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Sefton was holding a traveling exhibition in the next month, that went across the country from Manhattan to LA and then up to San Francisco and Seattle before going to Canada. The poster featured him standing beside a large easel. On the canvas, a scene from the savannah. I could almost imagine it was from our time on the art safari. I checked the dates – in two weeks, he'd be in San Francisco after a week in New Orleans and then a week in Los Angeles. He'd already spent a week in Charlotte, North Carolina and another in DC. Before that, he'd been in Manhattan.
I got in the SUV and drove back to the house for supper. On the way, I thought to myself that I certainly didn't want to run into Sefton.
It wasn't that I felt anything for him. I never did, but he brought back painful memories of Drake's and my time in Africa and the whole business with Sefton and Sam.
I was glad that was behind me and would make sure that I didn't go to the exhibition he was holding while he was in town. He was the last person I wanted to see.
Chapter 2
DRAKE
I arrived at the hospital just before my shift and spent a few moments in the staff lounge, getting a last cup of coffee before I went to the ward to check on patients I'd seen the previous night. After that, I'd go to the ER to see how my new patients were doing. I was lucky that I got to follow patients from the ER to the wards and knew their outcomes. Many ER docs saw a patient in the ER and then didn't hear about them again.
I loved my job.
I never thought I'd want to work in the ER, preferring the calm and steady world of the neuro OR, but I did. I found it exhilarating to enter a room and try to figure out what was going on with a new patient. When I was pulled into a neuro consult, it could be for any number of reasons – a stroke, an aneurism, a traumatic brain injury, epilepsy, you name it. It kept me on my toes in a way that a very predictable and regular office practice and surgery practice didn't. I had to be ready to see anything and intervene on the fly when a patient decompensated.
Maybe there was a bit more of my trauma surgeon father in me than I realized. Maybe I was becoming less and less of a control freak.
If so, I credited it all to Kate and how she gave me what I really needed – love and a family.
I chatted with a few of the ER residents, enjoying their enthusiasm for their latest rotation and we talked about the cases we'd dealt with the previous night. I seemed to take on a natural teaching role with the residents and was happy to give my opinions on cases and make suggestions as well as offer encouragement.
Earlier in the evening, I'd texted Kate to see how she and Sophie were doing. Ethan and Elaine were at our place for supper.
KATE: Things went well today. I loved the studio space and can't wait to get set up in it. How is work?
DRAKE: Exciting, as usual. Who would have thought? I figured it would be too much excitement for an old neurosurgeon like me, but I love it. It's a real challenge.
KATE: Good. I'm glad you're enjoying it. I hope it doesn't burn you out. You're keeping quite a pace...
DRAKE: I'm off for a couple of days so I can rest up and spend time with my girls.
During a break, I went to the cafeteria and bought my supper, which consisted of a chef's salad and some yogurt, and sat by myself, reading over the paper while I ate. I was absorbed in a story when one of the staff physicians came over with his tray in hand and stopped my table.
"Drake Morgan, right?" he said and held up his tray. "If I'm not interrupting, do you mind if I join you?"
I pointed to the chair. "Be my guest. I was just finishing up and reading the headlines."
He sat and I saw his name tag, which read Dr. Roger Phillips. He was wearing a lab coat with the hospital logo on the lapel and I vaguely remembered from my orientation that he was an administrator in addition to being a staff physician.
He put his tray down and extended his hand. We shook and introduced ourselves and he began unpacking his sandwich.
"I thought I'd drop by and see how things are going. I haven’t had the chance to sit down with you and have a chat. Markham's taking a leave to do some training in LA so I'm taking over for him and I'll be supervising the Neurosurgery Department. I was also on the review committee for appointments and remembered seeing your application. Markham was eager to hire you, and from your CV, I could see that you were top rate. You seem to be working out well, according to the staff I've spoken to so far."
"I appreciate the interest. If you had anything to do with hiring me, let me say thank you."
He gave me a strange smile. "Well, actually, I didn't," he said and bit into the sandwich. "I was away at a conference the week the decision was made, but I did see your application. I've also been reading about the trial in Manhattan."
I wiped my mouth after swallowing a mouthful of yogurt. "Oh, really?" I shrugged. "Something I'd much rather not have been involved in, believe me."
"So, it's true that the woman who attacked your wife was also involved in the murder of your friend. Richardson, right? A wealthy businessman? We normally have very little drama so this is quite the topic among the staff."
I leaned back and glanced at him, trying to read him but it was hard. He seemed friendly enough, but he brought up the case.
"I had no idea. No one has said anything to me about it, if it's the subject of gossip."
"I asked staff not to talk about it in front of you. Out of respect for your privacy so if you haven’t heard anything, that’s good. I wanted to check to make sure you were doing well and adjusting to things here."
