Chapter 10

Holly

I flip off the mini-recorder and set the last medical chart beside me on my couch. When I finished my shift this afternoon, I tiredly realized I had been so busy that I had not finished dictating all of my notes for the cases I had handled in the emergency room, which meant a shit pot full of work for me this evening.

But it’s okay. It’s something that goes along with the territory of being a doctor. Your work is seemingly never done, and it’s not all adrenaline-filled cases. Some of it is just plain old, boring paperwork that I’ve come to accept is the trade-off for being able to have a career that I adore.

What would make this evening nicer, even with having to work, is if there was a certain hot firefighter who could sit on the couch with me. Maybe he would be watching sports while I quietly worked, and when I was finished, he would pounce on me. This is a nice dream, and one that I hope will be true one day.

I miss Tim badly. He’s only been gone for two weeks. I foolishly thought for a few days that the ache would subside, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s grown worse as we bravely find ways to stay connected so that our bond continues to grow stronger. We talk on the phone every day. It depends on when he’s working and when I’m working, but we make it work. We’ve been able to Skype a few times, and I even spent the majority of one of those sessions talking to Sam about how badly he wants a dog but his mom and dad won’t let him.

“Mom and Dad are mean and won’t let me have a dog,” he’d whined to me. I could see Tim sitting behind him, and he rolled his eyes.

“Awww… they’re not being mean, Sam,” I told him empathetically. “It’s just a really hard time now with your dad living in an apartment.”

“But I could walk him every day,” he says desperately.

“But you’re not there every day,” I point out to him. “However, I bet there will come a day when you will be able to get a dog. You just have to be patient about it, buddy.”

It was a fine line to walk—commiserating with him without undermining his parents—but I think I managed well, and his big grin into the camera before he said goodbye to me told me that he really did like me. When he told me he couldn’t wait to see me again, well… that was just the best ever.

And I really enjoyed my Skype sessions with Tim on the nights that Sam stayed with his mom. We had inadvertently ventured into interesting territory.

“I miss you so much,” I whined to him one night. “My poor vibrator is on its last leg.”

Tim groaned, and his eyes were tortured. “Damn baby… you’re killing me here just imagining that.”

“Hmmm,” I mused. “I bet we can do better than just ‘imagining’ that.”

I then proceeded to show him how much I missed him. He, in turn, reciprocated, so I was well aware of how much he missed me.

I contacted a headhunter that specializes in medical placements in New York but so far, there’s been nothing available in a hospital setting. Tim has told me to take my time with my search, but it’s discouraging and I’m lonely, and I really don’t want to wait. I’ve even considered not only private practice, but also perhaps contract work or a teaching post. Anything, really, that will get me back to New York and Tim.

I’ve let the hospital administration at Tulane know of my plans because I don’t want them to be caught shorthanded. I’ve even encouraged them to start looking for a replacement, knowing that I might short change myself on a job here until I can find something in New York. But deep down…there’s a tiny part of me that kind of hopes they do find someone quickly so that I’m forced out. That would mean an immediate move to New York, which is doable for me. I’ve got a healthy savings account, and I could live cheaply there while I continue to look for something. It’s not the ideal situation, but at this point, I’m letting my heart start to direct my moves, which I know isn’t the soundest way to let a major life change take place.

There is one other possibility though.

It’s something I’ve toyed with, but keep rejecting time and time again. However, every day that passes with no job prospects, the idea starts to look more appealing. It would mean reaching past my walls that I erected long ago. It would mean opening myself up to my father.

I could ask for his help in finding me something. He has many prominent contacts in the medical community throughout the city. He has pull and leverage. I could swallow the acid that churns in my stomach over asking for his help, and just bite the bullet to do it.

In fact, I reason to myself, I could even justify it by the mere fact that he owes me. He owes me for all the wretched things he did to Tim and me so long ago, and it would almost be poetic justice if I used him to help me get back to Tim.

Yeah… justice would be served.

Without another moment’s hesitation, I pick up my phone and dial my parents’ number. My mom answers on the second ring. “Hello.”

“Hi Mom,” I say casually, which is sort of hard to pull off. I almost never call them, mainly because my mom still calls me at least once a week, and it lets me feed into the carefully constructed cool relationship I’ve nurtured over the years. This extended naturally to my mother, who not only supported my father when he threw Tim out of our house, but who fought against me tooth and nail right alongside my father when I wanted to leave Columbia. She picked which corner she wanted to do battle in, and it wasn’t mine.

I do believe this may be something she’s regretted to some extent over the years, as she’s watched us all drift further and further apart, but I don’t think she knows how to fix the problem. Hell, I don’t know that it can be fixed, but still… she calls me routinely and I will have to say it’s because of her efforts that I haven’t completely cut ties.

“Holly,” she exclaims happily. “What a pleasant surprise. How are you?”

“I’m good,” I tell her. “Tired… had a forty-eight hour shift and still doing some work. But good.”

“Life of a doctor,” she quips. “It’s the price you pay for being given all that talent and ability.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” I say with a smile on my face.

And then… awkward silence, because I’ve actually forgotten how to make small talk with my mother. At this point, I suppose I could ask her how she’s doing. I could even extend a feeler out to ask how Dad is doing, not that I really care all that much. But honestly… it feels deceptive, so I just decide to go for it.

“Listen… I’ve decided to move back to New York, and I want to know if there’s any pull Dad might have with one of the hospitals that could get me in the door. I don’t care which borough.”

“Oh my God,” my mother breathes into the phone, pure joy in her voice. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy you’re coming back home. Wait a minute… let me put your father on the phone, and he can—”

“No,” I say quickly. “No, I don’t want to talk to him. If you could just pass it along to him and ask if he can check around.”

“But Holly,” she says admonishingly, “he’s your father. He’ll be thrilled, and this could be a step toward repairing your relationship with him.”

“I don’t want to repair my relationship with him,” I say sternly. “He ruined it by what he did.”

“Honey… that was so long ago,” she chides.

“And yet, it still affects me,” I tell her. “What he did was wrong on so many levels, and never once has he ever apologized. And you know why, Mom? Because he’s not sorry. Because he’s a mean-spirited bully and bigot, and that is not the man I used to look up to.”

My mom actually gasps into the phone, but I work up a full head of steam. “He ruined it, Mom. This is on him, not me. He’s not the type of man I want in my life, and when I get married and have kids one day, he’s not the type of man I want my children looking up to.”

“Holly,” my mom growls into the phone. “That’s enough.”

I take a deep breath and let it out, my anger spent quickly. I pull myself together… attempt to be mature. In a gentler voice, I say, “I’m sorry. Not for the things I said, but that it upsets you. I didn’t mean to do that. But that’s the way I feel, and it won’t change.”

My mom is silent for a moment, and then she says softly, “You might find… if you just gave him a chance… that your father has done some changing. Maybe he has regrets over what happened.”

I scoff. “I’ve not seen that.”

“Because you never give him a chance. You won’t talk to him.”

Guilt courses through me, for the first time since I cut ties. I have always been so adamantly proud of the stance I’ve taken, but is it possible… just possible… that I’ve erected such a barrier around me that I’ve left no room for an opening by which my father could talk to me about this?

The thought makes me a little sick to my stomach. Sick over the thought of actually discussing such an unpleasant subject with him, and sick over the fact that maybe I’ve denied him an opportunity to be forgiven.

Shaking my head, I buck up my resolve and say, “Look… Mom. Just forget that I called. Don’t ask Dad to step in and ask around for me. I’ll figure something out on my own. I need to go.”

“Holly… no, wait. He’d be glad to do it. Forget the other things I’ve said. Let him do this for you—”

“I’m sorry,” I cut in on her. “I really need to go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I can hear the fading voice of my mom calling my name again as I pull the phone away from my ear and disconnect the call.

For some reason, tears well up in my eyes. Maybe it’s because I’m now thinking about a future with Tim, and with that comes thoughts of a family, and what family really means.

All of my bitter feelings over the years have been rooted in anger toward my father, over what he did to Tim and me. But now, for the first time, I’m feeling melancholy over the fact that I not only lost Tim, but I really also lost my family as well.