Page 90 of One Reckless Night

35

JARED

Another month passed, and every day, I waited for Amelia’s resignation to land on my desk. I kept expecting it, bracing myself for it, but it never came. Summer had faded into fall, but the weather was still holding up nicely. We were still enjoying mild mornings and warm afternoons. They were the kind of days that made you want to linger outside a little longer. Typically, I would be getting in more runs or going out on my paddleboard.

But I wasn’t lingering anywhere. I was stuck in my head, replaying conversations that never happened and words I never said. Every night, I lied in bed thinking about all the things I should say to Amelia. What I should do for Amelia.

And every morning, I woke up and did none of it. I had only caught a few glimpses of her. She was doing her best to avoid me as well. I was worried about trying to force a conversation and then she’d get pissed and for sure leave. At least without us talking or arguing or me sticking my giant foot in my mouth, she wasn’t trying to run away from me. I was able to be around without actually being around.

I finished my coffee and headed out the door.

Today I had to focus. I had a consultation with a husband and wife about his upcoming surgery. The husband, Mark, had a benign brain tumor, but something about his case didn’t sit right with me. His symptoms, which included memory lapses, confusion, and mood swings, didn’t align with the tumor’s location. I’d been over the scans a dozen times. I couldn’t shake the feeling that surgery wasn’t the answer. I didn’t want to unnecessarily poke around in his brain if it wasn’t going to improve his quality of life or extend it.

I needed a second opinion. I couldn’t risk being wrong. People would start talking shit if I did an unnecessary operation. It wasn’t the fear of failure. Surgeons failed all the time. The worse accusation would be cutting into a brain knowing damn well there was no point in doing so.

I walked into the consultation room. Mark and his wife, Linda, were already seated, their hands tightly clasped on the table in front of them. Linda’s eyes were wide with apprehension, while Mark looked distant, almost detached. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen that look—a kind of foggy resignation that came with the territory of memory issues and confusion.

“Good morning,” I said, sitting across from them. I’d gone over my notes a hundred times. I needed to actually see and talk to the patient before I made any decisions. “Thank you for coming in today.”

Linda nodded quickly. “Dr. Welch, we’re just… we’re really hoping you can help Mark. He hasn’t been himself lately. The memory lapses, the mood swings—it’s like he’s slipping away.”

Mark blinked slowly, his gaze unfocused. “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” he muttered, his voice flat. “I feel fine.”

Linda shot him a glance that was equal parts frustration and heartbreak. “You don’t remember last night? You called me by your sister’s name and couldn’t find the bathroom.”

Mark frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall the incident. The silence stretched uncomfortably before he shook his head slightly and looked at me. “I don’t remember that. I have a tumor, right?”

“You do.” I nodded. “However, your symptoms aren’t matching what I would expect to see with the tumor placement. I’d like to get a second opinion.”

“Why?” Linda asked. “We came all the way here from Boise because you’re supposed to be the best. And you need a second opinion?”

“I’ll get five opinions if I have to,” I replied. “I am the best but that doesn’t mean I don’t rely on others. I’m telling you what I know and what I’m seeing here isn’t all adding up.”

“You think we’re lying?” she asked.

“Not at all. I think you’re being honest, and you should always be honest with your doctor. But I’m going to consult with someone before we schedule anything. If you can stay on the campus another day or two, we’ll get something figured out. You won’t leave here without answers.”

After making sure they had accommodations for the night, I made my way to Shawn’s office.

“Got a minute?” I asked.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I just met with a patient and his wife. I’m not convinced surgery’s the right call.”

Shawn raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“His symptoms don’t match the tumor’s location. It’s in the frontal lobe, but he’s presenting with memory issues and confusion. That’s more temporal lobe stuff. I think we’re missing something.”

Shawn frowned, tapping his pen against the desk. “You think it’s dementia?”

“Maybe. But I’m not sure. I need someone else to look at this. I was hoping you could either verify my findings or tell me I’m wrong.”

“You know who could tell us for sure,” he said. “Someone who knows a lot more about dementia than both of us combined.”

I did know. Amelia. This was her specialty. She had an uncanny ability to see things the rest of us missed. But it had been weeks since we’d spoken. Weeks since I’d even seen her outside of passing in the hallway, where she’d offer a polite nod and keep walking.

I sank into the chair across from Shawn’s desk. “Are you suggesting Amelia because you’re trying to play some twisted matchmaking game?”