Page 5 of Doctor Enemy

I’ve spent my whole life trying to be strong and impress the folks around me, probably because I grew up with a lot of expectations sitting on my shoulders. But I’ve met them all and risen up higher than anyone would have expected.

So to cry in front of someone on our very first meeting with each other… Yeah, the thought just doesn’t sit well with me. It’s absolutely embarrassing.

“Okay,” says Cara. She doesn’t push or make any wild guesses as to what might have happened but it’s pretty easy to figure it out, considering where we both work.

There are only a few options.

One: the truth. A patient died.

Two: you got a patient with a really awful diagnosis, and just had to watch their whole world fall apart as you gave them the bad news.

Three: you’ve been on doubles three days in a row, and someone asked you politely to step out of their way, catapulting you into a total and complete emotional breakdown.

Instead, Cara just asks, “You want to talk about something else? I’m great at distracting people.”

I give a little nod. I would take anything that prevents me from bawling my silly little eyes out. “I wouldn’t mind a distraction.”

“Okay, no problem. But, uh, hey, let’s start with your name?”

I flush. “Sorry.”

I shove a hand toward her for a shake, and then withdraw it, fighting the urge to not curl in around myself. “It’s Lori. Lori Lange. I’m a ped surgery resident.”

“Ouch, that’s a hard one,” says Cara, making a face. “I don’t know that I could deal with kids all day long. It’s all the crying and the puke.”

“As if every ward doesn’t have that?” I counter, brows raising up in question.

She shrugs. “Alright, fair enough.”

For a moment, I think that might actually be the extent of her distraction, just talking about work here at Mercy General. Which isn’t great, mind you, but I think that I can deal with it so long as it focuses mostly on her line of work. But then Cara launches straight into a conversation, as though we’re old friends instead of meeting each other for the first time.

“I’m trying to convince my uncle to let me take his boat out into the bay this weekend. There’s a totally cute guy that’s really into sailing and that sort of thing. I think it could be a ton of fun, you know, impress him with my stellar boat knowledge.”

“You don’t look like you do much sailing,” I say.

Cara waves a dismissive hand at me. “I don’t, but that’s what Wikipedia is for, right? Memorize a few lines, and I’m golden. The problem is, my uncle’sreallyobsessed with his boat. Like, you know how some old women get about their little yappy dogs?”

I nod.

Cara says, “That’s how my uncle is with his boat. I’m pretty sure that he spends more time doting on it than he does his actual kids.”

“You could just rent one,” I suggest.

Cara blinks. She snaps her fingers, just once, and says, “That’s not a bad idea.” And then, “Have you ever been sailing before?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s, uh, kind of expensive.”

That just gets me an agreeable nod. “Yeah, it’s mega-hard on the wallet. My aunt is literally always bitching about how much Uncle Terry spends on hisLittle Lady.”

I barely bite back my laugh. “Tell me that’s the name of the ship, and not just what he calls it?”

“The ship is named Fin and Tonic,” explains Cara. “He justcallsit that.” She pauses for a second. “You look like you’re feeling a little better.”

“I am,” I admit. “Thanks.” The heavy feeling still weighs on me, but Cara’s distraction has worked. So much that I feel the need to share my sadness.

“I lost a patient.”

Cara grows somber. Everyone in the hospital knows how hard that is, no matter what their specialty. “Was it your first?”

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