2. Charlie
CHAPTER 2
CHARLIE
I f anyone had asked Charlie Sullivan, as a child, what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer would have been a doctor . He didn’t even have to think about it. There was never a moment, growing up, when he strayed from this goal — when he thought maybe he might like to be an astronaut, a professional athlete, or a fireman like most other boys his age. No, the answer would always have been a doctor . But, of course, no one ever asked him that question because anyone who knew his family already knew what Charlie would be when he grew up.
His brother, Justin, was a heart surgeon. His father was a renowned neurologist. Even his grandfather and his father before him worked in medicine. The Sullivan side of Charlie’s family only ever did one thing, and they did it remarkably well. Advancements had been made in research and development in the name of Dr. Sullivan, and it didn’t seem to matter which Dr. Sullivan was on the line. They all shared the same reputation.
They all shared the same appearance, too: near-white blond hair, striking blue eyes, and skin fair enough that none of them went outside without sunblock on. They all knew better. Their great uncle had been a dermatologist, after all. The Sullivan men were all over six feet tall with an imposing aura and a resting facial expression that would have been called something very specific if it appeared on women instead of men. They were serious, and no one doubted it. Their patients tolerated a cold bedside manner with the knowledge that the tradeoff would be worth it. They were getting the best care possible. No one else could even compete.
The weight of that reputation was one Charlie had carried his whole life, but over the course of the last few weeks, as his residency drew closer and closer, that weight seemed to double. Everything felt heavy. His eyelids didn’t want to open in the morning. Sitting up took more muscle than usual. He rolled out of bed with a low groan and silenced his alarm. It took all his will not to just drop back into bed and embrace unconsciousness for a few minutes more.
The apartment his father kept for him was a microcosm of the home he grew up in: floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive carpets, mahogany everything. It was the lap of luxury some would say, but Charlie hardly noticed anymore. This classic smoking-room style was what his father preferred, and so naturally, it had to be what he preferred, too. Everything boiled down to class in the end. If you want to utilize the privileges that come with your own class, you have to embody it in every way possible. Hence the bookshelves full of leather-bound volumes no one ever read, the heavy velvet curtains no one ever drew, and the expensive hung paintings that no one ever really appreciated.
It was all for show. All of it. But Charlie was used to the performance. He’d been doing it his whole life, and by now, he couldn’t imagine living any other way.
He showered and dressed, feeling as though his father were watching over his shoulder the whole way through. He could almost hear the man warning him to wear a tie despite the fact that he would be in scrubs for most of the day. You only get one chance to make a first impression, he would say.
If there was one thing Charlie knew for sure, it was that there would always be something he hadn’t thought of, and his father would inevitably think of it and point it out. Somehow, even though Charlie hadn’t lived with his parents in years, his father continued to do just that. So when the phone rang on that fateful morning, he knew exactly who was calling him.
His father had barely said good morning before he launched into the checklist that Charlie knew was coming. He definitely didn’t spare a thought for platitudes or a single good luck. “Are you dressed? You remembered to wear a tie and jacket like we discussed?”
Charlie put his phone on speaker and laid it on his dresser while he continued to get ready. “Yes, Dad.”
“Which tie?”
That was a level of specificity Charlie hadn’t expected. “The green one?”
His father thought a moment. “School colors,” he finally concluded. “Wear a tie that matches at least one of your school colors. Send a quiet signal to the other residents. Let them know where you come from.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re already aware,” Charlie said without a hint of glee in his tone. “And if they aren’t, someone will make sure they are soon enough.”
Though he admired his father and grandfather for the astounding leaps they’d both made in medicine, he worried that their reputation would boost his own career beyond what was fair. He wanted to make it because of his own merits, not his family name — an idea he’d once expressed to his father, who seemed to appreciate his gumption but insisted he use the tools God gave him.
“Have you shaved?”
Charlie went silent for a moment. He couldn’t believe the level of micromanaging his father was willing to go to in order to ensure his son continued his legacy. “Not yet,” he answered.
His father sighed on the other end of the line. “Son, you get in there and shave. You can choose to grow a beard later, but the hospital will appreciate a clean-shaven resident. Don’t waltz in there looking like a closet hippie.”
“I don’t look like a closet hippie.” Charlie rolled his eyes. As much as he loved his father, the man really could be too much at times. “It’s just a little stubble.”
“And you’ll shave it off immediately if you know what’s good for you. Son, you only get one chance to?—”
Charlie cut in. “One chance to make a first impression. Yes, I know. Thank you, Father, I’ll shave now. Please, don’t worry. I’ll be putting my best foot forward, not only for me, but for Grandpa, too. I won’t let you down.”
“You’d better not,” his father huffed. Then he seemed to catch himself and soften his voice. “Remember, it isn’t just your reputation on the line. Your brother’s reputation will either be bolstered or brought down by your performance.”
“I know that, but thanks for reminding me,” Charlie said without a hint of the sarcasm he would have loved to apply.
“Your car will be out front in fifteen minutes sharp. Don’t be late.” And his father hung up before Charlie could even respond.
It wasn’t a surprise. In fact, since childhood, Charlie had known his father was stricter than other fathers. He kept a tight leash on his boys and his expectations were through the roof. All his friends frequently told him how unusual they found it. But when no one else was listening, Charlie’s father would sit his boys down and explain the situation.
They weren’t just any family. They were Sullivans. The Sullivans were in the business of saving lives, and that was the most important job anyone could take on, as far as their father and grandfather were concerned. How could either boy argue against that? It was undeniably true. So they were brought up with a feeling of importance, superiority, and the weight of the entire world and then some on their young shoulders.
Charlie shaved, careful not to nick himself, and he combed his hair back like his father had taught him. A clean doctor is a trusted doctor. God, there were so many maxims in his head, he was shocked he ever remembered them without mixing and matching. A clean doctor is a first impression, he thought with a chuckle as he brewed some coffee and poured it into his travel mug. It was the only chuckle he would allow himself that day, he knew. Seriousness was as important as cleanliness and punctuality when it came to making that vital first impression.
On his way out the door, he snatched an apple from his fruit basket and jogged out to the waiting black car with darkly tinted windows. He climbed into the back with his sparse breakfast and promised himself he’d make up for it at lunch. There was no time for hunger, although if he was completely honest with himself, his appetite was all tied up in nervous energy.
The driver, George, glanced back through his rearview mirror. “Good morning, Dr. Sullivan,” he said with a friendly grin. Charlie had known George for most of his life. He was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair who always seemed to live for his job. Charlie could relate. But as much as he appreciated that little show of encouragement, hearing his father’s name applied to him just about gave him a panic attack.
“Thanks, man,” he said, doing his very best to sound like he wasn’t crawling out of his own skin. But George noticed anyway.
“Charlie,” he said. His voice took on that old-family-friend tone he used when he was talking to Charlie and his brother about something other than where they were going. “You’re going to do amazingly well. Just remember, you’ve been training your whole life for this. The second you put on scrubs, your body’s going to flip that switch, and you’ll know exactly what to do.”
Charlie sighed heavily. “I hope you’re right.” He forced himself to take a bite of apple before sipping his coffee again. His stomach did not want him eating, but he knew he would need the calories to get him through the morning. Apples were a pretty safe food whenever Charlie’s stomach started acting up, which was probably more often than not.
George once told him it was because he buried so much stress in order to look all put together and calm. If you don’t let it out once in a while, it’ll build up and make you sick , he’d said. But Charlie didn’t feel he had the freedom to let anything out, emotionally. He had way too many people to put at ease — his father, his grandfather, his brother, his professors, and now his patients. Everyone needed him to be the Charlie who knew what to do. The buried Charlie would just have to learn to love apples, he supposed.
“Just play to your strengths,” George was saying.
“Yeah, Dad already told me to wear school colors and shave. I know my family’s reputation is going to help if I let it. I’m just not sure I want it to.”
George shook his head. “That’s not what I mean at all. I mean your own personal strengths. Charlie’s strengths, not Sullivan strengths.”
Charlie laughed quietly. “Okay. What are Charlie’s strengths , then?”
“That’s something you have to figure out for yourself, obviously.”
“Of course.” Charlie frowned. Sometimes, George gave advice that was more cryptic than helpful. He was like some sage old man in a fantasy book, not that Charlie had the time to read a lot of fiction. Charlie used to appreciate it when he was younger. These days, though, he just wanted a straight answer.
As they pulled up to the entrance of Grand View Hospital, George put the car in park and turned back to face Charlie before answering his question for real. “Your strengths are integrity, honesty, and the fact that you’ll give every one of your patients your absolute best, no matter who they are or how much money they have. You’re different from your family in a lot of ways, Charlie, but those are the individual strengths I’ve noticed in you over the years. Hold on to them, and you’ll blow every other resident right out of the water.”
Charlie let himself laugh at that. “It’s not that kind of competition, you know,” he said with a grin. “At least, not outwardly.” He opened the door and stepped out of the car, taking his coffee and apple core with him.
George winked at him. “Just keep an eye on your weakness,” he said, starting up the car again.
“And what is that?” Charlie asked as George began to pull away.
George called back with a single, surprising answer. “You’re too damn serious!”
It was no lie. Charlie knew that as well as anyone, but he didn’t feel he had the leeway to be anything other than serious. So, as he made his way inside the hospital, he straightened his tie, his posture, and his smile. And he prepared to meet his fellow residents with the kind of seriousness that would be expected of anyone with his family name.