Chương 9
“Are you afraid you’re becoming Mercer?”
The question was so accurate I nearly knocked over my tea.
“No.”
Marcus raised one eyebrow.
“That was extremely convincing.”
“I’m afraid of being wrong about someone because their fear irritates me.”
His expression softened.
I wished it wouldn’t.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You noticed.”
“Mercer noticed too.”
“Eventually.”
“After accusing me.”
“And you just told me you walk into supply closets instead of insulting patients.”
“I don’t insult them out loud.”
“That’s professionalism.”
“It’s cowardice.”
“No.”
I looked at him sharply.
He did not retreat.
“Stop using that word every time you don’t like yourself.”
My face went hot.
“I didn’t.”
“You just did.”
“Once.”
“You’ve been doing versions of it all morning.”
“I thought you weren’t a therapist.”
“I’m not.”
“Then stop analyzing me.”
“Fine.”
He lifted his coffee.
I waited.
He drank.
The silence became irritating.
“Fine?”
“You told me to stop.”
“You never stop when I tell you to stop.”
“Growth.”
I stared at him.
He smiled into the cup.
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
My phone vibrated for the third time.
I picked it up.
The department head had left a voicemail.
“Lieutenant Ward, this is Commander Patel.”
Her voice was calm and clipped.
“When you’re done with your evaluation, call me directly before returning to the clinic.”
I listened twice.
Marcus watched my face.
“That doesn’t sound casual.”
“No.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“I haven’t had time to do anything.”
“That has never stopped the Navy.”
I called.
Commander Priya Patel answered on the second ring.
“Ward.”
“Ma’am.”
“Are you still with medical?”
“I’m off base.”
“Were you cleared?”
“Not fully.”
A pause.
“What does that mean?”
“I remain qualified for clinic duty and nonflight operational tasks pending trauma evaluation.”
“Mercer suspended your flight status?”
“Temporarily.”
“Why?”
I glanced at Marcus.
He looked away, giving me privacy in the least private way possible.
“I reported an unrecorded panic episode before a training flight.”
Patel was silent long enough that I checked the screen.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m here.”
Her voice changed.
Not angry.
Disappointed.
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“Who was notified?”
“No one.”
“Why am I learning this now?”
“Because I didn’t report it.”
“I gathered that.”
I closed my eyes.
Patel rarely raised her voice.
She did not need to.
“You are a medical officer.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You know the reporting standard.”
“Yes.”
“You know the purpose of the reporting standard.”
“Yes.”
“And you made a unilateral decision that your own symptoms were exempt.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I need you in my office at fourteen hundred.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do not see patients until we speak.”
That hurt more than the flight suspension.
“Ma’am, there’s no patient safety issue.”
“You do not get to make that determination alone anymore.”
The words struck cleanly.
I looked at the table.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She ended the call.
Marcus waited until I put the phone down.
“How bad?”
“She pulled me from patient care pending review.”
His mouth tightened.
“That’s temporary.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
I pushed my tea away.
The ordinary sounds of the coffee shop had become unbearable.
A blender roared behind the counter.
Someone laughed near the door.
A child complained that his cookie had raisins.
I stood.
Marcus looked up.
“Where are you going?”
“Back.”
“You’ve got almost two hours.”
“I’m going now.”
“Elena.”
“What?”
He looked at me carefully.
“You don’t have to arrive early just because you’re scared.”
Anger flashed so fast I barely recognized it.
“I’m not scared.”
He did not say anything.
That was enough.
I grabbed my keys.
“I have spent three months having everyone decide what I can do.”
“That isn’t what Patel did.”
“She pulled me from patients.”
“Because you hid something.”
“I know what I did.”
“Then stop acting like the consequence came from nowhere.”
The words landed hard.
I stared at him.
He looked tired, stubborn, and infuriatingly right.
For one second I wanted to leave him there.
The impulse embarrassed me.
I sat back down.
Marcus nodded toward my untouched tea.
“Good.”
“Don’t congratulate yourself.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were doing it internally.”
“Very loudly.”
I looked toward the window.
A helicopter passed far beyond the rooftops.
The sound was faint.
My pulse still climbed.
Marcus heard it too.
His hand tightened around the coffee cup.
Neither of us pretended otherwise.
When the sound finally disappeared, he exhaled.
“So.”
I looked at him.
“Thursday?”
He nodded.
“Thursday.”
I touched the pocket holding his insignia.
“For both of us.”
Marcus looked down at his brace.
Then he gave one slow nod.
“For both of us.”
At thirteen fifty-two, I was sitting outside Commander Patel's office with Marcus's insignia digging into my hip through the pocket of my uniform trousers.
I had changed out of the examination clothes, driven back to base, and spent eleven unnecessary minutes trying to decide whether arriving early made me responsible or pathetic.
The yeoman at the front desk had finally taken pity on me and said, “Ma'am, Commander Patel knows you're here.”
That eliminated the possibility of leaving without looking worse.
I sat.
Across the passageway, somebody had taped a handwritten sign over a malfunctioning water fountain.
PLEASE STOP KICKING IT.
Underneath, somebody else had added, IT KNOWS WHAT IT DID.
I read it four times.
At thirteen fifty-nine, Patel opened her door.
“Ward.”
I stood.
“Ma'am.”
“Come in.”
She closed the door behind me.
Her office was small enough that nothing inside could avoid looking deliberate.
Two framed deployment photographs.
A ceramic mug with a chipped handle.
A stack of clinical reports arranged by color-coded tabs.
No motivational quotes.
Patel hated motivational quotes.
She once removed one from the clinic break room because it said FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION and replaced it with a printed note reading FAILURE IS FREQUENTLY AN OPTION, WHICH IS WHY WE HAVE CHECKLISTS.
She pointed to the chair.
May you like
I sat.
She remained standing for several seconds while reading something on her computer.
