Page 19 of Crossing the Line
Carmen made her way through the hospital corridors toward Dr. Mars' administrative office, rehearsing her request. Professional language, logical reasoning, nothing that would suggest personal complications. She was one of the hospital's most respected surgeons; Dr. Mars would accommodate a simple scheduling adjustment.
The Chief Medical Officer's office occupied a corner of the administrative wing, its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Phoenix Ridge's harbor district. Dr. Mars sat behind a desk that spoke of decades of successful medical leadership, reviewingwhat looked like quarterly reports with the focused attention Carmen recognized in fellow surgeons.
"Carmen," Dr. Mars said, looking up with genuine warmth. "Excellent work with Mrs. Rodriguez this afternoon. The interns were impressed with your teaching approach."
The compliment should have felt satisfying. Instead, it reminded Carmen of Harper's intelligent questions, her obvious surgical aptitude, and the way she'd absorbed every detail of the cardiac procedure with genuine fascination.
"Thank you," Carmen managed. "Actually, that's why I'm here. I'd like to discuss the intern assignments for the upcoming cardiac rotation."
Dr. Mars gestured for Carmen to sit in one of the leather chairs facing her desk. "Of course. What did you have in mind?"
Carmen had practiced this conversation during her post-surgical cleanup, crafting reasonable explanations that had nothing to do with personal complications. "I think Dr. Langston might benefit from exposure to different surgical approaches. Perhaps trauma surgery with Dr. Parker or general surgery rotations."
"Harper specifically requested cardiac surgery," Dr. Mars said, her tone mildly curious. "Her academic record shows exceptional aptitude for the specialty. Natalie mentioned she's been interested in cardiac work since medical school."
Of course she had. Carmen felt something twist in her chest, the same mixture of professional pride and personal betrayal that had been plaguing her all day. Harper's passion for cardiac surgery appeared genuine, which made her other lies even more devastating.
"I understand her interest," Carmen said carefully. "But I think she might benefit from broader exposure before specializing."
Dr. Mars studied Carmen with the particular attention she usually reserved for complex medical cases. "This is unusual for you. You've always been enthusiastic about mentoring promising students. Harper's qualifications are exceptional: early graduation, outstanding residency performance, natural surgical instincts."
Each compliment felt like a small knife between Carmen's ribs. She knew Harper was exceptional. She'd seen it during the observation session, recognized it in her questions and responses. That was part of what made this situation so impossibly complicated.
"All surgical rotations have value," Carmen said, maintaining her professional tone despite the growing desperation in her chest. "I just think?—"
"Carmen." Dr. Mars' voice carried gentle but unmistakable authority. "Is there something specific about Harper that concerns you? Professional competence, attitude, work ethic?"
The direct question hung in the air like a challenge. Carmen could lie and invent professional concerns that would justify the transfer request. But Dr. Mars had known her for years, respected her judgment, and trusted her assessment of students and surgical candidates.
Lying would compromise the professional integrity she'd spent decades building. And for what? To avoid working with someone whose medical competence she couldn't actually question?
"No," Carmen admitted. "No professional concerns."
"Then I'm afraid I can't accommodate your request." Dr. Mars' tone was kind but final. "All supervisory positions for this rotation have been assigned. Harper's scheduled to spend the next eight weeks in cardiac surgery, and frankly, she couldn't ask for better mentorship."
Eight weeks. Carmen felt the number settle in her chest like a stone. Eight weeks of forced professional interaction with someone who'd seen her most vulnerable and then disappeared without explanation. Eight weeks of teaching surgical techniques to hands that had touched her with surprising tenderness. Eight weeks of maintaining professional distance from someone who'd made her forget why distance mattered.
"I understand," Carmen said, though understanding and accepting were entirely different things.
"Is everything alright?" Dr. Mars asked, her tone shifting toward genuine concern. "You seem...unsettled today. Not like yourself."
Carmen almost laughed at the understatement. Nothing about today had been like herself. The controlled, competent surgeon Dr. Mars knew didn't make impulsive decisions about strangers. Didn't bring women home without knowing their real names. Didn't sit in administrative offices trying to avoid the consequences of one night that had felt more real than months of careful emotional management.
"Just adjusting to the new teaching responsibilities," Carmen said. "I'll make sure Dr. Langston receives appropriate supervision."
"I'm sure you will." Dr. Mars' expression suggested she wasn't entirely convinced by Carmen's explanation, but she didn't push. "Harper's fortunate to be working with someone of your caliber. Natalie's been looking forward to this mentorship arrangement."
Another knife between the ribs. Natalie's excitement about her daughter working with her respected colleague and friend. Carmen wondered what Natalie would think if she knew her brilliant daughter had spent Friday night in Carmen's bed after lying about her identity, age, and profession.
The thought made Carmen's stomach clench with something approaching nausea.
"Of course," Carmen said, standing to leave. "I should return to my rounds."
"Carmen." Dr. Mars' voice stopped her at the door. "If any issues arise during the rotation—professional or otherwise—my door is always open."
The offer was genuine, delivered with the kind of supportive leadership that made Phoenix Ridge General Hospital a place where surgeons wanted to build careers. But Carmen couldn't imagine any conversation that would solve her current situation without destroying multiple relationships and professional reputations.
"Thank you," Carmen said, and escaped into the corridor before Dr. Mars could ask any more questions she couldn't answer honestly.
