There, on the screen before us, the article read: Changes in Chemoradiation Treatment Protocols for Cervical Cancer in Women Under Thirty. And listed as Primary Investigator: Hector Medina, M.D.
I scanned the list of contributors next. Listed were the physicians from the other hospitals, including Pike View and Heartland Metro. Listed in alphabetical order toward the end of the list: Carolina Ramirez, M.D.
It was a mistake. It had to be. Hector wouldn’t do this intentionally.
“That piece of shit,” Sara said through gritted teeth.
“What’s going on?” Dad asked.
“He took credit for the trial,” Sara said.
“What?” Dad asked.
“He listed himself as the primary investigator, and Carolina only as a contributor. He is saying it was all his idea,” Sara explained to Dad.
“I’m going to kill that piece of shit,” Ramiro hissed.
“No. No one is doing anything. I’m sure it was a mistake, and it can be fixed. We should be able to send a correction request to the journal.”
“You are defending him?” Ramiro asked. He looked like I had slapped him.
“I don’t believe he would do this,” I said, pointing at the laptop.
“I hope you’re right,” said Ramiro. “But I don’t think you are.” He left after that, likely too angry to look at me again.
Take deep breaths, Carolina. “Okay. Here’s what we are going to do. We are not going to panic. Dad, stay put. Please don’t say anything about this to anyone until I find out what’s going on. Sara, drive me to the hospital?”
My friend nodded. She didn’t ask why she needed to drive. I was starting to panic despite having only seconds ago advised my family against doing exactly that. If this was on purpose, then I would be furious. My head swam, and there was no way I was going to be able to keep my attention on the road.
We both ran upstairs to change. I grabbed my dirty clothes from the day before, not caring one bit about the state of my appearance.
I found Hector’s office empty—as in, he wasn’t there, and neither were any of his few personal belongings. The solitary framed photograph of him and his mother was gone, and there wasn’t another trace of him. Panic began to swell in my chest.
Next, I tried Chief Stuart’s office. His secretary didn’t let me inside his office. He was in a meeting, or so she led me to believe.
“That’s fine. I’ll wait.” I sat in a chair in front of her desk, but after twenty minutes, I had to stand. I paced the small hallway in front of his office.
“What time is the meeting supposed to be over?”
She shrugged. “Could run long.”
Meeting my ass. I would give him ten more minutes, and then I was going in there. If there was indeed a meeting going on, I would apologize for the interruption. If there wasn’t, well, that would only throw more embers into the fire.
When the ten minutes were up, I ran in before the secretary could object.
“Chief,” I said, looking around. No one was in the room with him, and he didn’t seem to be on a video conference call either.
“Dr. Ramirez?” He looked up from his computer, but he didn’t look surprised.
My stomach churned. “I’m sorry for interrupting, Chief, but it’s urgent.”
He motioned for me to sit in front of him, and I grabbed the chair across from his. “I don’t have much time right now, but I can give you a few minutes.”
“There has been a mistake with the article I submitted to the journal of medicine.”
“Oh?”
I nodded. “Yes. It was uploaded to the website this morning, listing Dr. Medina as the primary investigator.”
“I see.” Chief Stuart clasped his hands over his belly.
“I was only listed as a contributor, but I was the PI, not Dr. Medina.”
“Dr. Ramirez, I’m failing to see a problem here.”
Was this man kidding me? This was my trial. Why would I let another person claim credit for it? I wouldn’t. I would never.
“Chief,” I said, disbelief etched in my tone, “the way the article published the paper gives Dr. Medina my credit. I’m sure it’s a mistake. I couldn’t find Dr. Medina in his office. I wanted to ask him about it before coming to you.” I took a deep breath calming myself down. There had to be a rational explanation for this. “I’m sorry, Chief. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. I guess I just panicked. I’ll write to the journal and request a correction—”
“Dr. Ramirez, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but Dr. Medina is gone.”
“What?” My glare slashed through the chief.
“His contract was only for the duration of the trial. Now that phase two is done, he’s gone back to the FIHR.”
I blinked and shook my head. I couldn’t have heard right. “Gone?”
He nodded.
As I stood to walk away in a daze, the chief stopped me. “And about that correction,” he said. “You won’t be submitting that.”
I sat back down firmly on the chair. “Excuse me?”
“The more I think about it, the more realize it’s better this way.”
“With all due respect, Chief, I’ve spent the last three years of my life on this. It’s the trial of a lifetime—”
“We have to think about what’s best for the hospital.”
“I’ve conducted research that will save so many lives. How is that not what’s best for the hospital?” I hissed, hysterics starting to set in.
“It is great for the hospital. I agree. But you are still unknown in the medical community. Dr. Medina is a household name. The news of a follow-up trial at our hospital by Hector Medina, well, that would be great publicity for us.”
If I could have taken a step back and looked at the bigger picture, I would have seen that it didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was that after publication, treatment protocols across the world would start to change, and lives would be saved.
What didn’t square well with me was that something was being stolen from me, and it was something that would’ve had the potential to open many doors for my career.
It wasn’t ambition for money. My ambition was one for knowledge and growth. After this trial, I was thinking of world-renowned oncology centers, hoping to do research there. Those thoughts would now be down the toilet if I were to follow the chief’s orders.
“This isn’t right. It’s my trial.” I felt like a child whining.
“Being chief isn’t easy. I have to think beyond what’s best for one doctor and think about the department and the hospital. I need to put them first.”
“I won’t let this happen—” I was going to say I was quitting and making the correction before he cut me off.
“Think carefully about what you are about to say. It will be your word against Dr. Medina’s. The hospital will back up Dr. Medina’s authorship of the paper. It’s no secret he was your mentor and heavily involved in the trial. No one will question his authorship.”
It felt like I was walking in slow motion getting back to Sara’s car. She was waiting for me at the entrance, where she’d dropped me off earlier.
“Carolina?” she said when I got in the car. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hector’s gone.”
“Gone?”
I nodded. “Yeah. His contract is over. He left. And the chief won’t let me correct the paper. Hector gets to keep authorship.”
“That can’t be right.” Sara’s nose scrunched up. “Did you talk with Hector?”
“No.”
Pulling out my phone from my jeans pocket, I dialed his number. He had to explain himself.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached—” I hung up and threw my phone into the back seat, not caring if it cracked.
The sounds around me were far off and muffled like I was underwater. “He took my tri
al, Sara,” I said.
When we got back to Dad’s house, Sara opened the car door for me and helped me out—a complete reversal from when she had come home from the hospital two years ago. I leaned on her both for balance and for emotional support. Bile started to rise from my empty stomach, but I forced it down.
“What happened?” Dad asked, greeting us eagerly at the door.
“He took it,” I said, still in disbelief.
“What did he take?” asked Dad.
“Everything.”
Present Day
Seven Years after Hector’s Departure
Chapter 22
Home
On the flight back home from the lecture in California, I didn’t sleep as I usually did whenever I was in the air. I couldn’t find a comfortable position, and I was left with all that time to think about the encounter with Hector—to think about our past.
I thought about that last week before he left seven years ago. Over the years, I had replayed over and over in my head every last thing he’d said. I pieced together conversations from memory, parsing them for clues as to why he had betrayed me. I did that for years, always coming up empty.
It didn’t make sense. The self he presented to me seemed so genuine, it had been inconceivable to believe it was all an act. But as the weeks passed, then the months, and finally the years, without a word from him—I had to admit he had been simply that good. A master snake in the grass, and a fucking fantastic actor who had me believing that he actually gave a shit.
What followed in the wake of my destruction was devastating, and he didn’t have to deal with it—I did. The humiliation had been somewhat internal. The majority of the hospital wasn’t that involved, but those in the oncology department, as well as any of the physicians who knew me personally, all knew what happened.
It wasn’t long before the vipers got to work with the gossip. As far as the oncology department was concerned, I was a slut trying to sleep myself to the top. Dr. Medina came out great in that version of the story. He wasn’t having any of it and decided to leave after publishing his trial in order to get as far away from me as possible.
The worst part of it all was that I was credited with the reason for Heartland Metro losing a rockstar physician. It was a long time, many years, before I regained the trust of my colleagues.
I was lucky that I had enough people in my corner, people who knew my character well. If it weren’t for them, I’m not sure I could have stayed at Heartland.
Then, there was Keach and his small group of friends who rarely let me forget what had happened.
It was a pleasure when, four years after the trial was published, Dr. Keach lost a hefty malpractice suit that resulted in the loss of his medical license. The only thing that could have made that moment better was if the demise of his career hadn’t come at the cost of his patients’ care.
The hospital was forced to take a side publicly. Not wanting negative publicity, Heartland Metro distanced itself from the Keach name and declined ongoing lucrative support from the family. The day the maternity ward took down the Keach name from its front door sign was one of the best days of my life. Dr. Keach was gone, and he wasn’t leaving his last name behind to haunt me in the hospital hallways.
I had been gone a week on a small book tour prior to my lecture, so I wasn’t surprised that Sara was over for dinner to welcome my return. On any other day, I would have been happy to see her, but now that I had grim news to share, I wasn’t so sure I wanted her to be there to witness Dad blow a gasket.
How could I go into my father’s home and tell him the ghost of one of the darkest periods in my life was back? He would find out sooner or later. I kept nothing from him.
The house smelled like heaven, but I didn’t recognize the aroma as one from Dad’s repertoire of recipes.
“Mmm,” I moaned. “What did you make, Papi?”
“Mija!” He turned to me, apron still wrapped around his waist, and hugged me. “Mole,” he said. “Are you hungry? I tried to make Sara wait for you, but I couldn’t stop the comelona of your friend from digging in.” Dad pointed at her with the tongs in his hand.
“Hi, Caro,” Sara said between bites of what I was sure was her second helping.
“You know how to make mole?” I asked Dad.
“I wish,” Dad said. “Mole is a full-day affair unless you buy the pre-made stuff, which is really just sad. I got this from one of Sofia’s friends.”
“Who?” I asked. I thought I knew all of her friends, but I didn’t think she knew anyone who knew how to make this.
“Ileana. She works at the bar a few days a month.”
I thought back and remembered seeing her a few times over the years. Ileana was warm and friendly, and her smile radiated like the sun. It was hard not to feel lighter when you were around her—and this coming from someone who hardly knew her.
“How’d you get mole from her?” I asked.
“She doesn’t work full time, and mainly works odd jobs. I went to La Oficina last Tuesday, and I got to talking to her.” Leave it to Dad to make friends with a bartender. “When she mentioned she likes to cook, and I realized she lives pretty close by, I offered to pay her to share a few of her meals with me every week. She agreed to make extra for tonight, for your welcome home dinner. I didn’t think she’d make mole when I told her it was a special occasion.”
It warmed me to think of this woman I hardly knew spending two days making mole for my homecoming. I had only been gone a week, so I felt more than special to this stranger. I’d have to thank her when I saw her next.
It wouldn’t have been polite to ruin such a perfect dinner with bad news. It could wait until we had finished our meal. My mouth watered when Dad lifted the lid to the pot of chicken smothered in brown sauce. I hadn’t had a good mole in years. I served myself rice and a healthy helping of the chicken. Dad followed suit, and we both joined Sara at the table, though she was nearly done with her current helping.
“What even is mole?” Sara asked as she licked her fingers.
“It’s a special dish. I think Puebla is the place to go for mole.”
“But what’s in it? This sauce is delicious.”
“Dad, you wanna take this one?”
“Let’s see,” Dad said and started checking off fingers. “It has four different kinds of dried chilies that are lightly fried, and tomatoes.” Sara nodded, and he continued listing ingredients. “Fried peanuts. Fried raisins. Toasted bread crumbs, Toasted sesame seeds—”
“Raisins? Bread? In a sauce?” Sara asked as she placed a hand on her stomach. Her face twisted a little, and I urged Dad to go on.
“Yes. It also has lard, cinnamon, sugar, a bunch of spices,” when he said lard and cinnamon, Sara’s hand went to cover her mouth. “What else am I missing? Oh, if the cook is really good and it’s traditional mole, they always burn a tortilla and put the blackened tortilla in the sauce. It’s what gives it its color. They also use chicken broth.”
“Dad,” I said with my eyes on Sara, “you are missing the most important ingredient.”
“What?” He looked up at me and scratched his head, thinking. “Oh. Yes! How did I forget the main ingredient? Chocolate!”
Dad’s smile was triumphant, and Sara’s cheeks filled with air like a blowfish. She ran to the bathroom, and we clearly heard her yell through the door. “Chocolate?”
I burst into laughter, and Dad glared at me. “You did that on purpose,” he said.
“I couldn’t help it. Most people who don’t know what mole is love it when they try it but can’t handle knowing it’s chicken in chocolate sauce.”
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“Consider it payback for when I wasn’t warned baked beans were sweet, and I spat them out in the school cafeteria.”
Sara glared at me when she joined us back at the table. “You didn’t have to ruin it for me,” she hissed.
“I’m sorry. It was too tempting.”
We all burst
out laughing then, and I hated to bring down the levity of our dinner. We were all so busy, it was hard to get together like this, but I knew they wouldn’t forgive me if I met Hector the next day and didn’t tell them about it.
“What’s wrong?” asked my perceptive father.
“I have something to tell you.”
Both Sara and Dad grew quiet and focused on me. I swallowed. “I saw Hector in California.”
Sara’s jaw dropped.
“How could you do this?” Dad asked. “After everything he did to you—”
“Dad, I didn’t do anything. He showed up at my lecture. I had no idea he was there until the end when he asked a question.”
He seemed to relax a little when I said that. I winced as I went on. “He wants to see me tomorrow.”
“No, Carolina,” he said. “I forbid it.”
“I think I’m going to go home now,” Sara said. She never liked upsetting my dad. “I’ll talk with you later, Caro.”
“Yeah. Talk later.”
Chicken, I thought.
I started loading the dishwasher as I listened to Dad go on.
“You can’t seriously be considering seeing him.”
“I am, Dad. I need some answers—”
“After everything—how could you? You broke my heart. It was so bad, Carolina, it’s like you weren’t there, but I was. You were devastated.”
I swallowed hard. I knew I’d put Dad through a lot when Hector first departed. The chief had granted me a week off work until things settled down a bit at the hospital. I hadn’t cried. It was like I had no feelings, a complete void of any emotion, a perpetual state of being in darkness.
After that, it didn’t get much better. I finally snapped out of it enough to get back to work, but then I threw myself into work in an unhealthy way. I became a robot. I’d been hellbent on recuperating my reputation and outdoing my first trial.
In all that, I left Dad to worry. He must have felt so helpless, seeing me go through a depression like that, and then been completely shut out from my life so quickly after.
“I know it was hard, Dad. But it’s different now.”
Remission Page 17