Chapter 8
Brian was on the couch when Faith plodded through the door, the aroma of popcorn striking her nose like a buzzing insect, awakening an appetite.
Brian said, “You missed dinner. Why don’t you call when you’re not coming?”
“Sorry. I didn’t think you would be here. Aren’t you on call?”
“Yes.”
“So why are you here?”
“Nothing is happening. They have five people in the building all night. They don’t need me. I can talk to them on the phone. We live close enough that I could get there quick enough anyway.”
“I thought the rule was you had to stay in the building,” she said. “I know for sure that residents have to stay in the building. What if you get caught?”
“I don’t think anyone told me I had to be there. I’m going to assume I have the freedom unless someone tells me otherwise.” She heard what he said, but she didn’t believe him.
“I smell popcorn,” she said, finding a place on the couch next to him, and helping herself to popcorn. “What are you watching?”
“A movie. It just started. Kevin Costner is chasing a serial killer. He doesn’t know it yet, but it’s a woman.”
“Oh, OK. Who’s the young guy?”
“His partner.”
She helped herself to more popcorn. It didn’t taste as good as it smelled.
Costner was about to serve a search warrant when Brian’s phone rang. “Hello.”
A clear, wispy, feminine voice said, “Hi, honey. What time will you get to Dallas on Friday?”
“Can I call you back? In maybe an hour or two?”
“Just tell me and I’ll hang up.”
“Midnight.” Brian ended the call.
Faith stood. “Who on earth was that?”
Without looking away from the television, he said “I’m going to an ultrasound conference this weekend. I made a hotel reservation for Friday night since the conference starts at eight in the morning on Saturday.”
“A hotel reservation clerk doesn’t call you ‘honey,’ and doesn’t call at eight thirty at night. Even I don’t call you ‘honey.’”
“That’s someone who is also coming to the conference.”
“Who you’re screwing? Is that the chlamydia lady?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I swear.”
“I can’t take this anymore. Get out of this apartment. Get out. Tonight. You’re a jerk. You’re never touching me again, and you’re never coming back. Get out.” Wetness trickled down her face.
He still hadn’t moved. “This is my apartment. If it upsets you that much, you get out of this apartment.”
“No. I am not the cheater in this house. You are. You need to get out of here. Get all you need for tonight and the whole weekend and get out. Don’t come back.” She started pitching things off his desk and off the floor onto his lap.
Brian moved like a shamed dog, slinking to the bedroom. In less than fifteen minutes, he was back out. “Where do you expect me to go?” he asked dragging a roller bag and a jacket. “Out with the homeless?”
“Sure, fine. You have money. Get a hotel room for tonight and tomorrow. Then head for Dallas for your weekend romp, then come back and find an apartment. With what the University pays you, you should easily be able to afford one. If the homeless suit you, OK by me.”
“Aren’t you nice?”
“Be sure you take everything you need for your conference. Take your reservations, your flight info, and your ID.”
“I’m driving.”
“OK. Take your keys. Get out of this apartment.”
The shamed dog gently closed the door on the way out. She plunked on the couch with her legs under her and turned the TV off. She used several tissues, dripped mascara on her shirt, and finally went to bed. She wasn’t up for “I told you so,” from Natalie tonight.
Chapter 9
Brian Yankton barged into the fellows’ closet rattling the frosted glass window and shattering Peggy’s concentration. He stepped up to Peggy’s desk.
“Her Majesty Division Director Emily Beacham told me to talk to you.”
“I’m ready. What’s on your plate?”
“She threatened to terminate me.”
Peggy leaned back in her chair, took a long pull on a Diet Mountain Dew, and waited. Brian pulled another rolling chair up. “Have a seat,” Peggy said, “I think we need to start over. The way we left things last time was hostile and turbulent. We need to be on more congenial footing.”
“Yes, perhaps.” What kind of congenial footing needed to be established? She’s just an unqualified temp.
“Tell me some more about you. Where are you from?”
“Brownfield, Texas. Not far from Lubbock.”
“Where did you go to college and everything?”
“College at Texas Tech in Lubbock. Medical school, residency, and fellowship there also.”
“What got you here?”
“This job.”
“How has it been for you?”
“I’m getting pressure to do more and to integrate into the division.”
“From whom and to do what?”
“Get involved in a research project, take up some medical school or departmental administrative duties, or — ”
“Who’s applying the pressure?”
“Emily.”
“Didn’t you have to do a research project to complete a fellowship?”
“Yes.”
“What was your project on?”
“The second stage of labor,” he answered, referring to the time from when the cervix is ten centimeters dilated until the baby delivers, involving pushing, changes in position of the baby’s head, and stretching of tissues in the birth canal.
“How’d you get interested in that?
“One of the faculty was studying it and had written a few articles on it.”
“It’s a great topic,” Peggy said, “which has been sorely neglected. We probably just do what we’ve always done and not what’s scientifically sound. As far as I know, there’s almost no science on that subject.”
“Correct.”
“From an anesthesiology standpoint, it’s also an important topic. We need to know how to manage the second stage, since, in my experience, it is vastly different from the first stage. An epidural can have either a confounding or a facilitating impact on how someone pushes a baby out.”
Brian didn’t respond.
“Why did Emily want you to talk to me?”
“I failed my written Ob-Gyn boards.”
“One failure is easily overcome.”
“It’s worse,” Brian said, “this is my second time.”
“Uh-oh.”
“I’m not sure why she wants me to talk to you, of all people.”
“I don’t either. Tell me more about that conversation.”
“She didn’t talk to you?”
“No.”
“She said that I’m required to pass my ob-gyn and my maternal-fetal medicine boards, or I will be terminated. Board certification is required for faculty status here. Which brings up to why you are here.”
“I am filling in for a desperate temporary need. I am qualified by the years of service I put into a practice which was almost completely obstetrics, and on which I worked hard to gain knowledge and skills to accommodate the high-risk pregnant patients in an under-served part of New Mexico.”
“So why do you think board certification is required of me?” Brian asked.
“Two things come to mind. First, it’s the current standard that people who practice have post graduate training and have been vetted to insure competence. Second, I expect the University views you as permanent. You are someone who could well spend a whole career here and they want career folks to be objectively qualified.”