Chapter 31 - Cat
Cat
The vein at my temple pulsates with every step I take.
I received the formal notice within ten minutes of the phone call.
An invitation to a closed meeting regarding a possible boundary violation with a former patient.
No official charges yet, but a hearing to determine whether they’d push it to the board.
Just like that, all my hard work and everything I had built crumpled in front of me.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. And yet…
I run my hands over my blouse again, trying to smooth it out. I can’t walk in there looking like a—
“Baby,” Mary whispers as her hand slides over mine. “You are fidgeting.”
I open my mouth to snap at her. To tell her I have earned every little right to fidget. But her blue eyes are filled with concern, and the crease between her eyebrows is so deep that all the fight instantly leaves me when I look at her.
She has been on edge, too, ever since I received the phone call.
She tried to come up with all different kinds of scenarios where this would play out in the best possible way, and every single time, I had to explain to her why it was highly unlikely.
She even offered to speak on my behalf, and her heart broke when I told her that this wasn’t going to be some movie scene where she could storm in and save the day.
These meetings are behind closed doors for a reason.
Then she told me to lie. Flat out deny the allegations.
That’s where I reminded her of the gala.
I saw her world shatter at the realization that there is no way out of this. That our relationship became public the moment she walked through those doors with me. Doors she was so adamant about. And that’s when the fear underneath it all came out. What if I resented her for it?
But how could I? How could I resent the woman who, in the span of five months, became the focus of my life? This woman who has owned my heart since the moment she set foot in this ER because she was too stubborn to crash? Yes, I would resent losing my career, but not her. Never her.
“Nerves,” I croak finally, and Mary’s fingers tangle with mine.
“How can I help?”
I huff a little. A part of me is annoyed at the question. The part that is used to solving problems like these on my own. But another part wants to bury my face in her neck so that she can hold me. The way she held me when my father called to grill me after he found out.
“Who is this woman, hija?”
Those were the first words out of his mouth, and I instantly knew Mamá was not with him.
“Dad, how did you even—”
“Do you think that just because I retired, I no longer have connections at the hospital? Now speak, girl.”
“Papá—”
“Don’t ‘Papá’ me. Tell me who this woman you are willing to throw away your career for is, but who you have not deemed important enough to bring home to your family.”
I had blinked at that. My father had never once shown interest in my personal relationships. Even after Alex, he had trusted me not to let it interfere with my work. And it didn’t. So the sudden accusation…
“You told Mom?”
“You think I can keep these things from su madre? Estás loca, hija?”
He had a point, and there had been no use fighting him.
I told him everything. From the moment Mary had stumbled into me and drawn my attention, to how I had drunk-texted her.
How that made her pursue me and how she assured me it was something she wanted, and how I had caved and given in.
Because… Mary. He had yelled at me, called me stupid, and cursed at me in two languages.
And then… then he told me he’d see what he could do.
The call had left me rattled, and I burst into tears before I could even put the phone down.
Mary, who was researching in the other room, had come running.
Her face white, her eyes wide with shock.
She hadn’t asked a single thing but just pulled me against her chest, cupped the back of my head, and held me. I never felt safer in my life.
I squeeze her hand a little and swallow, trying to push down the waves of anxiety that try to flare up from my stomach.
Each new one stronger than the one before.
I take a few slow breaths, but the unease still simmers beneath the surface.
This is one of those occasions when I can’t calm myself until I know the outcome.
“It already helps that you are here,” I say softly, honestly.
We push through the double doors that lead to the conference room where this meeting will take place. That is the only positive sign of this day. They didn’t go for the auditorium, so the meeting will be small and preliminary.
Right as we walk into the hallway, Wilder rounds the corner.
She wears pilled black slacks and a cheap white blouse, her hair pulled tightly up in a bun, not a single strand out of place.
There is no doubt in my mind where she has been or what she has done.
I lift my chin, ignoring her completely, but our eyes meet as we pass, and a foul grin spreads across her face. Fucking puta.
I clench my jaw and push away the thought. That’s not me, and I refuse to let her trick me into becoming that person. No. Katherina Durand takes responsibility, and if it had been any other doctor, I would have said Wilder was right to call it out. Just because it’s me—
“Cat?”
Mary’s voice pulls me back to her again, and I realize we are standing right in front of the conference room. I shake off the thoughts and lead her to the chairs against the opposite wall. She insisted on coming with me, and, in this moment, I am glad that she did.
Bile tries to push its way up my throat, leaving behind a burning sensation. My hands are shaking, and I can’t get them to stop. And my breathing…
Mary’s hand lands on my knee, her thumb softly stroking it through the fabric. I feel her gaze on me, feel how she is studying me. She is reading me to figure out what I need, how she can help carry this load with me. That alone is enough for me to love her even more.
“I wish you could come in with me,” I admit, my voice a little shaky. “I’m scared, Mary.”
She doesn’t flinch. She only nods. I guess it isn’t much of a surprise or an extraordinary reaction.
“Me too,” she sighs, and I feel the heaviness behind it.
“I messed up pretty badly, didn’t I?”
“We, Cat. Remember, you tried to keep me at a distance.”
I smirk. We both know that even though I tried, I never stood a single chance.
I was the one who pulled the number from her record and texted her in private instead of making a follow-up call.
But we both agreed that since nobody knew about that, nobody would find out.
I pulled up her record to see if she had requested the additional testing for the Somogyi effect. At least that will be my explanation.
“Doctor Durand?”
I look up to see Sylvia DeLuca standing in the doorway. The older woman drags her gaze over Mary once, her eyes resting on our entangled hands, before she meets my gaze and nods once, her expression blank.
I feel the same surge of bile, and I swallow hard to prevent myself from heaving, before I rise and follow her inside. Right before I step through the door, I glance back at Mary, who is chewing at her bottom lip. Her eyes are on mine, worried but warm. Worth it.
The room is cold. It always is, just as the chairs are a little too hard. They are designed to make people a little uncomfortable. Not meant to keep them sharp, like most people would think, but to split their focus just enough so that they let their guard down. A natural truth serum, if you will.
I grit my teeth while my eyes glide over the members present. DeLuca from HR, Nurse Whitman to replace Carmen due to our personal ties, Doctor Honda to replace… well… me, Doctor Glaston from oncology, Doctor Perry as the senior physician, and… Daniel Abbott. Why the hell is he here?
It isn’t unheard of for a chair member to sit in on these meetings, especially not if they are high-profile, but Daniel has never once joined us before.
My eyes narrow as I take it all in, trying to determine what this means for me.
I thought the conference room was a small sign in my favor, but his presence—
“Doctor Durand, thank you for joining us today,” Perry drones as he pulls my attention toward him.
I blink and turn my head, a cold shiver running down my spine. These are the people I work with on a daily basis. They are the ones I sit next to each month for the same kind of hearings. To be on this end of the table is unreal.
“As you know, this is an informal review regarding a possible professional boundary violation.”
His voice is as flat as it always is when he welcomes those subject to scrutiny.
No assumptions, no emotion, no accusation.
Even though, more often than not, we’ve already discussed the cases brought to us and have a rough idea of where things will go.
My stomach churns at that thought, and I grip the table hard. They already know my fate.
“There has been a single report that you may have engaged in a personal relationship with a patient under your care. A Miss M.F.A. van Achthoven.” His voice wavers a bit as he butchers Mary’s last name, but his face remains unreadable.
I don’t speak yet. I know it won’t help me to go on the defensive. But I do clock how he mentions that it’s a single report—Wilder—numbers aren’t usually disclosed. For some reason, it helps me breathe just a little easier.
“Doctor Durand, can you describe the nature and timeline of your interactions with this individual?”
I put my hands back into my lap and lace my frozen fingers together as I take another regulating breath. They might have already discussed this, but my reaction will help them reach an official decision. So I carefully repeat the words the way I went over them with my father and his attorney.
“Miss Van Achthoven is my partner. She came into the hospital on March 28 of this year, to have her glucose checked. I happened to be near the intake desk when the triage nurse dismissed her symptoms as nonurgent, which caught my attention. One look at Miss Van Achthoven told me she was in need of immediate attention. I took her to an exam room myself, where I treated her for a hypoglycemic episode.”
I pause for a moment and look at the committee. None of them seem surprised by anything I just said. Nor should they. It was just another day at Inova. I take a sip of water and force myself to stay calm even though I can feel my pulse thrum against my neck.
“I made a follow-up appointment because she showed signs of being at risk due to her behavior. She was exercising in a fasted state, pushing far past her limits. I wanted to mitigate any risk. Miss Van Achthoven no longer presented with any of these signs three days later, so I discharged her.”
“Do not say another word after you mention the discharge.” My father’s words echo in my ears. “Not unless they ask.”
I am not sure who he was kidding, himself or me. Of course they’ll ask.
“Doctor Durand, at what point did you and Miss Van Achthoven get romantically involved?”
And there it is.