Page 26 of Doctor Second Chance

9:58 am

I pace the hospital corridor, phone pressed to my ear, frustration mounting with each unanswered call. Where the hell is Ari? It's not like her to ghost on Opie.

I decide to contact our mutual friends who still stay in close contact with Ari. I’ve left her three messages and texted her. She obviously will not call me back. Hopefully, they have heard from her.

“Hey, Matt. It's Shep. Have you heard from Ari? She was supposed to pick up Opie yesterday but didn’t show and isn’t taking my calls.”

Matt's voice crackles through the line. “Oh yeah, she flew to Houston for the holiday weekend. I think her flight back was Monday afternoon. I’ll call Leddie to see if she’s heard from her.”

My jaw clenches. “Houston? Yeah, man, if you don’t mind asking her. Thanks.”

I never thought Ari would do something like this. She has been seeing a pilot who is based out of Houston. She must have gone there to spend the Fourth with him. I don’t care what she does with her personal life, but I do fucking care when it involves her neglecting our son.

“Sure, I’ll drop you a line once I talk to Leddie.”

I hang up, my blood pressure rising. Carly approaches, clipboard in hand.

“Everything okay, Dr. Duncan? You look ready to punch a wall.”

I run a hand through my hair. “I am. Ari’s MIA. Apparently, she took an impromptu trip to Houston with her boy toy and decided to go dark. I wouldn’t care, except she left Opie hanging yesterday. I’m just irritated, that’s all.”

Carly's eyes widen. “Houston? Didn't you hear about Hurricane Beryl? It slammed the coast pretty hard yesterday. I hope she is okay.”

My anger deflates, replaced by a knot of worry. “Wait, What? No, I haven’t looked at the television or news in days. I didn’t even think it was hurricane season yet.”

“First one of the season. It’s been all over the news for a good week. It slammed some islands first, and then I believe it hit Texas yesterday sometime. Flooding, power outages. I wouldn’t be surprised if the airport shut down.”

I lean against the wall, mind racing. “Shit. But why didn’t she call? I hope she's okay.”

Carly pats my arm. “I'm sure she is. They're probably just dealing with the aftermath. Do you want me to help you with Opie or anything? My shift ends today at two. I’m happy to hang out with him if you need me to.”

Grateful, I nod. “I appreciate it. He is with his nanny right now, but I know she can’t do it for unlimited time, so I may take you up on it.”

She clears her throat. “While I’ve got you, there's something else. Elizabeth Herring, the girl with the fence picket injury from this weekend? She's having some complications. Mind taking a look at her chart?”

“Of course," I say, reaching for the tablet she hands me. I scroll through Elizabeth's latest vitals and notes, my brow furrowing. "Hmm. Her temperature spiked to 101.3, and her white blood cell count is elevated. Could be the start of an infection.”

I continue reading, concern growing. “And it looks like she's experiencing some numbness in her left foot. That could indicate nerve compression or inflammation near the surgical site.”

Carly nods. “That's what I was worried about. She's over in rehab next door. Think you should take a look?”

“Definitely," I agree, already heading for the door. "I want to examine her myself and maybe order some additional bloodwork and imaging. We need to catch any complications early with an injury like this.”

I typically don’t make calls to rehab. Normally, I would have the nurses put her on my schedule and bring her to me over here. But I can’t pass up the opportunity to drop in to say hi to Elle. This way, it doesn’t seem desperate if I’m already over there.

11:01 am

I finish examining Elizabeth, relieved to find that her numbness seems to be resolving and her fever is responding to the antibiotics we started. As I step out into the hallway, I realize I'm just a few doors down from Elle's room.

Almost without conscious thought, my feet carry me in her direction. But when I arrive, her room is empty.

"Excuse me," I say, flagging down a passing nurse. "I'm looking for Elle Klass. Is she around?"

The nurse consults her chart. "She's in a therapy session right now. Down the hall and to the left."

I nod my thanks and head that way, my pulse quickening with each step. When I reach the therapy room, I watch through the large plate glass window.

Elle is seated at a table across from her therapist, her injured hand resting on a molded putty surface. The therapist guides her through a series of exercises, having her press her fingers into the putty to strengthen her grip and dexterity.

---