Page 18 of Crossing the Line
"Which interns?" Carmen asked, though some dark corner of her mind already knew the answer.
"The new surgical class. Dr. Langston specifically requested a cardiac surgery observation." The coordinator's tone was professionally neutral, but Carmen caught the slight emphasison the name. Word traveled fast in hospitals, and everyone knew about Natalie's brilliant daughter.
"Of course she did." The words slipped out before Carmen could stop them.
The coordinator looked puzzled by her tone, but Carmen was already moving, gathering her surgical materials with mechanical swiftness. Mrs. Rodriguez's procedure would proceed as scheduled, but now she'd have an audience. Including the woman who'd turned her carefully ordered world into chaos with a handful of well-constructed lies.
Carmen made her way through the hospital corridors toward the surgical observation deck, each step feeling like walking toward her own execution. The familiar route felt foreign, as if seeing Harper this morning had altered the fundamental geography of her workplace.
She found them clustered near the observation windows: five first-year interns in pristine white coats, notebooks ready, eager expressions carefully arranged. They looked impossibly young, though Carmen knew most were in their late-twenties. Harper stood slightly apart from the group, her posture controlled and professional.
When Carmen entered the observation area, Harper's gaze found hers immediately. For a split second, something raw and vulnerable flickered across her face before the professional mask snapped back into place. The same mask Carmen had perfected, the one that said everything was normal when nothing was normal at all.
"Good afternoon," Carmen said, her voice carrying the authority that usually came naturally. Today, it felt like speaking with a mouthful of sand. "I'm Dr. Méndez. You'll be observing a cardiac repair procedure this afternoon."
The other interns responded with appropriate enthusiasm and attention. Harper remained silent, her dark eyes fixed on Carmen with an intensity that made her skin feel too tight.
"The patient is Mrs. Rodriguez, sixty-three, presenting with arterial blockage requiring bypass revision," Carmen continued, falling into the familiar rhythm of medical instruction. "Can anyone tell me the primary considerations for this type of procedure?"
Hands shot up. Eager voices offered textbook answers about the surgical approach, complication management, and post-operative care. Carmen nodded at appropriate intervals, but her attention kept drifting to Harper, who participated with intelligent questions that demonstrated genuine medical knowledge.
Not healthcare administration. Actual surgical training. Even her lies had been strategically close to truth.
"Dr. Langston," Carmen heard herself say, using Harper's real name like a challenge. "What's your assessment of the risk factors we should monitor during this procedure?"
Harper straightened slightly, her professional composure flawless despite the tension crackling between them. "Primary concerns would be graft rejection, arterial spasm during anastomosis, and monitoring for arrhythmias during cardiac manipulation. Post-operatively, we'd watch for bleeding, infection, and signs of inadequate perfusion."
The answer was perfect. Comprehensive, technically accurate, delivered with the confidence of someone who genuinely understood cardiac surgery. Carmen felt something twist in her chest, a mixture of professional pride and personal betrayal that made no logical sense.
"Correct," Carmen said, her voice carefully neutral. "The procedure will take approximately three hours. I expect complete attention and appropriate questions."
She turned toward the surgical suite, but not before catching the slight relaxation in Harper's shoulders. As if Carmen's professional acknowledgment mattered to her. As if she cared what Carmen thought of her medical competence.
The irony was almost laughable. Harper had lied about everything else, but her passion for surgery appeared genuine. The same passion that had made their conversation at Lavender's flow so naturally and had made Carmen believe they might actually have something in common beyond physical attraction.
Carmen stepped into the surgical suite, knowing that three pairs of eyes would follow her every movement through the observation windows. Normally, she enjoyed the teaching aspect—demonstrating technique, explaining decision-making processes, watching young surgeons learn.
Today, she felt exposed. Watched. Judged by someone who had every reason to question her judgment.
Mrs. Rodriguez lay prepped and draped on the surgical table, her heart visible on the monitoring equipment. Carmen's hands moved through their familiar dance of surgical preparation, but she was hyperaware of the observation deck above. Of Harper's presence, her attention, the way she'd looked when Carmen used her real name.
"Beginning initial incision," Carmen announced for the benefit of her audience, her voice steady and professional.
But as the surgery progressed, she found herself explaining procedures with unusual detail and demonstrating techniques with extra precision. Part of her analytical mind recognized what was happening: she was showing off and performing for an audience of one, trying to prove her competence to someone who'd already seen her at her most vulnerable.
The realization should have embarrassed her. Instead, it made her surgical focus sharper, her movements morecontrolled. If Harper wanted to see Dr. Carmen Méndez in her professional environment, she'd get the full demonstration.
Carmen could teach Harper about cardiac surgery. She could demonstrate excellence, precision, and the kind of competence that took decades to develop.
But she couldn't teach her about trust. And she couldn't demonstrate forgiveness for lies that had shattered something she hadn't realized she'd been desperate to protect.
The surgery continued with flawless technique and growing tension that had nothing to do with Mrs. Rodriguez's heart and everything to do with the woman watching from behind glass windows, taking notes in a pristine white coat.
Professional distance had never felt like such an impossible distance to maintain.
The surgery had been flawless. Mrs. Rodriguez's heart now beat with steady rhythm, her grafts positioned with textbook precision. Carmen had performed with the kind of controlled excellence that made teaching hospitals recruit surgeons like her. But all she could think about as she finished her post-operative notes was escape.
She needed Harper Langston transferred to a different supervisor. Immediately.
