“Say that again.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“I took Dorothy to dinner last night—”
“Dorothy Mayhem?”
He laughs. “Uh … yeah. Dude, you were here last week when I sent her the cookie bouquet that you suggested. Remember?”
I nod slowly, clenching my tablet with an iron grip while gnashing my teeth.
“Where you going?” he asks as I pivot and exit the lounge.
Dorothy has school, but I have to text her even if she doesn’t respond. It’s either a text to her phone or a fist in Warren’s face.
Me: We need to talk about your date with Warren.
It takes her an hour to respond. While in the middle of rounds, I glance at my phone screen.
Dorothy: Ugh! He took me on a FONDUE DATE! (five vomit emojis)
“Dr. Hawkins?”
I return my attention to the patient’s mom. “Yes?”
Warren has the nerve to frown at me, the way I used to frown at him before I banned him from being on his phone during rounds.
“School. Will she be able to stay in school while receiving radiation?”
I can’t stop thinking about Warren and Dorothy. Even as I spew off my answer to the mom, a woman who deserves my full attention, I can’t shake the anger.
* * *
Dorothy
After class, I respond to Eli’s last text which was:
Dr. Hawkins: I’m either coming to your house or you’re coming to mine, but we are talking tonight.
Me: I’m taking Gemma to car wash dog wash night. (water emoji, dog emoji, car emoji)
Dr. Hawkins: Gemma and your dirty car can wait. I can’t.
Dorothy: The free dog wash is only on Wednesdays. (shrug emoji)
Me: I don’t give a shit.
Someone is in a bad mood. I’ll pass on that. I shake my head.
Me: Call me tomorrow after the market. See … I’m letting you call me. (smiley emoji, high-five emoji)
Dr. Hawkins: I’m going for a run. After I shower, I’m coming to your house. Deal with it.
He really needs to add some emojis. In my head I imagine angry emojis, but he has no reason to be angry … at least, not with me. Maybe he has issues at work or with Dr. Hathaway and needs someone to talk to.
Me: Okay. (smiley emoji, high-five emoji)
After a car wash and dog wash, I take my routine walk, eat dinner, shower, and play Xbox, waiting for Eli. At 10:20 p.m., my phone chimes. Stomach-flu Hailey from the ICU messages me—well, it’s actually a group message. I hate group messages.
Hailey: OMG – Dr. Hawkins is seriously injured!
I stare at my screen, not fully believing what’s popping up—the long string of responses from everyone else in the group text. I have nothing to say because my brain is stuck in denial.
WTF? What happened?
Is he going to live?
When? What happened?
OMFG are you serious?
Deets … we need ALL the deets.
He fell off a ledge on a trail.
Had to be airlifted.
Took two hours to get him out.
Really fucking steep cliff.
They’re taking him to surgery now at General.
I’m off in ten. I’m going straight there to find out more. I’ll update soon.
After reading all the texts from the group, I run straight to my parents’ bedroom and throw open the door.
They look up from their adjustable bed, illuminated by the TV screen. Grey’s Anatomy. Always Grey’s Anatomy.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks.
“Dr. Hawkins is going into surgery. He was jogging. Fell off the steep ledge of the trail. Hailey sent out a group text. He was supposed to come see me tonight. I’ve been waiting for him. I don’t know what to do. Stay? Go? I’m not family. I know they won’t tell me anything. Hailey will give better updates to the group text. But his parents will be there. Oh my god … poor Roman. He’s with Julie, but still … she’ll take him to the hospital, right? Or maybe not. I mean, if it’s bad, it could scare him. He’s three. Oh god …” I blink and feel a lot of tears fall down my face all at once. “What if he doesn’t live?”
It’s like they’re in bed one minute, and in that single blink, they’re hugging me.
“Go,” my mom says. “You definitely should go. I’ll drive you and stay with you until we know how he’s doing.”
I nod, batting away the tears. “Okay.”
We drive to General, and we’re met with an over-capacity waiting room of family, coworkers, and friends. I’m completely out of place—more so than usual. There’s no place to sit, so Mom and I huddle in a corner next to a window.
“I can get us coffees?” she suggests.
“Okay.”
After she leaves to grab us coffees, a tiny peephole forms in the throng of people, and on the other side of the room, I make what feels like accidental eye contact with Lori Hawkins. She looks oddly calm. No real decipherable expression on her face. Not that I’m an expert at that.
She slowly stands, releasing Kent’s hand, and worms her way toward me. “Dorothy, dear … come sit with us.” Her arms embrace me. I stiffen. After a few seconds, I flatten my hands and give her a few comforting pats.