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“I’m sorry. I … I know him.”
“Jesus Christ, Harlow. You should have said something from the jump,” she scolds me. “You never should have been working on him.”
“Marcy, i-it’s fine. I handled myself.”
“Barely,” she growls. “Your head wasn’t in the game. Your emotions were getting in the way. In the ER, we can’t afford to have our thoughts clouded like that. With somebody’s life hanging in the balance, we have to be on point every single second.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Harlow. If your attention had slipped?—”
“But it didn’t,” I counter. “I did my job, Marcy. I didn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of caring for him as a patient.”
“Harlow—”
“Marcy, there is always a chance we’re going to have somebody we know wind up on a table in front of us, and we’re not always going to have the option of handing them off to somebody else,” I tell her. “We either find a way to push past our personal feelings and do the job or we shouldn’t be doing this line of work. I did my job.”
She purses her lips and looks at me as if she remains unconvinced, and part of me fears she’s going to ding me on my performance evals, which will be critical to getting my certification. A frown curls my lips downward and irritation flashes through me. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t the most professional thing ever to not say anything about knowing Hunter, and maybe I was a little stiffer and robotic than normal, but I did my job. At no point was his life in danger because of the emotions churning inside of me.
“Come on. Things here are under control,” she says. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee.”
Marcy checks in with Rebecca, who’s running the charge desk, and tells her we’re going to grab a cup of coffee. Feeling like I’m walking the Green Mile, I follow her out of the ER and down the long corridor that leads to the lounge. The rubber soles of our shoes squeak sharply on the tile flooring of the hallway, and the air around us is thick with the scent of bleach and antiseptic. The corridor beneath the fluorescent lights is blindingly white, and the walls are lined with pieces of colored glass art I’ve always found beautiful.
We turn right, and at the end of a long hallway is the staff lounge. Marcy holds the door open for me, and we walk inside. A pair of nurses I don’t know are huddled together in the far corner, gossiping over their meal. As Marcy takes a seat across the room from them, I walk over and pour us both a cup of coffee and dress them before carrying them over and setting one down in front of Marcy. After that, I take my seat across from her and stare into my cup, waiting for the lashing I’m about to take.
Marcy has been an RN for about twenty years. She’s a no-nonsense kind of woman who isn’t afraid to dress you down if she feels you deserve it. She pulls no punches. It’s one of the things I respect most about her. As tough as she is, though, she’s also not afraid to deliver praise when it’s warranted. Just as she’s unafraid to call you out when you screw up, she’s also always the first to tell you when you do something good. Despite our age difference, I’ve come to like Marcy a lot, and we’ve become pretty close over the last couple of months.
“You’re right,” she says. “We will sometimes have the bad luck of having somebody we know wheeled into the ER. And you’re also right that we aren’t going to have the luxury of being able to pass them off to somebody.”
A small grin quirks the corner of my mouth. “But?”
“No buts. You’re right. And you did your job just as well as you always do,” she replies. “The only thing I would remind you of is that every second counts and we can’t afford to let it faze us. Not even for a moment. You froze out there for a few seconds. You rebounded, but you let seeing that guy throw you.”
“I did. And I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Hopefully you’ll never be in that position again,” she says. “But if you do find yourself in that spot, just remember what I said.”
“I will. I promise.”
“I know you will,” Marcy says with a grin. “Now, tell me about the man out there. And how long have you been in love with him?”
My cheeks immediately grow hot as a nervous laugh bursts from my mouth. “What? I’m not—what are you even talking about?”
“Uh-huh,” she says dryly. “Lying ain’t your strong suit, kid.”
I quickly take a drink of my coffee, ignoring that it’s scalding my mouth as I try to hide my flushing cheeks and look of embarrassment behind my cup.
“I’m curious, Harlow. Who is he to you?”
A soft laugh passes my lips. “Honestly? He’s my ex-boyfriend’s father.”
Marcy’s eyes widen, and she can’t hide her look of surprise. “Wow. I didn’t see that coming,” she says. “But it sounds like an interesting story, so let’s hear it.”
Her eyes are sparkling, and she’s got a wide smile on her face. I know Marcy well enough to know that she’s not going to let it go until she gets what she wants. And what she wants right now is a story about me and a man I haven’t seen in a few years now.
Of course, barely a day goes by when I don’t think of him. But after I broke up with Micah, I had no reason to be at their house, so I honestly thought Hunter Weston would only live in my fond recollections for the rest of my life. This isn’t the way I wanted to see him again, of course, but at least I can take some comfort in knowing that he’ll be all right.
“There’s really no story,” I tell her. “I dated his son, Micah briefly. We were together for like less than a year. We broke up a few years ago, and I haven’t seen Hunter since.”
