Page 8 of The Devil You Know
Yes, I “volunteered.” That’s one way to put it. “Right…”
Dr. Kirschstein tugs on the lapel of his white coat. Ninety percent of doctors at the VA don’t wear white coats on a daily basis, myself included, but I’ve never seen the man without one. “Tomorrow, we have a very special speaker at our grand rounds. He’s a vascular surgeon who just joined the staff.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter.
Surgeons—not my favorite. The last surgeon I’ve known well was the one I dated through most of residency, although I haven’t seen him since. That guy thrived on making his interns cry, and probably, I don’tknow, tortured puppies in his spare time. He wasn’t exactly a nice guy.
I wonder what Ryan is up to these days…
“Yes, itiswonderful.” Dr. Kirschstein doesn’t appreciate sarcasm. Maybe it hadn’t been invented yet when he was born. “And we would be appreciative if you could show up fifteen minutes early to help him with any questions he has about the AV equipment.”
So I’ve got to set my alarm for fifteen minutes earlier, and confirm with Mila that Leah’s daycare will open promptly on time tomorrow. I file it all away on my endless mental checklist, between picking up more baby shampoo and buying a present for an upcoming toddler birthday party.
“Can’t the AV people do that?” I ask hopefully.
Dr. Kirschstein shakes his head. “This surgeon has specifically requested aphysicianto be available to help him.”
I don’t think this surgeon is going to be my new best friend.
“Let me remind you, Dr. McGill,” Dr. Kirschstein says, “that this man is a highly skilled and highly respected vascular surgeon.”
“Then what’s he doing working at the VA?”
Oops, did I say that out loud?
“Dr. McGill!” Dr. Kirschstein looks absolutely horrified by my comment. He’s probably the worst personI could have said that in front of. He’s actually a veteran himself, a fact that he’s reminded me of many, many times. I can’t seem to remember what war he fought in—The Great War, maybe? I don’t know. “Let me remind you that the Veteran’s Administration Hospital serves our greatest and most needy population in the entire—”
“Okay, okay,” I say quickly. I’ve probably heard this speech five million times. I think I’ve memorized it—it ends with the Pledge of Allegiance. “I’ll be there.”
It’s only fifteen minutes less sleep. I’ll live.
_____
“Jane.” Mila the Preschool Nazi is frowning at me with her arms folded across her chest. “We must speak.”
Mila runs the preschool that Leah has been attending for the past year. She’s speaks with a thick French accent, has a stout and matronly frame, and is at least a head shorter than I am (and I’m not tall). She looks like she is somebody’s grandmother. Ben and I are both absolutely terrified of this woman.
Mila has a lot of her own children, all of whom are now grown. She has about seven-thousand children. Or maybe just seven. In any case, there are a lot of them. I can’t imagine having seven children. I can barely manage one.
“Yes?” I say.
She gestures at Leah, who is playing happily with a set of blocks. Leah is absolutely inconsolable when I leave her every morning, clinging to my clothing and making me feel like a neglectful mother. Yet somehow when I pick her up, she usually refuses to leave. Sometimes I think her purpose in life is to infuriate me.
“Leah’s clothing,” Mila says. “She is wearing a nightdress to school today, Jane. No. This isnot acceptable.”
I knew it! Damn you, Ben.
“Oh?” I say.
“What sort of school allows you to wear a nightgown?” Mila continues. “It is completely inappropriate, Jane!”
“I understand,” I say. “I mean, I wouldn’t have picked that out for her. But she just really loves that nightgown and she wanted to wear it.”
“Shewanted to wear it!” Mila snorts. “This is so ridiculous! Who is the boss, Jane?”
“You?” I venture.
Mila gives me a funny look. “No, Jane.Youare the boss. She does not tell you what she wears.Youtellher.”
