I did my rounds and found myself outside of Erica’s mother’s room with a Styrofoam cup of awful hospital coffee. I stared in at her still form, her chest rising and falling, and wondered what the hell I was going to do about her. Footsteps nearby pulled my attention away as Fiona approached, looking tired, a sweatshirt thrown over her shoulder and a backpack hanging from her right hand.
“You look exhausted,” I said.
“You look great too.” She nodded at Erica’s mother. “How’s she doing?”
“Same as before.”
We stood in silence for a moment. Fiona was on her way out after a late shift, and I was getting my day started, which meant this would be our only chance to talk for a couple days.
“Look, about Erica.” She took a breath and rubbed the back of her head. “I think I’m being too hard on you.”
“No kidding.”
“It’s just that I’ve known you for a few years now, and you’ve never so much as gone on a second date. Now you’re married to that girl?”
“Marriage of convenience.”
She laughed. “Yeah, for her maybe.”
“I don’t have a great track record for dating, I’ll admit it.” I shook my head and looked at her. “But it’s not about dating and you know it.”
“Right. Mobsters.”
“Believe it or not, I care about people.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I’ve seen you pull all-nighters, up way past when your shift ended. I know you care.”
“Then why’s it so hard to believe that I have good intentions?”
“I don’t know, okay?” She looked frustrated, and her glare made me smile a little. “This is so far outside the bounds of normal that I’m having trouble dealing with it.”
“I hear you,” I said, still smiling. “I’m adjusting too, but I swear Fiona, I like this girl and I plan on taking care of her.”
She gave me a weary nod. “All right. I’ll trust you on that.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“But I’m also going to be honest with her when she asks about you.”
I arched an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you know, nurses talk.” She turned and headed down the hall with a wave. “Have a good shift.”
I was tempted to chase after her and make her elaborate, but I let her have that victory. I could imagine what she’d say anyway: I’ve slept with a number of the nursing staff and haven’t always been a perfect gentleman. I’m not ashamed of it, since we’re all adults and I’ve never taken anything too far—and besides, I like to think I left them all better off than they were before. Or at least I left them satisfied.
There was one messy situation. It was right after my sister’s death when I was struggling through what had happened, dealing with her estate, and keeping involved with her murderer’s trial. I took out a new nurse named Celia and we ended up fooling around together, but afterward I completely ghosted on her. I realized I couldn’t handle getting involved with someone, realized I could barely handle waking up in the morning and coming to work, but I never could bring myself to talk to her like a goddamn adult. She’d been hurt, and things were awkward at work for a while until she left the hospital and went somewhere else.
Fiona blamed me for that, of course. They’d been friends at the time, and Fiona heard all the nasty details. She still blamed me for Celia leaving the hospital, and never quite trusted me again after that.
I didn’t hold it against her. I was a mess back then, barely fucking functioning, a walking zombie with hollowed-out eyes and so much anger I could barely stand to see the light of day.
I sighed and leaned up against the glass. I turned to leave when a woman walked toward me, straight black hair, pale skin, severe frown and wrinkles around her eyes. I forced a smile on my face as Hospital Administrator Maria Dickens approached in her best dark pantsuit carrying a binder full of documents I was sure would piss me off.
She was a paper pusher. Everyone in admin was a paper pusher, worried more about money and logistics than about saving as many lives as they could. That was my job, saving lives, while it was their job to keep the lights on. I understood the necessity of people like Maria, and even appreciated some of what she did—after all, if the hospital went bankrupt and closed, we couldn’t save any lives at all—but her priorities were always focused toward money and not toward patient outcomes.
“Dr. Majors,” she said, flashing me her fancy politician’s smile. “How are we doing today?”
She always used the plural for some reason, like she and I were in it together, grinding it out in the trenches, speaking with patients, making life-and-death decisions. We weren’t in it together though, and I could think of a few times in the past couple weeks where her decisions made my life a lot harder.