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I could have retired ten years ago, god knows I’ve got enough money.
It’s keeping busy that stops me from remembering how much I don’t have, even though I have so much.
Thing is, it’s just me.
The most skilled, respected surgeon in my field. Money to burn and nothing but the best of everything.
And no one to share it with.
Doctor Mark Love, king of the newest triple bypass technique, alone in this life without his queen.
A huge house that’s all the bigger for being so empty.
Most guys my age have divorced at least twice and have child support as their reason to get up in the morning.
If I had her, my queen. It would be for keeps, and there’d be no doubt about how serious I’d take those vows.
For me, family would mean everything.
If only I had one.
Waiting for the courtesy car from the airline to pick me up, I can hear the echo of my designer leather loafers on the imported marble floors as I pace.
The place feels emptier than usual, even though I haven’t even left yet. I feel like a ghost in my own home unless I have a crammed schedule to focus on.
Bermuda awaits, two weeks of sitting on a beach, and then what? Three more months of nothing to do.
I don’t like it. Not one bit, but it was take a break or be forced into retirement.
I could do some consulting on the side, maybe overseas or interstate stuff. But my name’s so well known it would get back to the powers that be.
Nope. A break’s a break and for the first time, I can remember I guess I’ll have to learn how to do nothing for a while.
John Carmichael is the state hospital director, and the last face I expect to see as he cranes his neck around my open front door.
“John?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
“I thought you were my ride to the airport,” I confess, knowing he’s only come by to make sure I’m actually going on vacation.
“Just seeing you off, Mark. Aaand to apologize for seeming so brash about everything, it’s just…” he starts to say but we’re interrupted.
His cell chimes and his eyes narrow. A call he has to take.
I miss those calls already.
Life or death calls, even when they get me out of bed at three a.m.
“…Well we’ll have to airlift him to… Oh? No insurance, huh. What kind of doctor doesn’t have...” His head shakes with annoyance.
“I see,” he murmurs, shooting me a forced smile, but I know that look. This call’s from the hospital and has life or death written all over it.
Carmichael hums and finally grunts, saying he’ll be right over before hanging up.
“Sorry, Mark. Duty calls,” he murmurs, but I won’t let him get away that easily.
“What is it?” I ask, my curiosity more than piqued.
Pausing at the door he sighs bitterly, almost drowning out the sound of my ride pulling up and politely honking.
“Nothing you need to worry about, Mark. It’s a cardiac case, tricky and time-sensitive. But not your patient and not your problem!” he says loudly, almost shouting but trying to stay upbeat.
“And you don’t have a surgical consultant on hand. I’m guessing?” I ask, almost relieved when his shoulders sag and a low groan escapes him.
“We’re under the pump down there, Mark. But I couldn’t ask you to… Not after ordering you to take a vacation like this,” he says firmly. Stubbornly.
I glance at my Rolex, if the clock’s ticking for someone we need to move.
“I can delay the flight, John. Just for one day?” I ask, feeling my own heart starting to quicken at the thought of just one more patient. One more surgery before I take a break.
I’ve done it ten thousand times but it’s always a rush. It always makes me feel so alive.
“Alright,” the hospital director growls. “But tomorrow morning I want you on that plane outta here. We’ll have a relief team of surgeons by then,” he adds, and I clap my hands, filled with purpose instantly.
Slipping the confused driver a Ben Franklin for his troubles after pulling the front doors closed, I offer to follow John into the hospital in my own car but he shakes his head.
“No time, I’ll brief you on the way via conference call with the cardiac team. This guy might not make it if we even stop to piss or grab gas.”
With John driving, I get a full update on the patient. Sounds pretty straightforward, but I suck air in between my teeth once I’m sent some medical images and the guy’s bloodwork results.
Tick-tock alright, I wished I’d never left the damned hospital. Could’ve been scrubbed and in surgery already.
And I think John knows that too.
Glancing at the patient notes on my phone, I zoom in on the name.
Nick Partridge?
Couldn’t be.
“You said this guy’s a doctor?” I ask John who rolls his eyes.
