Chapter 2
Sixteen years later
The toe of my shoe taps quickly against the tiled floor while I wait for a pot of coffee to finish brewing.
I only have a few minutes before a nurse or an attending physician comes looking for me, abruptly ending my reprieve.
As a doctor in residency, my breaks are short and few and far between.
Come on, come on, I silently plead, willing the process to speed up.
A news bulletin flashes across the television screen hanging in the corner of the break room, snapping me out of my daze.
“Tonight’s top story, a mysterious illness that popped up seemingly overnight is sending people to area hospitals in droves.
Patients are reporting flu-like symptoms, such as nausea, brain fog, and debilitating headaches.
Top health officials are unsure as to what caused the sudden outbreak, but their top priorities are to treat the symptoms and slow the spread. ”
Every year, we go through something like this.
A new illness. A new outbreak. The news hypes it up for ratings.
Crowds of fearful people show up at their local hospitals, complaining of sniffles and runny noses.
And those prepping for the end of the world sit back, thinking this is it, this is the end.
It never is, though. Modern medicine always prevails.
The door swings open and I sigh, realizing my break is finished before it even started.
I glance over my shoulder, ready to address whoever is about to request my time and energy, but instead, I find Nate strolling in with no urgency whatsoever.
He’s got it all—looks, height, brains, a great job, and a full head of hair—so I’m not exactly sure what it is he sees in me.
“Nate,” I say with a small smile.
His hand cups the back of my head, pulling me into him. Nate presses his lips hard into mine, and my cheeks immediately feel warm.
“It’s Dr. Warner,” he teases. “I’d hate to have to report you to HR.”
“I’d hate that too, Doctor,” I say before kissing him again. We both work long hours, our shifts overlapping here and there, so the moments we have together are fleeting. We try to make the most of them.
“Dr. Warner?” a voice calls out, interrupting us.
We quickly pull apart. Turning away from him, I wipe my mouth, straighten my top, and try to look as nonchalant as possible. Nurse Garcia stands in the doorway, a clipboard in hand. She saw what we were doing, but she pretends not to have noticed.
“Yes, Nurse Garcia, what is it?” Nate says, brushing his white coat flat and running a hand through his perfectly coiffed blond hair. Even though he’s my fiancé, I still don’t know how he maintains the shine and volume throughout a full fourteen-hour shift.
“Emergency waiting room is backed up due to that virus outbreak, and we’re out of room, so we can’t check any more people in. I contacted other area hospitals, and they’re in the same boat as we are, so what do you suggest we do?”
“Start discharging patients, then,” Nate says.
“No can do.” She shakes her head. “There aren’t any to discharge.”
Nate sighs heavily, scratching his brow. “Do we have more beds?”
Nurse Garcia nods.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and impatiently take a small sip, burning my tongue and upper lip in the process. I need the caffeine to get through the rest of my shift. I should be halfway done at this point, but given the state of the hospital, it’s most likely just starting.
“Have a few orderlies start lining the hallway closest to the emergency room with beds on either side. Space them six feet apart from one another, check in any patients reporting symptoms related to that unknown illness, and assign them to a hallway bed. Just mark them with numbers if you need to keep track. Bed one, bed two, et cetera . . . Dr. Pearson and I”—he throws me a quick, flirty smile—“will process all the ‘flu,’ or whatever it is, patients and hopefully get them in and out quickly. Most of them are just looking for medication to manage their symptoms, right?”
“For the most part, yes, but we’re starting to see repeat patients, ones that came in yesterday. I recognized at least eight when I did a quick scan of the waiting room,” she says.
Nate furrows his brow for a moment but then relaxes it. “Get the repeat patients checked in first. Hopefully, it’ll give us an idea of what’s not working. That way we can make adjustments for any new ones coming in with similar symptoms.”
“Yes, Dr. Warner,” Nurse Garcia says, before making a quick exit.
I blow on my hot coffee and look to Nate with a coy smile. “Wonder if there’s a spare bed for you and me.”
He snaps his fingers and points one in my direction. “That reminds me. My parents are coming into town in a few weeks.”
“The mention of us in bed together reminded you of your parents?” I cock my head.
Nate chuckles. “No, spare and bed.” He flicks a hand at me. “Anyway, they want to meet your dad, and I’d like too as well. I don’t want to meet him for the first time at our wedding. So, is there any chance he can come into town? Even just for dinner.”
I take a long sip of my coffee. It’s still too hot, but I need time to come up with an excuse while also going through the Rolodex of reasons I’ve already given him for why he can’t meet my dad.
Let’s see. There’s the farm that doesn’t exist that he has to take care of.
He’s had every doctor’s appointment under the sun.
Jury duty. Can’t use that again. His truck’s in the shop.
He’s on medication that he’s not supposed to drive on.
He caught the flu again. He’s got an old army friend staying with him. Hmmm.
“I’ll ask him,” I say, knowing full well that I won’t, and ultimately, I’ll tell Nate that he can’t come for one reason or another, once I think of one I haven’t already used.
It’s been nearly two years since Nate and I started dating, and a month ago, he slipped this sparkly rock on my finger and asked me to marry him.
It’s too big for my taste, but I told him I loved it, and I said yes.
Afterward, Nate wanted me to call my dad to tell him the news, but I claimed it went to voicemail and that I’d call him back. I never did.
“Your dad can stay with us too, and if driving in the city is a problem, he could take the train down from Harvard, and I’ll pick him up.”
“I’ll let him know.” Another lie.
The truth is, I haven’t really spoken to my dad in nine years—I mean, aside from occasional short replies to his lengthy texts, letting him know I’m still alive.
But I can’t tell Nate that, because if I did, I’d have to explain to him why I don’t really have a relationship with my dad.
That’s not something I ever intend to revisit.
I left that part of my life behind, and that’s where I want it to stay.
“I’d really like to meet him, Casey.”
“I know, and he wants to meet you too,” I say. It’s not a total lie. If my dad knew Nate existed, he’d want to more than meet him. He’d welcome Nate with open arms and treat him like the son he never had.
Nate nods, accepting my answer again. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up this charade.
We’ve already agreed on a two-year engagement so I can finish my residency before I have to start thinking about planning a wedding.
Plus, Nate and I haven’t been able to get out of the city for even a night, due to one of us always being on call.
That’s the only reason I’ve been able to keep my past separated from my present.
If I had known when Nate and I first started dating that our relationship would last longer than a few months, I would have told him my dad lived on the other side of the country, rather than up in Wisconsin.
“Dr. Warner to the hallway waiting area. Dr. Warner to the hallway waiting area,” a voice calls through the hospital PA system.
“Ready?” Nate asks, tossing me a charming smile.
Grinning back, I plant a kiss on his lips. “Always.”
By always, I mean from the age of fourteen—that’s when I knew I wanted to be a doctor.
My father’s impractical way of protecting people never made sense to me, so I sought out a realistic way of actually doing some good.
An ideal I still cling to in the early stages of my career, despite complaints from the other, more jaded doctors, who now seem only to enjoy the paycheck, Nate included.
Nate and I walk side by side through the long corridor, the walls a sterile mix of white and light blue, not shades you would ever pick for a room in your home.
Hospital beds line either side of the hall, spaced six feet apart, just as he requested.
Half are still empty, but a dozen plus, set closest to the waiting room, are already occupied with newly checked-in patients.
I recognize several from yesterday, but from their pale faces and sunken eyes, it’s clear their conditions have worsened.
A middle-aged woman presses her palms against her temples and lets out a moan.
She rocks back and forth, trying to alleviate the pain.
A thin man squeezes his eyes shut and winces.
Nate and I pull apart to make way for a nurse pushing an ailing patient in a wheelchair.
Nods and tight smiles are exchanged, our way of saying, This is totally fucked, without actually saying it, because it’s our job to stay calm.
We reach the first set of beds and do an about-face, surveying the work ahead of us. It’s madness, with hospital staff moving quickly and a couple dozen confused and sick patients waiting to be seen. Some sit calmly, coughing and sneezing, while a few writhe in pain.
“You take the left, and I’ll take the right,” Nate says. “Report anything out of the ordinary, and let me know if you have any questions, okay?”
“Sounds good.” I nod.