“Could be an ear infection,” I ponder.
“What about her loss of appetite?” Lucas argues.
“That’s a symptom.”
“I think it’s best if we rule out separate intestinal issues as well.”
“I don’t think we need to run additional, expensive tests—”
“Um…excuse me?” Ms. Keller, our patient’s mother, tries to get our attention, but we ignore her so we can continue our fight.
We justify the unprofessionalism because by all objective measures, patients are getting more time and double the expertise. In reality, it’s overkill, and the subjective measures catch up to us quickly.
“Okay. Right, you two, I’ve been getting some feedback from your patients,” Dr. McCormick says on Friday afternoon after our first week of working together.
I smile, prepared for praise.
“A few have complained of poor bedside manner, arguing over minutiae. I thought you two might set aside your old games when you’re seeing patients, but it looks like I was wrong.”
I am crestfallen; it’s Lucas’ fault. I don’t hesitate before trying to push him under the bus. My mouth opens, but Lucas is quicker.
“I think we just had a few kinks to work out”—I bristle at his word choice—“but we have the hang of it now and come Monday, we won’t let you down.”
Dr. McCormick claps him on the shoulder, all buddy-buddy. “That’s what I like to hear, son.”
SON?!
“Can I still expect you on the course tomorrow?” he continues. “I want to try to get to all 18 holes before the sun gets too high.”
Lucas flashes his winning smile, the one with the dimples and the straight white teeth. I blink to shield myself from it.
“Looking forward to it, sir.”
With a nod, Dr. McCormick turns back down the hall, and Lucas turns to me, smile still in place, though now it’s a weapon.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to use this alone time with Dr. McCormick to lobby for your dismissal, but who knows? Maybe while we’re having a few beers in the clubhouse, he’ll come to that conclusion all on his own.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re the worst.”
“Sorry, did you think after all this time, I’d gone soft?”
It’s a trick question, but his smile has slowed my response time. My gaze is halfway down his strong, definitely not soft frame when I realize what I’m doing and whip around.
“Have a good weekend, Daisy,” he calls after me. He could not sound more pleased with himself.
Come Monday morning, Lucas is tanner than he was on Friday, which I know means he went golfing with Dr. McCormick. I wonder who won, but as I pass him in the hallway, I don’t ask.
“Oh, Daisy,” he says from behind me. “I left a little something on your desk.”
I offer no response. I’ve yet to have an ounce of caffeine and my wit is sluggish this morning. Plus, I’m curious. Did he leave another bouquet of daisies? The scorecard from their round of golf?
Neither.
Sitting on the center of my keyboard is a 4x7 photo of Dr. McCormick and Lucas on the golf course, hip to hip like they are conjoined twins somehow separated by 30 years of age. Dr. McCormick is laughing and Lucas’ eyes seem to follow me around the room.
Perfect. While he was schmoozing our boss with his long game, I was at home, in my pajamas, watching old movies with my mom and Madeleine.
I take a Sharpie from my drawer and suddenly Lucas is sporting devil horns and a tail. Defacing the photo doesn’t get me any closer to winning, but as I pin the picture on the bulletin board beside my computer, I feel just a tiny bit better.
My first patient isn’t due for another fifteen minutes, so I decide to do something I’ve dreamed about for the last week. It’s pretty unethical, but technically not illegal—at least, I don’t think it is. I bring up Indeed.com and search for open M.D. positions around the United States—the farther away from Hamilton, Texas, the better. Oh look, Honolulu needs doctors. With a simple drag and drop, I’ve submitted Lucas’ CV, which I copied from the practice website. Just like that, my Monday is looking up. Aloha, Lucas.
Wednesday after work, my mom is shampooing my hair in the sink. With my cast on, it’s easier to just to let her do it than to fight my mane one-handed. She’d scrub me down from head to toe if I let her. Mothers.
A few minutes ago she started going on about calling an exterminator out to the house soon, but I tune her out. I’ve got enough problems of my own.
“And well anyway, they said we’d have to vacate for a week or two while they put one of those big circus tents on the whole house! I’m not sure I’m going to do it yet. Oh look! It’s Lucas—”
I jerk up and slam my forehead into the faucet.
My mom, bless her soul, doesn’t laugh. “Ouch. You okay hon?”