Every Fifteen Minutes (15 page)

You have to toot your own horn,
she would always say.

Eric looked out the window, trying not to think about Caitlin. He would normally have called her to tell her about being number two, but he'd stopped himself. His eyes fell on the bookshelves overflowing with medical and psychiatric textbooks, the professional journals and papers, the myriad volumes and memoirs on psychiatry, its history, and its neuroscience; Eric lived a life of the mind and it showed. His thoughts stopped at the familiar purple DSM, the volume that categorized the mental and emotional disorders that plagued human beings, and he wondered if being heartbroken was one of them. Or all of them.

Eric hadn't reached a final decision about whether to go for primary custody of Hannah, and though he knew he was overthinking it, he couldn't stop. He had to acknowledge that gaining the number-two ranking and even going through what they did with Perino had given him pause. He loved his job, and he had a purpose here at HGH. He owed Susan a call with his answer today, and it had been on the back of his mind all day. Suddenly he heard a knock, and he looked over to see Sam at his door.

“Hey, Chief. You're coming out with the gang, aren't you? We're celebrating.”

“I suppose I should.” Eric rarely went out with the gang, trying to keep his professional distance, but he was going to make an exception.

“Of course you should come.” Sam frowned, surprised. “You're the guest of honor. Plus you're my excuse. I said I had to go to a party for the boss, so how would it look if the boss didn't go?”

“What did you get out of?” Eric logged out of his email. He would call Susan later tonight.

“T-ball. Seth plays on Mondays, but I can go late.”

“How old is he these days?” Eric was thinking of Hannah, his allegedly abnormal kid who didn't like sports. He rose, checking his pants for his cell phone and keys.

“Five. It's young for T-ball but he loves it. I loved Little League, too. So did my brother. It's a Ward thing.” Sam opened the door. “Come on, everybody's there but us.”

“Okay, I owe you a drink, too. You saved my ass with Perino.” Eric went to the door, with Sam following.

“No worries. I'll feel it in my back tomorrow.”

“Ha! I feel it in my back right now.” Eric locked his office door behind him.

“It had to be the new nurse that set him off. He didn't recognize her.”

“Agree.” They fell into step walking down the hallway, and the unit was quiet because the patients were in the dining room for dinner. Eric waved good-bye to the nurses as they passed the station. “I'm worrying about him. He's on risperidone for the psychosis and fluoxetine for the depression, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But he's not responding to treatment, and if anything, he's getting worse. I'm worried that his agitation is a side effect from risperidone.” Eric unlocked the interior door of the unit, letting them both into the airlock, then unlocked the outer door and locked it behind them.

“You think it's akathisia?”

“Yes,” Eric answered, mulling it over. Akathisia was a common side effect from risperidone, involving agitation and extreme anxiety, which caused the patient to act out, even violently.

“I don't think so. We're not seeing any of the motoric movements, like marching in place, getting up and getting down, or tapping.”

“He says he's anxious.”

“Right, and he is, because of his delusions that the CIA's after him. He's still hearing voices, too. I really believe that the agitation is a result of the underlying condition, his psychosis, and not a side effect.”

Eric could hear the conviction in Sam's tone. “So you want to keep him on the risperidone and fluoxetine?”

“Yes, I want to stay the course. I don't want to undertreat him. He's really sick.”

Eric could hear the same concern he felt for Max. “Okay. He is your patient and you know him better.”

“I worry about side effects, too. But we can't be so conservative that we don't do right by him.”

“Agree.” They walked ahead to the elevator bank, falling into a companionable silence as they stepped inside the arriving cab, not talking shop because of patient confidentiality. The other employees chattered away, the elevator reached the ground floor, and they left the building and hustled across the street to the strip mall that held the gym, liquor store, Wawa convenience store, and their local watering hole, Thatcher's, one of the last independents in a world of Chili's and TGIFs.

Eric took the lead through the glass door, and his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The place was long and rectangular with an old-school wooden bar, but he didn't see his staff at the bar area, which was crowded with employees from the Glencroft Corporate Center, scruffy middle managers and IT types in logo polo shirts chatting up women with freshened makeup and laminated ID lanyards.

“What a scene,” Eric said to Sam under his breath.

“Suburban singles, eh?”

“Lord deliver me. Stay married, Sam.” They made their way to a restaurant area in the back, and Eric spotted his staff, all of them in their red W lanyards, laughing around a table crammed with chicken wings, fried mozzarella sticks, sliders, and sweating pitchers of beer. Eric realized that his affection for them was tribal. After all, he was their Chief. They all began to look over at him, heads turning, each bursting into broad grins, clapping. He'd warned them not to say anything in public about their number-two status, but he got a better idea.

“Hey, kids!” Eric called out, holding up his right hand and extending the middle three fingers. “What's this?”

“What, Chief?” one called back. “I don't know!” another said. A third yelled out, “Are you giving us the finger?”

“It's a W!” Eric said, laughing. “For Wright because we are Wright!”

“We are Wright, We are Wright, We are Wright!” The staff started cheering, then they dissolved into laughter, speeches, and self-congratulation.

In time, Eric settled next to Sam, Jack, and David, avoided eye contact with Kristine, drank warm beer, shared mediocre buffalo wings, and entertained his staff with bad jokes, laughing harder than he had in a long time. He noticed Jack flirting with Kristine, their heads bent together, but he looked away. He let himself forget about Caitlin, his lawyer, Max, and even his beloved daughter, and he bought everybody all the food they could eat but only two rounds of drinks. And in the end, he bid them good-bye with a lump in his throat that couldn't be explained by a few watery beers.

He left the bar and breathed in the warm night air, acrid with cigarette smoke from a group on the sidewalk. It was growing dark, and he crossed the street, slid out his iPhone, and checked the time—8:48—so he had time before he called Hannah to say good night, at nine. He read his email as he walked to the hospital parking lot, a multilevel concrete affair. He reached the first level of the garage and the parking spaces reserved for department chiefs, where he put his phone on lock, slipped it back into his pocket, and dug in his other pocket for his keys.

“Hey, Eric,” someone said, and he looked up, surprised to find Kristine standing beside his car. She looked lovely, even better though her makeup had worn off. She'd had a blazer on at work and at Thatcher's, but she'd taken it off and had on a black dress that outlined a gorgeous body, with black high heels, which reminded him he wasn't dead below the waist.

“Oh, hi, Kristine. Didn't I just leave you at Thatcher's? How did you get here?”

“I slipped out when you weren't looking. I wanted to see you. I've been trying to see you alone, all month.” Kristine pouted. “I only have one week left on my rotation, but no matter what I do, I can't get you to notice me.”

“Oh, I notice you.” Eric caught himself. “I mean, I notice you.”

“Then why didn't you answer my text?” Kristine took a step toward him, meeting his eye directly, her lips parting slightly, curving upward in a sly smile.

“Um, well,” Eric started to say. “I thought we could talk about Jacobs today. I didn't get to it because Perino—”

“You knew I didn't really want to talk about Jacobs.” Kristine took another step toward him. “I wanted to talk about us.”

“Oh, no. There's no us.” Eric stepped backwards.

“Not yet, but there can be.”

“Kristine, no, there can't, it's not appropriate. It can't happen.”

“Why not?” Kristine blinked, her smile amused. “You're single and I'm single. Don't tell me you're not attracted. I know you are.”

Eric's mouth went dry. “That's not the point.”

“What's the point?”

“The point is that you're on my unit.”

“Only for a week, and do you know how many people are hooking up in that hospital? What difference does it make that we work together?” Kristine's smile didn't change and her sharp blue eyes searched his, as if she wanted an answer.

“There's an imbalance of power between us.”

“I know, but there's nothing I can do about that.” Kristine grazed his shirtsleeve with her fingertips. “I have power over you. Can you deal with it?”

Eric couldn't deny his reaction to her nearness, or touch. She smelled great, and he shouldn't have had anything to drink. “No, it's not right. This can't go any further.”

“You're dismissing it out of hand, but you shouldn't.”

“Yes, I should.” Eric took a step toward his car, but before he knew what was happening, Kristine was on tiptoe, looping her arms around his neck, kissing him fully. He grabbed her arms, stopped her, and set her back on her heels. “Kristine, no, listen. This can't happen.”

“Just think about it, is all I ask,” Kristine called after him.

But Eric stepped to the car, got his keys, chirped his door unlocked, jumped inside, and drove off.

 

Chapter Seventeen

“Hi, Hannah.” Eric drove through the garage with the phone to his ear, keeping an eye out for Kristine. There was only one pedestrian exit to the garage, and the reserved parking was on the first level, but he didn't see her.

“Daddy, I knew you would call!”

“I'm sorry I'm late. Are you in bed already?” Eric reached the exit, pushed the button to lower the window, and slid his pass card into the turnstile. He thought he would hear Kristine's high heels click-clacking somewhere, but the garage was stone quiet.

“Yes, I turned out the light but I kept the phone on. Mommy said it was okay for five minutes.”

Eric felt his gut clench at the mention of Caitlin. He returned the pass card to his visor and waited while the turnstile arm rose. “I won't keep you too long. You sound tired, and I know you need to get to sleep. I just wanted to say good night and tell you I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Tell me, how's your ankle? Does it feel better?”

“Yes. You're going to come and take me to school tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, of course, but don't forget I won't see you tomorrow night because your mommy is taking you to your cousin Rebecca's birthday dinner.” Eric turned left out of the garage, checking the rearview to see if anybody was driving behind him, but there wasn't. His was the only car leaving the garage, and he didn't know if Kristine drove to work. Most people did, but not all the medical students had cars.

“Mommy said tomorrow is the last time.”

“Wait, what are you saying?” Eric didn't know what Hannah was talking about. He'd lost the train of thought over Kristine.

“Mommy said tomorrow is the last time you're taking me to school.”

“No, it's not.” Eric stopped at the light. The strip mall was to his right, and he glanced over to see if Kristine was walking through its parking lot, heading back to Thatcher's, but it was too dark to see anything. “I always take you to school Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tomorrow isn't the last time.”

“Mommy said it is.” Hannah sounded a little crumbly, her voice thinning, the way she did when she got sad.

“Mommy said that?” Eric hoped Hannah had simply misunderstood, but his gut was telling him otherwise. He'd been taking Hannah to school Tuesdays and Thursdays ever since she started first grade, because her elementary school started late, at 8:20, and it gave Caitlin a chance to get into work early. He would make breakfast for Hannah, pack her lunch, the whole shebang. It had become a special thing they did together, and he wasn't about to give it up.

“Why can't you take me to school anymore, Daddy?”

“I'm not sure.” Eric fought the impulse to throw Caitlin under the bus. “I'll talk to Mommy about it, okay? Is she around? Can you put her on the phone?”

“Mommy! Mom! Daddy wants to talk to you!” Hannah called out, and Eric could hear some commotion on the other end of the line, then some talking he couldn't understand, then Hannah got back on the phone. “Daddy, Mommy said she can't come to the phone and you should call your friend.”

“My friend? What friend?”

“Susan. Isn't that your friend?”

“Oh, right. Susan is my friend.” Eric simmered. Susan was his friend for $350 an hour. He hit the gas, entering the line of traffic. “Okay, don't you worry. I'll talk to Mommy about it, and we'll figure it out. I'll see you tomorrow morning, same time as usual.”

“I like when you take me to school.”

“I like it too.” Eric suppressed a twinge. He wished for the umpteenth time that he and Caitlin had never split up. It was one thing to go through a divorce, but another to watch your kid get tortured.

“Can we have eggs and ketchup tomorrow?”

“Yes, it'll be special. We'll have eggs.”

“Yay! Mommy says I have to get off the phone now. Good night, Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. Sleep tight.”