Page 66 of Hearts on the Table
“Um…” I blinked, the woman in front of me whipping out her phone.
“Can I get a picture with you two? My friends and I have been texting about that video all day! Too cute.” She held her phone up for a selfie, the screen showing her excited grin, my baffled face, and Lainey’s alarm-filled expression. I grabbed the phone, covering the camera with my palm as I lowered it.
“Sorry, not right now.”
“Oh, I just—” The woman frowned, looking put out.
I didn’t care if this woman wanted to take our photo, even though it was weird as fuck. She didn’t know us, even if she had been texting about us with her friends. Also weird. If Lainey didn’t want her picture taken, it wouldn’t be.
“We’d like to keep a low profile, if you don’t mind.”
“We’re, ah, here to discuss a patient case. HIPAA laws, you know?” Lainey chimed in. I frowned, not entirely sure what HIPAA had to do with our date, but it seemed to make sense to the woman, who nodded and went to sit back at her table after telling us to “keep up the good work and keep dancing!”
A few other patrons had turned to look at us while a dark-haired woman in an apron bustled to the front counter.
“Reese? Table for two?” she grabbed a pair of menus while surveying the restaurant. A few tables continued to stare. “I had you set up by the windows, but let me see if we can get you settled somewhere more private.”
She led us to a booth in the back, partitioned off by a frosted glass panel. While I walked, I tried to wrap my brain around the fact that we needed any privacy to begin with. We had a viral video. How fucking bizarre.
“You two come and sit down now.” She gathered a few plates and cups from the previous diners. “Just give me a second to get this out of your way.”
“We’re here to discuss a patient case,” Lainey blurted, perching on the edge of the booth. The woman blinked, gathering a few napkins on top of the dishes she held.
She took in Lainey’s dress and my sport coat, but didn’t comment other than to say, “Discuss whatever you like. I’ll be right back with some fresh waters for you.”
“Oh my God,” Lainey hissed, whipping her phone out and thumbing through apps. She buried her face in her hands, whispering, “Frack.”
The video had ten million views. As her phone lay on the table, several texts and social media notifications pinged, mostly people congratulating her. She stared at it, forehead to palm, in horror, like it had turned into a snake. While I watched, a text from Jones popped up, asking her if she wanted to go out to celebrate.
“It’s weird, but it’ll be okay,” I murmured, making a mental note to trip Jones the next time I saw him in the hallway. She flinched away when I raised my hand to stroke her arm.
“You cannot touch me in public.” She went so far as to scoot a few inches over the booth. My hand dropped to my lap.
“Lainey, it’s just a video on social media. It’ll blow over.” I didn’t know this to be true, but it seemed right. Tomorrow, there’d be a video of a panda sneezing or something and everyone would go crazy over that.
She scoffed, falling silent the moment the dark-haired waitress reappeared with a basket of breadsticks and two waters. Lainey let out an audible breath when the woman left the booth.
“Hey,” I coaxed, clenching my hands to stop myself from reaching for her. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“It’s not just a viral video. Rebecca Carmichael’s daughter, the heart surgeon, going viral post-op won’t just go away. Jesus, they’re going to drag my mom into this…”
She crumbled, and the smug/happy/satisfied feeling I’d had all day deflated. I hadn’t considered the implications of the video for her. Maybe she hadn’t, either, until we’d been confronted head-on by a woman waving her camera in our faces.
“What if someone took a picture of us walking in here? What if it gets back to the hospital?”
I mentally retraced our steps from where I’d parked on the street into the building. I didn’t recall anyone pointing a camera in our direction. Then again, I hadn’t known to be on the lookout for something like that.
“I told you before, the hospital won’t care.”
“I’m a fellow. You practically run the fellowship program. You’re leading the hiring committee for my next job. This will look awful.”
I wasn’t exactly in charge of the hiring committee anymore, but I hadn’t decided when to bring that up with her, or how. Certainly not now. I glanced around the booth. Under any other circumstances it would have felt secluded. Cozy. Now, it felt like we were trapped.
“Could we ask them to take it down?” Something, anything to pump the brakes on some freak social media event that was spiraling quickly out of control.
“They have complete authority to use it. Our contracts have image and likeness clauses in them. My mom’s lawyers fought to get them removed when I was a resident, but Cedar wouldn’t budge.”
“We could still ask.”
