The months away had left her out of practice with maneuvering rush-hour traffic and scouting parking spots. She’d allowed nearly an hour for the five-mile drive from her cousin’s Manchester apartment just south of the James River. Thanks to green lights and a prime parking spot opening up, she still had thirty minutes to kill.
Doing her best to shove Dakota from her thoughts and unknot a tangled stomach, she got out of her car and steadied herself on low heels. Straightening her pencil skirt, she squared her shoulders as she tucked her purse under her arm. Her plan was to walk around the block a couple of times, burning through the remaining minutes and calming her mind. She’d hiked hundreds of miles in the jungle and loved the steady rhythmic pace of walking. But the new heels negated whatever relief she’d expected when they quickly pinched and promised blisters.
With Plan A looking less viable with each step, she switched to Plan B, which was to sit in the medical examiner’s lobby and wait for her appointment. She walked toward the gray building and opened the front door. A rush of cool air greeted her as she approached a thick plate-glass window shielding the lobby receptionist.
Tessa leaned toward the circular opening and said, “Good morning.”
An African American woman in her fifties wearing a blue security guard uniform looked up over pink half glasses. “May I help you?”
“I’m Dr. Tessa McGowan. I have a job interview with Dr. Addison Kincaid. But I’m a half hour early.”
The woman studied her, as if reconciling Tessa’s words with the image of a too-petite, too-young woman with long black hair who did not fit the image of a pathologist. “Have a seat. I’ll call down.”
“Thank you.” Tessa turned and crossed the lobby, her heels clacking on the tiled floor. She sat on the edge of her seat, tightening her hand on the leather strap of her purse.
She’d applied for this job online two weeks ago on impulse, making the filing deadline by hours. When she’d received a call for an interview last week, second-guessing had kicked into high gear as it always did when she rushed without thinking. It wasn’t that she thought she couldn’t do the job. She could. What nagged her was the idea of establishing yearlong roots in a city filled with complications.
The elevator chimed open, and a tall, slim woman in her midthirties stepped into the lobby. She wore long dark pants, a white silk blouse, and thick brown hair coiled into a twist. Small hoops dangled from her ears, and around her neck a chain was threaded through a gold band. Green eyes scanned and settled on Tessa. The woman smiled. “Dr. Tessa McGowan?”
Hand extended, Tessa crossed to Dr. Kincaid. “Yes. I’m Dr. McGowan.”
Dr. Kincaid’s handshake was firm, her gaze direct. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I’ve heard great things about your department.”
Perceptive eyes sparked with curiosity. “Really?”
“I asked around about you.” She drew in a breath and reminded herself her rash candor had gotten her into trouble before. “When I was in Southeast Asia, we had several Virginia doctors attached to our group. They knew you by reputation. All spoke highly of your department.”
“Good to know.” A subtle smile tipped the edge of her lips. “Come on down. I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing this last year.”
“Great.”
The elevator doors opened, and they both stepped inside. Dr. Kincaid pushed the basement floor button.
“Tell me about the work you did in Vietnam.”
“The directive of Project Identify is to find the remains of US servicemen. We spent most of our time working with our guide and the village elders, who were trying to remember back fifty years ago when an air force F-111 crashed. Once we narrowed our search, we confirmed the actual site with ground-penetrating radar. From there it became a struggle to clear the jungle and excavate twelve feet of earth to find the remains of the two crewmen.”
Dr. Kincaid arched a brow. “Twelve feet?”
“The jungle grows fast and doesn’t like people reclaiming what it’s taken.”
“I understand you were able to make an identification.”
She was proud they’d reunited the lost soldiers’ remains with their families. “You’re well informed.”
“It’s a project I also feel strongly about. And of course, I’ve asked around about you as well.” The doors opened, and they walked the tiled hallway to her corner office.
Dr. Kincaid’s space was small, but the walls were covered with a dozen degrees and awards. Along a credenza behind her desk hung pictures of the doctor with several governors, a couple of senators, and a tall man dressed in fatigues. Neatly stacked papers were piled on her desk beside a University of Texas mug filled with sharpened pencils.
“Tell me about Johns Hopkins,” Dr. Kincaid said.
Tessa detailed her rotations and her interests being pulled away from surgery toward pathology. She also spoke about her residency at Virginia Commonwealth University here in the city and her familiarity with the state system.
“I realized the dead have a story to tell,” Tessa said finally. “And I want to be their translator.”
Dr. Kincaid absently tapped her finger on the still-blank notepad. “Not everyone is comfortable with death.”
“It’s the end stage of life.” She briefly considered a joke about having issues with the living but caught herself. This was a job interview, not a social call.
“Many of our autopsies confirm natural causes of death, but we do get our share of violent deaths. Not always easy to see, especially when dealing with the young.”
“I worked part-time in the Baltimore area hospitals’ emergency rooms while at Hopkins. I’ve seen my share of traumatic death. And when I did my residency here in Richmond, I was exposed to quite a bit in the emergency room.”
Nodding, Dr. Kincaid sat back, regarding Tessa. “I understand the hospital here offered you a full-time job in the pathology department last year, but at the last minute you withdrew your name and opted to work abroad.”
Tessa smiled. “It was an incredible opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”
And it had been. But she’d put her name into the hat for the overseas assignment as a rash wake-up call to Dakota. Commit to the marriage, or I leave. When he’d called her bluff, she’d taken the job.
However, rethinking her answer now made it sound as if she thought the job with the state had not been a great opportunity, which it had been. She could explain about her marriage, but that was a rabbit hole she did not want to explore.
“After working in the jungle,” she hurried to say, “I think I can tackle anything you throw at me.”
Dr. Kincaid waited a beat, and then, “Let’s have a look around the place.”
“I’d like that.”