Page 9 of Hearts on the Table
“Anyway. They’re working it out with legal. They’re talking about some new policy to report relationships up to HR, as if it’ll help anyone keep it in their pants. At least it takes some liability off of the hospital. Sturmond's been beating his quality standards drum. I think he’s doing most of the work to push it through.”
“Hmm.” Not many people could discern how I felt at any given moment. I was tight-lipped at the best of times and downright silent for the rest. But I’d been working with Caplan long enough that he was getting the picture, especially since I’d started taking over responsibilities with the residents, even if it was only in an unofficial capacity.
“Yeah, yeah. I know you’re no fan of Sturmond’s right now. Or the quality board.” An understatement, and we both knew it. “But we wouldn’t be sitting here if he hadn’t convinced the hospital board to open up this new campus.”
The sleek glass and steel around us was a testament to the man’s hard work; I’d give him that. Our cardiac center was no longer crammed back behind the main hospital campus acrosstown. The new building was the jewel of the row of hospitals known as Chicago’s medical district.
The tall glass exterior glittered. Everywhere you looked in here, it was all gleaming white tile and shining chrome fixtures—and that was just in the patient-facing areas. The ORs, the staff lounges, conference rooms, and offices were crammed with the latest amenities and medical gadgets. Yeah, Sturmond was an ass, but he knew how to build a damn hospital.
“He’s feeling overly proprietary about everything. The whole advisory board is. I give it another year before they get bored or turn their members over and we can go back to business as usual.”
Caplan wasn’t a bad man, and he wasn’t even a bad director, but he rolled over for the board. First, the hospital board, when they’d announced they were putting Sturmond in charge of the new quality board. Now, he lacked a spine when that same quality board marched in and stomped all over our clinical proceedings. I wasn’t sure why, exactly, Sturmond felt it was his right to intrude on our surgical cases, but the man certainly loved playing king of the castle.
I kept those thoughts to myself. Caplan shifted, pulling a file closer to him. “Let’s talk about better stuff, huh? This is great work. I like the approach—take surgical time from the attendings and focus it on the residents. Give the residents more time in the OR. No one else is doing it quite like this.” Caplan tapped on the folder containing my proposal for the new resident teaching structure. I’d been thinking about it for months, and it had been on his desk for three weeks. It was gratifying, at least, that he had read it.
I hoped that the hiring committee for the new resident program director would be equally as impressed as Caplan. I was early in my career, only three years out of my own training, and it was rare for someone with that little experience to heada program like this. But I wanted it more than anyone else at Cedar, and every little bit would help to sway the committee into taking me seriously.
“You’ll have to get the surgeons to buy into it, though.” He flipped through the pages. “Usually, we have to pry them out of the OR. Not sure how many will want to trade a surgical day to babysit the residents.”
“I’ve had several surgeons express interest.” After some convincing, of course. I was a man of few words, but what I lacked in quantity, I liked to think I made up for in quality. Every surgeon I’d discussed the plan with had eventually admitted its merits, and even told me they’d be interested in trying it. At its core, Cedar was a teaching hospital. If we lost that foundation, we weren’t anything but a money-making factory that happened to stitch people up.
“Be that as it may, I’m running it by a few people on the executive team. It’s an unorthodox concept, but you have a way with the residents, so you must know what you’re talking about.” The folder flipped closed. “Carmichael okay when you broke the news about the EVLP? How’d she seem when you saw her last?”
When I saw her last? In those leggings, with the post-workout glow, looking bewildered in a parking lot while I confessed my feelings to her? Something told me that wasn’t the version of the story Caplan wanted to hear.
“She was upset, but she’ll come around. It didn’t help that I denied her OR request the same day.”
“Ah, that CAD patient? It was the right call. She’s getting close to the end of her fellowship. She’s antsy to prove herself. We’ve all been there.” Caplan took a bite of his roast beef on rye, not bothering to cover his mouth as he continued, “Besides, the job is hers in a few months. If anyone’s earned it, it’s her. You hear about the research she’s working on with UCLA? Incredible.”
Yes. She was incredible. She may have come to Cedar under less-than-conventional circumstances, but she’d more than proved herself. And she only had a few more weeks before her dream of working here became a reality.
After our conversation this weekend, I knew I didn’t have to waste my breath to see if she was interested. We could both just live our lives, crossing paths occasionally when a case needed another set of eyes or specific expertise. And that was for the best. Really.
Until then, I’d just stay out of her way as much as I could.
Chapter 4
Lainey
I thought more about Samuel Reese over the next few days than I had the last three years of working with him combined.
After replaying our conversation, I convinced myself that I’d made it all up. Or maybe it had all been some sort of weird practical joke. Only, he wasn’t really the joking type. And then I thought about all the times we’d led rounds together, or stood side-by-side in an OR and thought to myself,he liked me that whole time?Then, in an effort to mine more information from our limited conversation, I replayed it in my mind again. The cycle was vicious and unstoppable.
Worse, nothing really changed, at least not externally. I still went to work and took care of patients. I sidestepped Jones as much as I could. Went to the gym. Read the American Journal of Medicine before bed each night.
But somewhere in the squishy place behind my lungs, I felt an unexpected shift. I was curious about Dr. Reese. Who was this man who claimed to be attracted to me?
Now, I wasn’t just rounding; I was looking for Dr. Reese around every corner. I went to R3hoping to run into him there, too, and barely even noticed Will’s banter. That article on new techniques in mitral valve replacement did nothing to calm my brain. Not when I was stuck in The Reese Cycle.
Attendings usually traded off leading daily rounds, and by the middle of the following week, I’d yet to catch even a glimpse of him. I started to think he was avoiding me on purpose, but Igenuinely couldn’t remember how often I usually saw Reese day-to-day. Was it all the time? Never? As much as I wracked my brain, I couldn’t put my finger on it, and it bugged me. I should havenoticedsomething like that, right?
On Wednesday, the fates and scheduling Gods aligned, and I found myself leading rounds with Dr. Reese. I’d done this a million times: strolling along this familiar path; the residents following like little ducklings and Reese guiding the way. The sound of his black sneakers on the linoleum and the scratch of the stylus on his tablet were unnervingly familiar.
Yet, it was all different now.
I’d never noticed before, but he had an impeccable set of sturdy, rolling shoulders underneath that hospital-issued white coat. Now that I’d seen him work his way around a set of weights, my mind helpfully supplied images of all the lovely muscles attached to those shoulders. The fingers holding that stylus were long and precise, but stronger than I’d expect from someone who spent their days interfacing with one of the most delicate organs in the human body. Today, my brain decided that the sound of his voice wasn’t flat, but rather contemplative.
With all these new, somewhat inappropriate thoughts churning in my head, I stumbled through my patient reports, fumbling an update on an aortic aneurysm repair so hard that Jones gave me the side-eye. Reese barely looked up from his notes when I spoke, as if it were any other day. By the end of rounds, I had to thank whatever deity was listening that he didn’t seem bothered by my gawking. Because if I hadn’t paid such close attention, I would have missed the most important observation of all.
