“It’s not night yet,” he said.
“It is by my body clock. I’ve been up since four.”
First the nurses, now my well-meaning but nosy security guard? I’d only broken up with my boyfriend a few months ago. Did I have a sign painted on my forehead that readlonely doctor in need of a good boning?
I snorted, wondering if that was how my personal ad would read in five years.
The elevator arrived and after the chime, the steel doors opened, and I got in. They closed behind me, and I turned to press the button for the top floor. When I got out, I padded down the long white hallway with slate gray carpet and came to a light wood door.
The condo was everything I needed. The woman who owned it had gone to London for a job, so the place had been rented to me completely furnished. It had made moving from Durham a breeze. I’d been able to leave my old life behind and start fresh.
The apartment had an open floor plan with a modern kitchen and stainless-steel appliances, yet the living room was inviting and airy. Light gray walls matched the accent pillows on the white couch and high-end white trim carpentry highlighted the room. The walls were bare, but there were small holes from where photos or paintings had hung.
I hadn’t added any personal touches to the place yet. Even though my life and time revolved around the hospital, I could’ve taken a few days and really made the apartment feel like mine, but I just didn’t have the inclination. I liked the décor that had come with the condo, and it was comfortable and clean.
I plucked my phone from my clutch. I had a few missed texts and two voicemails. I played my mother’s message first as I kicked off my sneakers.
“Linden, it’s your mother.” Her cultured and deeply condescending voice came through the speaker. “If you would deign to call me, I’d appreciate it. We haven’t heard from you in days, and I assume it’s because you’re working and not because you’re lying in a ditch somewhere.”
I rolled my eyes. Guilt and obligation had been my mother’s one and only strategy to exert her rule over me. It had worked until I’d told her I was going to medical school. She hadn’t been happy with my decision. Not even a little bit proud of me. My mother was a brittle socialite who spent her days going from martini lunches to charity balls. When I refused to follow in her footsteps, she’d taken it personally. She thought I’d done it to slight her, when all I’d been doing was pursuing my own path. Then again, she thought my dreams were my father’s dreams and that wasn’t a box I was interested in unpacking.
Her message ended. I didn’t bother listening to my father’s voicemail—I just deleted it.
I stripped out of my clothes as I headed to the bathroom. I turned on the shower, and as I waited for the temperature to adjust, I undid my wheat blonde braid and ran my fingers through the waves in my hair.
As I stepped underneath the steaming spray, my mind inevitably drifted to Boxer. He’d caught me completely off guard when he pegged me as a blue blood. I hadn’t expected him to be insightful, but clearly, he saw that I was East Coast, and there was nothing I could do to hide it.
He wasn’t what I expected from a biker. I wondered why I even cared.
There was an endless revolving door of patients from the hospital that had allowed me to meet all types of people from all walks of life. I considered myself a good judge of character, but Boxer had thrown me for a loop.
I turned off the shower after cleaning up and reached for the blue towel on the heated rack. I quickly dried off and slathered my body in lotion. I left my wet hair down to air dry.
The espresso I’d downed a few hours ago had long since lost its potency, and I felt the crash coming. I changed into a pair of leggings and a slouchy sweater and then opened a bottle of red wine. My stomach rumbled in hunger, and I ordered my usual from the Thai restaurant around the corner.
Dinner and wine for one.
Pathetic.
* * *
The next afternoon, I walked into the waiting room and looked for the Taylor family. They sat in the corner, occupying three chairs. Mrs. Taylor had an open magazine on her lap, but she was staring out the window. One of her adult sons reached over to grasp her hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. She smiled absently but didn’t turn to look at him. Her other adult son returned to her side, carrying three small cups of hospital coffee that had no business being calledcoffee.
“Mom,” her son said.
“Thanks.” She took a cup from him, blew on it for a second, and then set it aside on a wooden table.
I observed them for a moment with the trained eye of someone that had cultivated the skill to perceive, calculate, and act accordingly based on the information at hand. Time was of the utmost importance in my profession, but it was a delicate balance. Move too quickly and you could make an irreconcilable mistake. Don’t move fast enough and the same fate could occur.
“Mrs. Taylor,” I greeted with a smile as I strode toward the middle-aged woman who’d kept her trim figure.
She rose, her face carefully blank, as if she refused to allow herself hope. “Dr. Ward.”
Her sons also stood and instinctively moved closer to her, seemingly preparing for bad news.
I smiled. “The surgery went well.”
There was an audible sigh of relief from the three of them.