Providence (The Velvet Series Book 2)

  Providence

  By Diana Kane

  Providence

  Copyright © 2017 Diana Kane

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any persons, real or imagined, are purely coincidental. Cities and locations mentioned are for added aesthetics only.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner without written consent from the author except for brief quotations embodied within articles or reviews. Please note that piracy of copyright materials is illegal and directly harms the author.

  Dedication

  To those who encouraged me, pushed me, rode my ass, and sometimes verbally slapped me to get in gear…this one is for you. You know who you are.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  “Finally in the home stretch ladies, let’s finish this up.” I make a mental note to talk to my schedulers. Putting a bilateral breast reconstruction with immediate implants on with a pedicle flap to follow is a bit much for one day. It’s nearing 8 pm, my stomach is starting to eat itself, and I’m so thirsty I could drink a gallon of water. Typically I would break scrub and let Abby close, but I really want to finish this case as soon as possible. “You two planning your usual Friday night dinner and drinks tonight?” Abby and Alex stop what they are doing and look at each other. I’ve seen these silent conversations many times, yet have never figured out how to interpret them. It’s only a matter of seconds before they refocus on closing.

  “Yeah, we’re still going. Want to join us?” Abby never looks away from the abdomen as she finishes the closure.

  “Yes. Tonight is my treat though. You’ve earned it after our long day today. Thanks again Alex for staying late with us.”

  “No problem. If we’re making it a group outing, do you mind if I invite Catherine?”

  “Not at all. If you two want to finish up, I’ll break to dictate, put the orders in and speak with the family. Should get us out of here faster. Send me a text when you’re ready to go.” I break and immediately head for the doctor’s lounge where I can get a much-needed glass of water and dictate. I’m not surprised to find it deserted at this hour on a Friday evening. I switch off the TV and down my first glass of ice water, the relief immediate. With a fresh glass of water in hand, I sit down to dictate and put the post op orders in, my aching feet welcoming the rest. Once finished, I call the surgery lounge and ask to have my patient’s family placed in one of the consult rooms. I finish my third glass of water and head toward consult room three, where the family should be waiting. I update the husband and daughter letting them know that the surgery went well, answer their questions and direct them back to the family lounge. I check my phone and am surprised that Abby hasn’t texted me yet. Curious, I head back to the OR. I’m happy to see that the patient is on the hospital bed, waiting to be extubated.

  “Everything ok?”

  “Just waiting for her to wake up a little more,” the CRNA informs me. I peek at her vitals and check her drain output just to be certain we didn’t miss a bleeder. Everything looks good.

  “Great. I’m going to take care of a few more things. I’ll be ready to leave when you two are.” I leave the room and head towards the main surgery desk. I hear the commotion just before I’m nearly run over by the staff wheeling the gurney down the hall. The brief glimpse of the patient is enough for me to know that it isn’t good. Dr. Andrews, the trauma surgeon, is right behind the patient. At the desk I see Dr. Hastings talking with a distraught woman, she looks familiar. My mind quickly flashes to the bloody face of the patient and finally connects the dots. The trauma patient is a former patient of mine, and the woman Dr. Hastings is speaking with is her partner Katrina. I recently finished treating Jill for reconstructive surgery following her treatment for breast cancer. Over the course of Jill’s multiple surgeries and appointments, I had grown quite fond of their bond. They seemed to be one of the few genuinely happy couples I’ve encountered in my life. They were a couple that could give you hope, hope of finding the same for yourself, even if by the age of 41 you weren’t truly sure if you’ve ever actually been in love. Katrina’s eyes lock onto me, and I realize that I’ve likely been staring.

  “Dr. Hudson?” Dr. Hastings heads toward the OR where they have taken Jill. Katrina shakily makes her way towards me.

  “Katrina. Is…what…” I have no idea what to say. I almost asked if everything is ok; clearly, it isn’t. Asking what happened also seems inappropriate.

  “Jill went out for her evening run. They think she was hit by a car. I don’t really know much other than she needs brain surgery and she has internal injuries they’re operating on.” She begins sobbing, so I do the only thing I can think to, what I feel is expected, I pull her in for a hug. The few people who pass by the desk look questioningly at us. I need to direct Katrina out of the area and back to the lounge, yet part of me wants to give her some privacy. I know from my time with them that aside from their friends they are largely alone. I know Jill’s parents passed away in an auto accident when she was a child, and she was raised by her godmother. My phone chirps causing Katrina to pull away from me.

  “I’m sorry, you’re probably busy. I shouldn’t keep you.” She futilely swipes at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Not at all. I just finished up for the day.” I move behind the desk and retrieve a couple of fresh tissues for Katrina. “Let me walk you back to the lounge, or I could put you in one of the consult rooms and let the volunteers know where you are.”

  “The lounge is fine; I don’t need any special treatment.” I guide Katrina in the direction of the family lounge, wondering what support I can offer her.

  “Can I call anyone for you?” On the way to the lounge, we pass the women’s locker room, where Abby and Alex are waiting for me outside the door. I subtly motion for them to give me a few minutes.

  “No, there isn’t anyone to call. Her parents are gone.” We get to the lounge, and I direct her to check in at the desk. Check in complete, she takes a seat, and I get her a few more fresh tissues and a glass of water. I can’t leave her alone to deal with this. I’m not a neurosurgeon, but even I know that things did not appear favorable.

  “I can sit with you, unless you’d rather be alone.” Katrina forces a quarter smile, I know it must require a great deal of effort on her part.

  “That would be nice, but please don’t feel obligated to.” Her voice is a subtle whisper that seems to be pleading for me to stay.

  “I’ll stay. I need to take care of something though; it will only take a few minutes. If you’re ok, I’ll be right back.” Katrina nods that she’ll be fine. I head towards the locker room and find Abby and Alex still waiting for me.

  “Was that Katrina? Is everything ok?” Abby remembers her as well. Not surprising since Abby seems to re
member all of our patients.

  “It was. Jill’s been in an accident. I’m going to stay here with Katrina. She shouldn’t be alone.” I find my wallet and pull out some cash to give to Abby and Alex. “This should cover tonight. Go have some fun, you’ve earned it.” Neither of them move to take the money, and they both try to protest over one another. “Stop. You routinely bust your backs for the surgeons in this place. Let one of us do something nice for you. Go someplace nice on me, please.” Abby finally gives in; she knows that arguing would be useless.

  I rejoin Katrina in the lounge and sit next to her in silence. I have no idea what to say. I struggle in social interactions with people I don’t know very well.

  “Thank you for waiting with me.” She utters it in a hushed, steady voice.

  “Sorry I’m not very good company.” Katrina lets out a quiet laugh when I say this. “What? I’m not good at small talk, not that this seems the appropriate time for it.”

  “Nothing, just that I should probably be the one apologizing for being poor company.”

  “Shall we agree that neither of us is very good company at the moment, no apologies necessary?”

  “Sounds fair. So Dr. Hudson, what shall we talk about?”

  “Please call me Sara.” Katrina nods but says nothing. “Why don’t you pick the topic?” I will defer this all night, knowing I’m not the best at starting conversations. I’m perfectly content sitting quietly, losing myself in my thoughts.

  “Alright Sara, since we don’t know each other very well, why don’t we focus on that. I’ll ask you a question, which we both have to answer. Then you can ask me something. Fairly easy and hopefully it will keep me distracted to some degree.”

  Katrina’s idea sounds as good as any. “You go first then.”

  “Alright. Favorite movie.”

  “I can only pick one?” Katrina gives me a look, I’m sure she’s trying to convey a degree of annoyance, but the look is comical, and I can’t help but giggle.

  “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you? I suppose I’ll allow you to pick a series.”

  “Still impossible. I enjoy movies, but it depends on my mood. Star Wars and The Godfather are classics of course. I enjoy Tarantino’s films as well.”

  “You aren’t going to pick are you?” This time Katrina smiles a little, a sharp contrast to the worry evident in her eyes.

  “Impossible for me to pick one. You can pick a single movie out of all the movies in existence?” I’m skeptical, with all of the options out there how can anyone identify a single one as better than the rest?

  “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. You don’t like it?”

  “I do. When I was in undergrad, we used to go to the live shows as often as we could. The participation was always so much fun.”

  “Which is why it’s my favorite. Plus I met Jill at a live show.” Katrina goes quiet, fresh tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she loses herself in her thoughts. One question into our chat and I’ve already failed to distract her. I stay silent and focus on the basketball game on the TV. After a few minutes, Katrina finally breaks the silence. “Your turn.”

  “Are you sure you want to continue?” Katrina nods that she does. “Ok. What do you do for a living?” I’m certain that Abby knows the answer to this question, she always gets to know our patients better than I do.

  “I’m co-owner of an accounting firm. It isn’t as exciting as your career, but I get to work from home most of the time. I also have the freedom to chose how much I’m going to work at any given time.”

  “How so?”

  “Well tax time is obviously my busiest time of year. The rest of the year I have the ability to delegate most of the work. If I ever feel like I need to work more, I do. I enjoy the freedom.”

  “The freedom does sound nice. Do you enjoy the work?”

  “As I said, it isn’t exciting by any means, but yes I enjoy it for the most part. Starting the business was trying, that’s for sure. I don’t miss those days. Now we’re well established, and I have people to do the day to day stuff for me.” Katrina answers in an autopilot fashion, her eyes focused off into space, making it clear her thoughts are elsewhere. I know I can’t change that, but at least I can try to help her feel less alone right now. “What about you, do you enjoy your work?”

  “I do. It has meaning for me. I like that I’m able to help women regain a sense of self or a small amount of self-confidence after their mastectomies. For some women, it means a great deal. I don’t think it’s as exciting as you believe it is though. If I have an exciting day, things have probably gone very wrong.”

  “What made you go into plastic surgery?”

  “My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was eight. She had neglected her own healthcare and it was too late by the time the diagnosis came back. She was gone just after my 10th birthday. Oncology never held my interest, but I enjoy helping the women who elect to have reconstructive surgery. I also perform a few other procedures, but I enjoy the reconstructions the most.”

  “I’m so sorry about your mother. I didn’t know.” Katrina looks at the floor, clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation led.

  “It’s ok. There’s no way you could have known. It was 31 years ago. I’ve made peace with it. I try to honor her memory with my work. I hope she would be proud of me.”

  “I’m certain she would be. I know Jill felt more like herself after her reconstruction was finished. She felt like she had lost a vital part of her gender identity, you gave that back to her.” The silence between us returns. It isn’t uncomfortable by any means. I can only imagine what is going through Katrina’s mind at the moment. I try to remember what it was like going through everything with my mom. The years combined with my age at the time have made the events fuzzy at best.

  “Favorite book?” Katrina’s question pulls me out of my struggle to remember.

  “Which genre? I enjoy reading a bit of everything.”

  “I’m starting to think that variety is the spice of life is your personal motto.”

  “I have a lot of interests. I have favorite authors like Katherine V. Forrest and Harper Bliss, but what I read depends on my mood.” I look at Katrina as I wait for her to protest my refusal to name one book, but all I see is confusion set in.

  “I apologize if I’m being too forward, but are you gay?” I can’t help but laugh. I’ve been out for so long that I don’t ever think about it anymore. It’s a fact that I forget isn’t obvious or known to everyone. I’ve never made it a point to keep my sexuality hidden; I simply cannot care less what people think about my private life, so I forget that there are people who don’t know.

  “I am.”

  “Wow, didn’t see that coming. Huh. Normally my gaydar is pretty accurate.”

  “Sorry?” I’m not sure what response she is looking for.

  “I should apologize, I’m not exactly being graceful.” Katrina shakes her head slightly.

  “No need. I don’t think I fit the typical stereotype and I don’t broadcast it. I don’t even think about it if I’m being honest. At this point it is just a fact about me, similar to how I have green eyes and brown hair. You haven’t offended me.”

  “Well, I’m glad I haven’t offended you. You don’t go out much, do you? I mean we’ve never seen you at Velvet or anywhere else.” I’ve been to Velvet before; I’m just not a regular there.

  “No, I don’t go out much. On evenings that I operate, I can end up being here quite late. On clinic days, I’m often so busy that I don’t have a minute to myself from the second I get to the office until I leave in the evening. If I’m honest, I have too much available business for the time that I have to work in. But these women all come to me looking for help, I can’t turn them away. So I make the time.”

  “It’s admirable that you’re dedicated, but your work can’t be the only thing that defines you.” I’ve heard this time and
again from women I’ve tried to date. I work too much. I know that I do. I always promise that I will limit my case load once we find a new partner to share the reconstruction cases, we just haven’t finished the search yet.

  “I promise you, it isn’t. I just prefer activities that I find to have more meaning. So I work out, volunteer, relax at the movies, —.” The phone rings, interrupting my spiel, the lines I constantly tell myself to justify the sad state of my personal life. I know that I allow my social awkwardness to govern a lot of what I do. I become highly uncomfortable in large crowds, especially if I don’t know most of the people around me. I also have a tendency to prefer to stay home once I get there. I’m aware that I’ve grown increasingly disconnected from the community as I’ve poured more and more of myself into my work. I seldom date anymore and truthfully, have pretty much given up on the idea that I will ever find myself in a real, stable relationship again.

  “Should we answer that? We’re the only people here.” I look around and realize she is correct. It’s well after 9, and the volunteers have left for the day.