Page 151 of Love Sick

No apology is forthcoming. No remorse lines his face. He doesn’t care. Or maybe he doesn’t know enough to care. What I’ve gone through and how it affected me—it doesn’t matter to him. It affects him in no way. The slut-shaming and side-eyes I received are just a part of the culture. Business as usual. This man and all the ones like him are a part of the insidious underpinnings of medicine. The good old boys’ club.

It’s this moment that flips a switch in my mind, and I decide to join Chen’s task force. This is wrong. What happened to me is just…it’s wrong. If I can stop it from happening to even one more person, it will be time well served.

People tell me I put too much stock in the rumors. And sure, maybe I care too much about what other people say. Maybe I should let it all roll off my shoulders. But it’s been so hard when I know I’m innocent.

Like Matt, I allowed the rumors to take more from me than they deserved, but Alesha… Alesha had the power to stop it. She could have explained how they started in the first place, but she did nothing. She placed her transgressions on my name and walked away.

Since the fallout with Julian, my heart is like delicate spun glass, shattered. I’ve been painstakingly gluing the pieces back together, but this has knocked it off the edge. Smashed on the floor, it’s unrecognizable. Irreparable.

I thought I was broken before, but this is the true breaking point. This is proof that I continually place my trust in the wrong people.

Alesha is my best friend, and she screwed me.

“Why don’t you go home?” Asher says, touching my elbow. “I’ll cover the rest of your shift.”

My movements are leaden as I turn toward him.

He offers a comforting smile. “Go on, Grace. Take the afternoon. You need it.”

I can’t say anything, so I squeeze his shoulder in thanks and leave the room.

* * *

Four days later, Alesha still hasn’t responded to my texts or calls, and I’ve had time to stew. When she didn’t appear in didactics on Thursday, I checked the schedule. She has the week off for vacation—something I’m certain wasn’t on the schedule the last time I checked it.

I’ve never been so pissed. Twenty-two months she’s had the key to stopping all these rumors. Why didn’t she? To protect herself?

I want to hear the truth from her mouth. Maybe she’ll have an excuse that makes sense, one that can set me on the path to forgiveness. Small chance, of course, but this anger is festering deep in my gut. Unhealthy. I need to talk to her.

Except she won’t answer her goddamn phone.

My twenty-four at TUMC that weekend is blissfully slow. I spend the majority of my time sleeping, rewatchingThe Officeand answering pages.

Normally, a page details a phone number, a patient name and a brief reason for the page. The one I stare at now has me scratching my head. It gives me the phone number and patient name, but then says,WARNING. SHE’S A LITTLE ANGRY.

Hmm. Well, this should be interesting…

For the next twenty-five minutes, I serve as a bystander for some woman’s rant against an OB who works in a different city. She ends her tirade by asking whether our clinic is taking new patients.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

“Great. What’s your name? You sound like you could probably help me.”

A judge in my mind who craves justice blurts out a lie. “Alesha Lipton, ma’am. I’d be happy to take care of you. Be sure to ask for me when you call on Monday.”

“Will do. Just don’t screw it up like the last doctor.”

“I won’t, ma’am.”

She disconnects, and I shoot a sinister grin at nothing in particular.

A while later, I check out the few patients on the floor to Greg Kelly, hand him the pager and abandon the hospital. The parking lot is half-empty, so Alesha’s familiar shape sitting on the bumper of my Camry is visible from a long distance.

My gut twists, and I briefly consider turning around, but she hops off my car and beckons to me.

“Please, Grace!” she shouts.

Shrugging my backpack on tighter, I march in her direction, then stand in front of her and cross my arms. “Congrats, Dr. Langston.”

---