion.
The boys barrel into the kitchen, their energy a stark contrast to my lethargy. Lucy hands me a plate of pancakes, her fingers brushing mine. It’s such a small gesture, but it steadies me more than she probably realizes.
At the hospital, the air is electric. Everyone’s talking about the chief of staff announcement, their voices hushed but eager. I try to keep my head down as I make my way to my office, but it’s impossible to ignore the whispers.
“Anderson’s got a shot, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, but Rivkin… you know how he plays, and he seems to have it out for Dr. Anderson.”
I grit my teeth and push open my office door. Sitting at my desk, I boot up my computer and pull up my email. My heart pounds as I click on the message from the board. The subject line reads: Chief of Staff Candidates Announced.
I take a deep breath and open it. There it is, in black and white: Joel Anderson, MD. My name is the first on the list. Relief washes over me, but it’s short-lived as my eyes scan down to the next name: Elliot Rivkin, MD.
Now it all makes sense. Rivkin’s snide remarks, the cryptic warnings, the note left at my office door. He’s been gunning for this job, just like me. But unlike me, he’s not above playing dirty.
My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s Janet.
“Congratulations,” she says when I answer. “You deserve it.”
“Thanks,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I just saw the list.”
She hesitates, then lowers her voice. “Watch your back, Joel. Rivkin… he’s not exactly known for playing fair.”
“I know,” I reply. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
The rest of the day is a blur of patient rounds, meetings, and trying to focus while my mind races. Rivkin is everywhere—at the nurses’ station, in the cafeteria, his smile too wide, his voice too loud. He’s working the room, shaking hands, laughing at jokes that aren’t funny. It’s calculated, a performance designed to win favor.
By the time I finish my shift, I’m drained. The thought of going home, seeing Lucy and the boys, is the only thing keeping me upright. When I walk through the front door, the smell of dinner greets me, and the sight of Lucy in the kitchen is comforting to my frayed nerves.
“How was your day?” she asks, handing me a beer.
I take it gratefully, letting the cool liquid soothe my dry throat. “Eventful,” I say. “I… I made the list.”
Her eyes light up. “Joel, that’s amazing!”
“Thanks,” I say, but my tone is heavy. “Rivkin’s on it too.”
Her smile fades slightly. “That explains a lot.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s going to be a fight.”
She steps closer, her hand resting lightly on my arm. “You’ll win. You’re the best choice, Joel. Anyone can see that.”
Her faith in me is humbling, and for a moment, I let myself believe her. I offer her a small smile. “Thanks, Lucy. That means a lot.”
After dinner, I help the boys with their homework while Lucy tidies up the kitchen. Her presence is a steadying force, grounding me even as my mind buzzes with strategies and scenarios. By the time the boys are in bed, I’m ready to collapse.
Lucy is sitting on the couch when I return downstairs, a book open in her lap. She looks up when I enter, her blue eyes soft and inviting.
“You should get some rest,” she says, setting the book aside.
“I will,” I say, sitting down beside her. “Just… need a minute.”
She doesn’t press, just sits quietly beside me, with her hand resting lightly on my back. Her presence is enough to ease some of the tension in my chest. As the minutes tick by, the weight of the day starts to lift, replaced by something softer, something I’m almost afraid to name.
Without thinking, I reach over and take her hand. Her fingers are warm and soft in mine, and she doesn’t pull away. We don’t say anything, but the silence between us isn’t heavy—it’s calm, like the stillness of a lake at dawn.
Just sitting here with her feels like enough as I contemplate going upstairs to get some rest.
“Goodnight, Lucy,” I say, kissing the top of her head as I stand and head toward the stairs.
“Goodnight, Joel,” she replies, her voice soft as I retreat to my room.
As I lie in bed, the day’s events replay in my mind. Rivkin’s smirk, Lucy’s unwavering support, the weight of the promotion hanging in the balance. It’s a lot. But for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe.
Tomorrow will bring its own challenges, but tonight, I will let myself rest.