Page 88 of Sweet Heart

I blink and turn my head, a cold shiver running down my spine. These are the people I work with on a daily basis. They are the ones I sit next to each month for the same kind of hearings. To be on this end of the table is unreal.

“As you know, this is an informal review regarding a possible professional boundary violation.”

His voice is as flat as it always is when he welcomes those subject to scrutiny. No assumptions, no emotion, no accusation. Even though, more often than not, we’ve already discussed the cases brought to us and have a rough idea of where things will go. My stomach churns at that thought, and I grip the table hard. They already know my fate.

“There has been a single report that you may have engaged in a personal relationship with a patient under your care. A Miss M.F.A. van Achthoven.” His voice wavers a bit as he butchers Mary’s last name, but his face remains unreadable.

I don’t speak yet. I know it won’t help me to go on the defensive. But I do clock how he mentions that it’s a single report—Wilder—numbers aren’t usually disclosed. For some reason, it helps me breathe just a little easier.

“Doctor Durand, can you describe the nature and timeline of your interactions with this individual?”

I put my hands back into my lap and lace my frozen fingers together as I take another regulating breath. They might have already discussed this, but my reaction will help them reach an official decision. So I carefully repeat the words the way I went over them with my father and his attorney.

“Miss Van Achthoven is my partner. She came into the hospital on March 28 of this year, to have her glucose checked. I happened to be near the intake desk when the triage nurse dismissed her symptoms as nonurgent, which caught my attention. One look at Miss Van Achthoven told me she was in need of immediate attention. I took her to an exam room myself, where I treated her for a hypoglycemic episode.”

I pause for a moment and look at the committee. None of them seem surprised by anything I just said. Nor should they. It was just another day at Inova. I take a sip of water and force myself to stay calm even though I can feel my pulse thrum against my neck.

“I made a follow-up appointment because she showed signs of being at risk due to her behavior. She was exercising in a fasted state, pushing far past her limits. I wanted to mitigate any risk. Miss Van Achthoven no longer presented with any of these signs three days later, so I discharged her.”

“Do not say another word after you mention the discharge.” My father’s words echo in my ears. “Not unless they ask.”

I am not sure who he was kidding, himself or me. Of course they’ll ask.

“Doctor Durand, at what point did you and Miss Van Achthoven get romantically involved?”

And there it is.

Chapter 32

Mary

There are thirty-six square ceiling plates between my seat and the double doors. Thirty-nine if I include the ones straight above me. The second LED panel has faulty wiring that causes it to flicker slightly, and if I strain my ears, I can even hear it buzz. The doors to the conference room have been closed for thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Each one feels longer than the one before.

I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth. It feels rough and dry, but there is no way that I am going to stand up to get water now. Cat is right behind that pale wood, probably living the worst moment of her life.

She told me she had been in front of the committee many times before. It is customary that, when something goes wrong during surgery, it is discussed. More often than not, it’s used as a teaching case. If it can save a life in a similar situation, then that is the best possible outcome, she had said. Facing the committee wasn’t the problem.

A sharp pain alerts me, and I drop my gaze to my hands, where the cuticle of my index finger is stripped so far back that there is blood welling up. I bring it to my mouth and lift my eyes to the closed doors again. What is going on in there? Is Cat pacing, or angry, or worse… crying? I shiver. There is nothing worse than crying in the workplace, especially one like this, where reputation means everything.

“Hola, guapa.”

I yelp when Carmen touches my shoulder and her warm voice reaches my ear. She instantly leans back, a bit startled herself, but she keeps her hand on me. My brain catches up at the sight of her tied-up curls and warm brown eyes carefully scanning my face.

“Carmen,” I breathe, and I wrap my arms around her.

She returns the hug and holds me tightly against her until I break away. Only then does her gaze glide to the closed door.

“How long has she been in there?”

I drop my eyes to my watch. Fourteen minutes and twenty-three seconds. I really hope she isn’t crying.

“About fifteen minutes.”

Carmen nods once. Her eyes drop to my hands, and she frowns before zipping open the little fanny pack on her hip. She rummages through it as her eyes meet mine again.

“Shouldn’t be long now. Cat’s case was scheduled separately.”

“Is that… a bad sign?”