Page 43 of Under Fire

She bit her lip, screaming at herself to be smooth.

“Well, it’s a long journey to get here.” The doctor shot her a skeptical look. “After you are licensed, after your basic residency, you’ll need years and years of specialist training, but you already know that?”

Alisa continued nodding in agreement. “Yes, Doctor—this is something that I’m prepared for.”

She waited, prickles on her skin as an awkward silence flooded the space between her and the doctor. Dr. Roske assessed her, seemingly judging her words. Alisa shifted in her seat, trying to look as serious as possible but knowing her mind had been elsewhere all week.

“I really want this,” Alisa said, trying to make her sales pitch. “I really want to be in radiology.”

“Okay,” Dr. Roske started slowly, narrowing her eyes at Alisa. “So, for the residency, I only have two spots available. It’s very competitive.”

“I know,” Alisa responded. “I am aware.”

The doctor crossed her hands on her knee, clearly trying to formulate the right words. Alisa knew what was coming next.

“Surely, a young woman like yourself would prefer to be working more directly with patients as opposed to here in the back office?” Dr. Roske’s light blue eyes shot her student a challenging look but one that Alisa was used to getting. “Radiology is really not for most people.”

So, she gave the doctor a dose of raw honesty.

“I’m not suited to work with people—or children, for that matter. I’ve never been very good at the softer touch, the bedside manner thing,” Alisa explained, chewing her lip and looking back at the screen. “I’m not a people-person, but I’m good at medicine. I’m good at science.”

It was hard admitting the truth, but she needed the doctor to understand. Alisa wasn’t going to be able to be the well-loved doctor, receiving chocolates and Christmas cards from their patients, or the doctor who played funny games with the kids, making them all laugh their blues away. All her years in med school had taught her that she wasn’t cut out for that.

“You are better with people than you give yourself credit for, I’m sure,” the doctor suggested, but pushed forward with the conversation.

“This is my path,” Alisa said.

“You are so young. How do you really know your path?”

“Trial and error.”

And I’m tired of embarrassing myself.

Alisa shifted in her seat, but Dr. Roske’s desk line rang, cutting the conversation and prompting her to take the call. A conversation ensued between her and a surgeon. Alisa watched in awe, knowing that someday soon, that was going to be her.

Bright rays of sunshine danced on the doctor’s face, warming up the small office. After a scorching weekend, LA’s heat was only rising. That afternoon, they were already in a record high of heat and smog. Alisa had seen the worst of it since she started taking extra shifts in the ER. There were a lot of cases of serious heat stroke and dehydration coming in these days.

As Dr. Roske’s conversation carried on, Alisa clued in that she had a spare minute. That part of her brain obsessing over why her phone had vibrated took control. Exhaling in defeat, Alisa slipped her hand down the side of the chair toward her bag, fishing for her cell phone. Though she kept her eyes on the doctor, her mind was somewhere else entirely.

When she’d woken up in bed alone on Sunday morning, grasping for Warren’s hard, warm body, she’d lied to herself, pretending that it didn’t hurt that he wasn’t there, that he’d just disappeared. She justified to herself that there were many reasons he’d leave without saying goodbye. She promised herself that she’d hear from him, that it wasn’t over.

But then, she’d seen the check he’d left for her.

And she’d felt that.

She pulled her cell into her lap. A rush of cutting disappointment, yet again, coming over her, Alisa saw that there was nothing from Warren. Though, there was a text message from someone she was not so excited to hear from.

Dean had written.

You going to be at the airport tomorrow?I’m arriving after dinner.

Alisa inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring. She slammed back a text message to him, fear mounting.

I think so.

You could sound a little more excited. It’s been a while.

Backtracking, she started typing but deleted it. It sounded too guilty. Her brain was spinning. Dean sent another message right away, clearly suspicious.

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