Chapter 1
Chapter One
Samantha
I rolled back the curtain to the patient bay in the pre-surgical area of Children’s Milwaukee and gave a thumbs-up to a nine-year-old boy lying on a gurney, looking small and stark against the white sheets. Flanked on either side by his worried parents, he lifted a skinny arm, now attached to an IV board, giving me a gap-toothed smile and a thumbs-up right back.
That smile melted me and made me want to live up to all that trust in his eyes. “Hey, my man, you ready?” I did a fist bump with his non-IV-boarded hand.
“Yep,” he said with a big nod and a grin, full of positive energy despite being less than an hour away from a third surgery on his right femur, which had been badly fractured in a car accident a year ago.
“Let’s do it then.” I smiled at his parents, who didn’t look nearly as calm, his dad anxiously tapping his foot and his mom holding her hands tightly in her lap.
I saw the fear in their eyes. Surgery was scary. But it was also life-changing. And this one would finally give Joseph a chance to be a normal kid again by evening out the length of his legs so he’d be able to run—not limp. It would give him wings.
“Hi, Dr. Bashar,” Joseph’s mom, Terry, said. “We’re so relieved you’ll be doing Joey’s case today.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
“After this one, I’m gonna be GTG,” Joseph said.
I shot Joseph and his parents a puzzled look. “Good to go,” Terry said, smoothing her son’s hair back from his forehead. “Dr. D’Angelo taught him that.”
Dr. Caleb D’Angelo, the pediatric orthopedic fellow—meaning he’d finished his orthopedic residency and was doing a special fellowship year in pediatric orthopedics here at Children’s—would be doing the case today. He was a good doctor, but we didn’t get along at all. But because he was my best friend Mia’s brother, I had to at least try.
“I’m going to play baseball and run track. Right, Dr. Sam? That’s what Dr. Caleb said.”
“That’s the plan, Stan,” I said as I prepared to do my routine pre-op assessment.
“My name’s not Stan,” he said with a giggle.
His hopeful and trusting demeanor tore me up inside. It roused all my protective instincts, as it did with all the kids I cared for as a pediatric anesthesiologist in my last few months of training. Then I’d be GTG, ready for a real job. And I couldn’t wait.
Joseph’s dad, Henry, squeezed his son’s leg. “Last surgery, buddy. Let’s get it done.”
“Hey, everyone,” my friend Ani, who was Joseph’s pediatrician, called from behind me. She showcased a bright smile and two to-go cups of coffee that she passed to his grateful-looking parents. Funny what a good cup of coffee could do during a stressful time. “I just stopped to say hi and break a leg,” she said. Joseph frowned. “Oh, sorry. That means good luck, but maybe that wasn’t the best way to say it.” She threaded her arm through mine. “Hey, y’all, I have to borrow Dr. Bashar for a minute, but we’ll be right back!”
Ani was a human tornado, full of energy and endless optimism, all jam-packed into a five-foot-two frame. She was getting married in the middle of June, in just three weeks, and I was lucky enough to be one of her bridesmaids even if I personally didn’t believe in love—at least for myself. But I tried to keep that opinion quiet.
Before I knew it, I was being pulled by the elbow down the bright central aisle of the surgical floor by a petite powerhouse of a woman with a halo of blond curls as a parade of people in scrubs all colors of the rainbow passed by, some dragging EKG and portable X-ray machines, others cradling their own early-morning Starbucks. Almost everyone smiled.
That’s how it was in a children’s hospital. No one was here for themselves. And everyone had one mission—the kids. I was so proud to work here.
“Sam, I’m so sorry,” Ani whispered, stopping halfway down the hall, which filled me with sudden dread. “There’s been a last-minute switch. Erin’s been named anesthesiologist on this case, ortho fellow’s orders. I tried to buy you some time—I told her to come back in ten minutes to do the pre-op interview.”
My first reaction was confusion. Last-minute switches were unusual. “The ortho fellow took me off the case?” Suddenly the truth dawned. “Caleb? ”
Ani didn’t need to nod. The solemn look in her eyes confirmed everything. Hot indignation boiled my blood. “ He did this.” He being that awful splinter in my heel, the one person I tended to lock horns with personally and professionally.
Unbelievable—but predictable since there’d been no love lost between us from the very first time we’d met. I tapped my finger against my lips as I paced, trying to wrap my head around the fact that the person I despised the most was about to prevent me from doing my job on a case. Not any case: Joseph’s case. I’d been in on both previous surgeries. I had a special place in my heart for this family. They knew and trusted me.
Some people thought that anesthesiologists were good at technology and procedures but had little bedside manner, but that was not true. One of the most important things we do daily is to help to calm and reassure patients and families on some of the scariest days of their lives.
Ani squeezed my arm. “I’m really sorry, Sam. Go talk with him.” I immediately started to take off to do just that, but she held me back one last time. “More flies with honey,” she warned.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. She knew me too well. My tendency to jump into anything with both feet was good for tense situations in the OR but sometimes bad for conflict resolution. I often spoke my mind first and thought later. I guess that was why I wasn’t a diplomat.
This time I had to be careful. I was in the last months of my pediatric anesthesia fellowship, and I’d applied to join the anesthesia group here at Children’s. I couldn’t afford to be unprofessional no matter how annoying Caleb was.
This was the first time any of our conflicts had escalated to this level. I’d make sure it would be the last. I couldn’t allow anything to interfere with getting this job.
I strode at a fast clip across the massive pre-op area, my bright pink Danskos squeaking on the shiny tile floor. Around me, I heard the screek of curtains being pulled back on patient bays and gurneys being wheeled down the central aisle as the unit buzzed to life under the bright white lights like the floodlights of a movie set. Lights, camera, action.
I passed the giant whiteboard with all the day’s cases. Sure enough, my name had been erased and replaced by my colleague Erin’s.
I struggled to slow my breathing. A quick touch to my cheeks indicated that they were as fiery as my temper. This was sadly my normal reaction to Caleb. Nothing I did helped me to calm down. I was the emoji with the brains about to blow off its head.
One final turn and the object of my wrath came into plain sight. He stood at the central nursing station, his tall frame a little hunched over as he quietly examined an electronic tablet in his hands, prepping for his first surgery.
We’d miraculously managed to be civil to one another, especially at work. But this… this stunt meant war. I approached the desk where he was deep in thought, his thick, wavy hair tumbling forward as he read.
Before I could speak, Dr. Agarwal, one of the ortho attendings, walked up and slapped him on the back. “You ready, son? I’m just going to stand by and watch. The helm is yours, okay?”
Caleb saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain. As ready as I can be, sir.”
Their interaction was friendly and harmless, a show of both how well Caleb was liked and his easygoing humor. It also showed—to me, a female physician—how male physicians spoke to each other. Would any attending, female or male, call me “daughter”?
I understood that I had built-in anger toward charismatic men: my mother had been briefly married to one, my father. After their divorce, he swept in and out of my childhood, promising the world and delivering only disappointment after disappointment, until finally he left for good. And my mother had ultimately done the same. So I saw through Caleb’s charisma better than most. I tolerated him for Mia’s sake and for the occasional times we had to share an OR.
My grandma, Oma, had warned me that a man could be a woman’s downfall as had been my mother’s. I prided myself on being the type of woman who didn’t need that kind of man or, frankly, any man for that matter. Love was a fairy tale. Independence, strength, and self-sufficiency were what mattered. Men could be fun, but in general, they all sucked. I’d never had any reason to believe otherwise.
Dr. Agarwal left and I stepped up. A soapy smell filled the area surrounding Caleb that I immediately identified as Spring Fresh Dial, my own money-saving favorite that I bought in twelve-packs from the Dollar Store. Okay, so he smelled clean, and his looks might have been kissed by the angels, but I was not deterred. Looking around, I saw several people charting and making phone calls behind the massive nursing station. “Can I talk to you?” I asked while gesturing with my head toward a nearby door that led to the back transport hallway.
We walked through the double doors into the hallway, which was empty for now except for a lineup of clean gurneys along the sides. I waited for the doors to fully close behind us before I confronted him. “Why did you bump me from that case?” I struggled to keep my voice calm and even as Ani had advised.
He looked at me, his pale green eyes quietly assessing me, starting with my bright pink clogs, which caused him to lift a brow in disdain, up to my safari-print scrubs (hey, I work in a children’s hospital) and my bouffant-cap-covered hair, ready for the OR. I ignored the unusual but intriguing color of his eyes and his calm, intelligent—if derisive—gaze. Women tended to fall at his surgical shoe-covered feet. His smiley, glass-always-full personality drew men and women like a magnet. But I found him childlike and entitled.
His thick, dark brows knit down in a frown as he seemed to carefully search for words. As if he could actually defuse the bomb that he’d already detonated. “Yes, that was me,” he said, not really answering my question.
“At least you’re not denying it.”
He exhaled and then spoke carefully. “Look, Samantha, it wasn’t a professional decision. You’re good at what you do. But you’re so—” His voice trailed off.
I crossed my arms and urged him to continue as I silently plotted his demise. “So…?”
“…argumentative,” he said decisively, filling in the blank. “Headstrong. Obstinate.”
“That’s three adjectives telling me I’m determined. One would be plenty, thanks.”
I was focused and goal-directed—and proud of it. I didn’t allow people to trample on me. I stood up for myself. I’d had plenty of practice getting places on my own strength—my own stubborn will. Unlike him, who cruised by on his good looks and who played—a lot—instead of being serious. Who dated and discarded women faster than Kleenex. In fact, his latest victim had been my friend Nora, a nurse practitioner from the NICU, whom he’d recently reduced to an endless font of tears.
“I didn’t want to deal with your, um—determination—in the OR during a tough case,” he said. “It’s unprofessional. Not to mention bad for patient care. And distracting.”
“I am good at what I do.” I enunciated every word slowly and carefully. “And I’m never unprofessional.” I would never create drama, especially in the OR, that sanctum sanctorum where any careless error could mean the difference between life and death.
“You get along with everyone except me. You disagree with me on everything—publicly.”
I frowned. “Like what?”
“You always give me grief when I ask you to turn up the pain control.”
I tossed up my hands. “A surgeon has no conception of how much pain control the patient needs. I’m monitoring the patient while you surgerize, remember?” I tapped my chest a little too emphatically. “ My job.”
He did not appear convinced. “The table was too high, and whenever I ask you to lower it, you huff.” He looked down his nose at me, which I had to say was his only imperfect feature. It was a little bit large, with the tiniest bit of a dorsal bump. Staring at that tiny imperfection gave me the courage to gather my thoughts.
Maybe I had fought him on some petty things. But if I was defensive, it was because he irritated me in a way that no one else did. “I know this family. I’ve done the anesthesia on both of Joseph’s other surgeries. You know how much this means to me.”
I had to shut down this entire issue fast. If the anesthesia chair, Dr. Benson, found out, I’d be crossed off the prospective employee list faster than the time it takes for the sedating effect of a Propofol drip to kick in.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb said firmly, “but I can’t have power struggles in my OR.”
I shook my head, momentarily speechless. “‘ My OR?’” A voice in my head told me to put on the brakes. Think of Mia. His sister, my best friend. I would never do anything to put our friendship in jeopardy. Mia was wonderful, the dearest friend I’d ever had, and she was everything her dumb brother wasn’t.
More urgently, all of us—Mia, Caleb, and I—were in Ani’s wedding. She was marrying Tyler Banks, an invasive cardiologist who did things like place stents in clogged arteries, implant pacemakers, and open tiny coronary arteries with balloons. In truth, his personality was a bit invasive too, but that was another story.
The wedding was coming right up, and there was a bonding weekend for the wedding party next weekend at a farm in Waukasaw, about two hours away, which actually included the beautiful outdoor venue Ani and Tyler had selected. We had to at least pretend to get along for the sake of our friends.
Even more urgently, my car was in the shop, and Caleb and I were the only ones headed way out to the middle of nowhere from Milwaukee. My wheezing, chronically ill gas-guzzler, which was all I could afford after meeting all of my sister’s college expenses, had undergone cardiac arrest, and the nice mechanic down the street from where I lived, Hal, was struggling to save it. He said that it would be a miracle for the car to be resuscitated in time for the farm weekend.
I was praying for one, because after this incident, I would never step into a vehicle with Caleb. I wouldn’t trust myself not to commit a felony. It looked like I would be forking over the bucks on a rental because my pride would never allow me to ask him for a ride.
I balled and unballed my fists, thinking. He noticed. That was the trouble with him—he always noticed.
His mouth twitched. He was amused at my indignation, and that did it. I closed my eyes and shook my head and took a breath, but none of that stopped everything I was feeling from spilling out like a flood. “The fact that you think you can cancel me—publicly—on a whim simply because you don’t like me, and that your attending actually allowed you to get away with that, says everything . You are a stereotypical meathead ortho guy. Handsome, but all muscle and no brains.”
Okay, maybe I went too far.
Yep. I was met with complete, hulking, deadly silence. The pale green eyes glared.
Good. I’d made him feel my anger. Why hold back? Except now I’d be walking to Waukasaw next weekend.
“Wow,” he said, staring at me. “Handsome, huh?”
I spun toward him. “What?”
There was that too-bright, mocking grin. “You said I was handsome.”
I could. Not. Deal. With. Him. I took a step back and prepared to go.
“This isn’t a joke,” I said to his face.
I desperately needed this job. To stay close to Wynn, my nineteen-year-old sister, who was in college at UW. Also, I loved this hospital. I loved the complex and challenging cases. I loved teaching. All things I couldn’t do in a smaller place.
Caleb crossed his arms and looked down at me. Way down, because oh man, was he tall. I would guess six-four to my five-nine. “No one will know about the switch unless you make it known. And I’m sorry about Joseph. But Erin stays.”
The hydraulic double door swooshed open behind us. “Joseph’s family is asking for Sam,” Ani said in a pleasant tone. She walked over, handed me a clipboard, and turned to Caleb. “Maybe you’d like to go tell them why you don’t want her in there?”
He shook his head and sighed heavily. Crossed his arms.
She dropped her voice. “This is ridiculous. You’re both in my wedding. And I’m the bride . Get it together, both of you.”
He had the decency to look chagrined. “Okay, fine,” he said finally. His words came out heavy and flat, as if it nearly killed him to say them. I was a little shocked at the reversal. I don’t know if it was Ani pulling the bride card that convinced him, or something else, but I didn’t care. I was just relieved.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “This is a complicated case, and I don’t want any distractions.”
“You have my word, Dr. D’Angelo.” I shot a grateful look at Ani, took the clipboard, and left.
For now, this was about our patient. I could wage the war with Caleb later. And make no mistake, there would be war.