Page 98 of Screwged for Christmas

She smiled ruefully. “This time, it’s going to stick.”

“You don’t look like the type to take up knitting.” I studied her amidst the chaos of the bar.

For the first time ever, the word ‘frail’ came to mind. She was sick. Her recent weight loss gave her away.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Dr. Mancuso sipped her white wine, then set it on the counter. “What gave me away?”

“I was trained by a fantastic teacher.” I pushed my drink away. The whiskey was overrated, plus this news gave me a sour stomach. Though we are trained to deal with bad news, it was never welcome. “What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing that concerns you.” She patted my hand in a grandmotherly way.

I was shocked. I’d never considered that my mentor probably was a grandmother. She didn’t wear a wedding ring. She’d never talked about a family or shown off any pictures to the staff. Whatever was going on, must be serious indeed.

I wanted to press her for her diagnosis, to know what the plan was, and ask how I could help.

“I’m afraid I’ve been a poor tutor, Malcolm.” Dr. Mancuso’s fingers smoothed the edges of her wrinkled cocktail napkin. “I was so busy teaching you about medicine, I never talked to you about life.”

“If this is ‘the birds and the bees’ talk, you don’t have to worry. I’m all caught up.” I flashed her a grin.

Sadness flitted across her face.

“Work has been my identity my entire adult life. But there is more out there than work for people like us. Don’t be afraid to search for it.”

My mind was spinning, and not from the drink. Mancuso was sick. Really sick, if she was giving me a life lecture. I wished we weren’t in such a public place so I could find out what was really going on.

But my horror at this information, which she rather casually delivered, competed with someone at the corner of my eye trying to wedge into this conversation.

People needed to learn how to fuck off.

I hoped they got my mental message.

But it was too late.

Mancuso’s eyes lit up.

She spoke to the interloper over my shoulder. “Take my seat. I need to talk to Dr. Rodriguez.” She slid off her barstool as she lowered her voice to just an audible level. “You two are my star students.”

Then she was swallowed up by the busy crowd.

My mind churned. I wasn’t surprised I was Mancuso’s favorite, but I was surprised to learn I was one of two.

Who was my competition?

I turned to my left to size up the intruder and did a double-take.

“Malcolm. Nice to see you here.” The soft, sweet feminine voice sounded familiar, but in this setting, I was disoriented at first and it didn’t hit me. Not until Dr. Holly Ives moved in and stood so close I could smell her delicate perfume. One so faint if you moved away too fast one would miss it.

I liked to call her Ivy as a nickname and used it countless times a day because it put a pretty blush on her cheeks when she thought no one was looking.

Holly slid onto a vacated barstool next to mine.

I’d only had a sip of a shitty drink after one fourteen-hour shift, but my brain felt mired in sludge.

Of course, Holly would be Mancuso’s favorite. She was one hell of an emergency room physician.

“Who is covering the unit?” I finally managed as a greeting. My fingers curled tight around my glass. I needed something to hold onto as my world tilted, sliding out of control.

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