Chapter 3
LEO
My last surgery had taken most of the afternoon and a good part of the evening with it.
By the time I peeled off my gloves and stepped out of the operating room, my shoulders felt like someone had poured wet cement into the joints.
My whole body ached. Four hours bent over an open chest had a way of leaving you feeling that way.
I scrubbed out, washed the lingering smell of antiseptic from my hands, and checked my pager. One message blinked back at me from Hargrove. This was the second time this week that he wanted to see me, and I couldn’t keep blowing him off. I could only ignore him for so long given he was my superior.
I grabbed my coat and headed down the corridor toward the administrative wing. The hospital had quieted slightly now that the worst of the afternoon rush had passed. Dr. Hargrove’s door was open, and he was alone. I knocked lightly on the frame, and he looked up from behind his desk.
“Cavanagh. Come in. Close the door.”
Damn. I’d hoped this would be a quick visit so I could get something to eat. Dinner last night hadn’t sat well with me, and I’d missed breakfast this morning. I’d barely managed to scarf down a cereal bar before going into surgery.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. “If this is about the bereavement leave, Hargrove, we already discussed it. I don’t need it.”
Hargrove leaned back in his chair, studying me with the kind of careful attention that physicians usually reserved for patients.
“I recall the conversation,” he said. “Sit.”
I remained standing. “Is there a problem?”
He sighed and folded his hands. “Not a problem but a concern. You’re looking a little run down there, Cavanagh.”
“Probably because I just came out of surgery.”
“How did it go?”
“Successful but now we wait and see.”
“Good. Now let’s talk about you, and I’d prefer it if you sit. Please. You look like you’re about to drop.”
“I do not.”
But the mirror on the wall I passed to get to the chair made me cringe.
My face looked paler than usual, which made the dark circles under my eyes stand out.
I looked like a raccoon. A raccoon that badly needed some sun.
Or a vacation in the Maldives. But what would I do there?
Drown my sorrows over losing Bradley in a bottle?
Hate myself that before he died, I’d been on the verge of giving him an ultimatum that would have likely ended up with us done?
Blame myself that our last conversation had been full of anger and I’d walked away from him instead of talking it out like we’d promised we’d always do on our wedding day?
Work was more suitable. Nights all alone, surrounded by his ghost, were bad enough.
Where did it all go wrong?
You changed. He remained the same man you fell in love with, but you changed.
“It’s been almost a month since your husband passed away,” he said gently. “You were back here and in surgery forty-eight hours after the burial.”
“I had patients waiting. My husband’s death doesn’t stop other people from needing medical assistance.”
“You also had bereavement leave approved for ten days, which you didn’t take.”
“I didn’t—don’t—need it.”
Hargrove watched me for a moment before shaking his head with a faint smile. “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever hired.”
“I prefer committed.”
“That too, but everyone needs time to recover from such a loss. It’s not just losing a spouse, but…the way he went.”
I inhaled slowly and let the breath out. “What do you want me to say, Hargrove? That it sucks my husband died by suicide because he lost his damn mind and tried to kill someone who rebuffed his attentions?”
My chest tightened, making the last words croak out in a whisper. I gripped the armrests of the chair as my vision swam before me.
They had the world believing their lies about Bradley’s death.
Because of them, everyone tiptoed around me, pitied me, whispered behind my back about my husband cheating on me.
Meanwhile Brad had never once cheated. We had an open marriage and took thirds, fourths, often.
I was the one who tried to change that before he died.
He did nothing wrong.
“Look, I don’t think it would be wise for me to force you to take the time off,” Hargrove said.
“I’m trusting your judgment right now, but the second I see otherwise, I’m pulling you off duty.
You do good work here, Cavanagh, but I’m worried about your mental health, that you’re repressing things to function here at work instead of dealing with them. ”
“I’m not.”
He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to me. I scanned the business card and scoffed.
“Seriously? You’re sending me to see a shrink?” He raised an eyebrow, and I dropped my gaze. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Of course psychiatrists are wonderful for the field, but I don’t need one.”
“Well, that’s the only way you’re getting out of taking time off. You either book a vacation, preferably somewhere sunny, or see Dr. Collins for a psychological fitness report. I don’t see what the big deal is. If there isn’t a problem, like you claim, then it should be a piece of cake.”
“Fine.” I tucked the card into my shirt pocket. “I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Collins.”
“It’s already made. She’s expecting you tomorrow morning at ten. Show up.”
I didn’t argue. It was useless. I could tell he’d already made up his mind, and he’d given me a way out of the bereavement leave. If—when I aced the session, he would finally give the subject a rest.
“Okay, I’ll go to the session, but you have to promise you’ll stop harassing me about a leave when you get the report that I am fine.”
After a moment he stood, walking around the desk to lean against its edge. His voice softened slightly. “I’m sorry if it feels like harassment, but I’m doing this because I care. You’re forgetting you’re not the only one who has ever lost a spouse.”
I’d forgotten about that. His wife had died long before I started working at the hospital. He’d been a loner when I came on board, but after a while of talking to him, even when he gave me the cold shoulder, he started coming around.
“After Pam died, I almost lost everything because I didn’t handle the grief properly. No one around me saw the signs of how badly I was doing, working myself into an early grave because it made it easier to forget.”
“You have Hao now.”
Hao was the paramedic who found Dr. Hargrove unresponsive five years ago after the doctor overdosed from grieving his wife.
Hao pulled him back from the edge that night, first with a defibrillator and steady hands, and later with patience, stubborn compassion, and a refusal to let him disappear into himself again.
Somewhere in the years that followed, the man who saved his life became the man he couldn’t imagine living without. They had been living together for the past four months.
Hargrove smiled, the lines in his face becoming more pronounced.
He’d found love again after losing his wife, and with someone unexpected.
I’d heard his story several times, of how he hadn’t been looking.
That the last person he would have expected to spend the rest of his life with was another man.
Just the thought of loving someone else after Brad made me queasy. Sex I could do. Sex was easy. Brad and I had it often enough with other men we didn’t care about, but I would have to be a glutton for punishment to go through this again by giving my heart to someone else.
“Hao was unexpected, but he came at the right time,” Hargrove said. “You’re young and—”
I scrambled to my feet. “Respectfully, sir, I’m not looking to replace my husband.”
“Who said anything about replacing him?” He eased off the desk.
“Hao taught me loving someone else doesn’t mean you start pretending your first love didn’t happen, but that’s besides the point.
I fear we may have gone off track. All I meant is that the way you feel today won’t necessarily be how you feel in another year or two.
So give yourself the grace when you need it to process your grief in a healthy way.
The minute you feel like all this is too much and you need to reset, let me know.
Don’t try to push through it and ignore the signs. That’s malpractice waiting to happen.”
My shoulders relaxed. “I appreciate all that you’re doing for me, Hargrove. I really do.”
I’d given up my family and friends to keep them safe.
The downside was that I had no one to turn to about anything.
Maybe seeing a psychiatrist wasn’t such a bad idea, but how helpful could it be since I couldn’t talk about the things that bothered me?
Like a six-foot-four scary Mafia man who tracked my every movement.
He nodded, apparently satisfied enough to let it go.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Walk with me. I need coffee before having to face the chief of police.”
“What’s that about?”
We stepped into the hallway together.
“Second body found this month with the same MO. Severely beaten with a high concentration of drugs in their system. It seems like a new drug has hit the streets. We’re looking at links to the uptick in overdosed patients we’ve had recently.
One was the governor’s youngest son, so there’s pressure on the chief of police to find answers. ”
“I see.”
“On a lighter note, I’m thinking of doing something that might either be a big mistake or one of the best decisions of my life.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I’m thinking of proposing.”
I blinked at him. “Wow, that’s exciting.”
“Isn’t it? I never thought I’d get married again, especially at this age.”
I scoffed. “You’re what? Early fifties?”
He all but preened, his teeth gleaming white against his dark-brown skin. “Damn, that’s a compliment. I’m sixty-two. Hao’s turning fifty next week. I’m thinking of doing it then.”
“He’ll say yes for sure. I’ve seen the way Hao looks at you, and he’s completely smitten.”