by Carsen Taite
Mac didn’t have a clue what had happened there. Maybe Jordan was full of crap when she said her fling with Rebeca was all about sex. Maybe she had feelings for her. Maybe finding her with Mac on the heels of the revelation about her father and Grace had sent her into a tailspin. What kind of friend am I, Mac thought, letting my feelings get in the way? She should have been supportive of her best friend, right when she was needed most. Mac yearned to set things straight between them.
If only Jordan would return her calls.
Aggravated, she turned her focus back to her exercise and challenged herself to race up the next hill. The gradient was steep and Mac started downshifting early in the climb to ease the effect of the ascent on her legs. She nodded at a fellow rider as she whooshed by, feeling the change in pace behind her as the rider pedaled faster to catch up. Nothing motivated a cyclist like being passed on the trail. Mac was a smart rider and had lots of experience taking big hills. In the years she and Jordan had cycled together, they’d done many organized rides all over the state and were used to all kinds of terrain. She knew to start working her gears before climbing to minimize the effect on both her body and bike. Trying to shift into the easier gears midway up a steep incline would throw a bike chain.
Mac saw the shadow of the approaching rider as he pulled up alongside. He was pedaling hard and huffing at the strain of the climb. Dropping back, she decided to let him pass her by and keep his ego intact. As he strained to pull in front of her, she glanced down at her bike’s computer and checked her cadence. In that split second a chaotic sequence of events begin to unfold.
As his bike chain dropped, the cyclist in front of her went quickly from trying to be first up the hill to trying to keep his balance. In an attempt to regain control, he stood up on both pedals, but his action had exactly the opposite effect. With his weight removed from the seat of the bike, his tires lost all traction on the slick pavement and his rear wheel jerked wildly to the left. Losing control, he frantically tried to clip out of his pedals.
Mac’s experience riding in wet conditions told her disaster was imminent. She swerved to avoid the bike careening into her path, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid the collision. The impact sent her spinning in the opposite direction, still clipped to her own falling bike, and careening straight into the path of an oncoming car. The driver had no time to react and his swerve didn’t come in time. The impact separated Mac from her bike, and they both bounced off the hood before landing back on the road.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Grace, the hospital is on line one, looking for Dr. Wagner.”
Grace looked up from the mound of paperwork occupying her attention and grimaced at the practice’s receptionist. “I thought I told you Dr. Wagner is not available for the rest of the week. If it’s an emergency, tell them to page Dr. Smith.”
“I told them already, but they insist they need to talk to Dr. Wagner.”
Grace grabbed the receiver from the handset on her desk and stabbed at the flashing button. This was the third time the hospital had called for Jordan, despite having been told she was not available. “Who am I speaking to?” Grace demanded.
A young male gave his name and repeated a request to speak with Dr. Wagner.
“As our receptionist told you a moment ago, Dr. Wagner is not available,” Grace said sharply. “I would be happy to provide you with the pager number for Dr. Smith. He’s handling her cases in her absence.” She paused to give the persistent caller time to prepare to take down the number, but he wasn’t finished.
“It’s very important that I speak with her in person.”
Grace wasn’t about to admit that she couldn’t call Jordan even if she wanted to, since she didn’t know her whereabouts and all she would get was her voicemail. “No, I am not going to disturb her without good reason. Dr. Smith is handling her calls and I would appreciate it if you would respect the arrangement.”
There was a long silence. The clerk apparently decided to take a different approach and let loose with a little more information. “Dr. Wagner is listed as a personal emergency contact for a Ms. Lewis. That’s the reason I need to speak to her.” “You mean Mackenzie Lewis?” Grace’s pulse shot up, and as she listened, her frustration quickly changed to anxiety.
“Oh my, I’m sorry I was so short with you. I’ll find Dr. Wagner right away.”
After hanging up the phone, Grace collected herself for a few seconds, then punched an open line and dialed another number, waiting impatiently through the rings.
“Jacob, I need you. Now!”
Brunch on the private terrace was relaxing. If she’d planned this right, she could have taken a regular vacation and enjoyed the amenities a whole lot longer. Pouring herself some more coffee and juice, Jordan wondered how long it would be before she got bored with her own company. Well, there were plenty of women in Austin. Some of them might enjoy an evening with a successful surgeon in a four-star hotel. Even as the thought formed, Jordan doubted her own proclamation.
Resolving to at least try to enjoy her own company, she took her coffee and her copy of the Austin American-Statesman, and stretched out on the padded lounge chair.
The news of the day went unnoticed as she reflected on the events that had driven her out of Dallas. She’d never thought of Grace entirely as a mother substitute, but apparently her father had made the transition to replace his wife with the closest remaining strong female presence when she died. Frankly, Jordan had mixed feelings about the idea of an intimate relationship between Grace and her father. Though she didn’t mind having Grace as part of the family, she wasn’t altogether certain she wanted the additional closeness with her father that his relationship with Grace would bring. She and her father hadn’t actually been a family since her mother’s death. They’d each gone off in solitude, and the hurt they carried became a weighty distance between them. Neither knew, anymore, how to bridge the gap formed by grief, and they had both come to accept the separation with ambivalence.
For the first time since her mother’s death, Jordan tried to embrace how her father felt. He must have been devastated when he learned about the affair. She recalled night after night when he’d stayed by her mom’s side in the hospital and then at home, where hospice care workers tried to ease her suffering.
He didn’t eat, sleep, or work, apparently viewing all such tasks as distractions designed to divert the healing power mere presence might provide. During that time, he’d been absent to Jordan, barely seeming to notice her existence. Her memory, previously clouded by her personal grief, was clearer now. Her father had been a man obsessed, and his singular focus was powerless against the cancer that consumed the woman he loved unconditionally.
Could she ever love a woman the way he loved her mother?
Pained by the events of the last week, Jordan closed her eyes and left the thought unanswered. She wasn’t sure how much time had drifted by when she felt a presence in the room and jerked awake. Glancing back through the patio doors, she saw a form moving. Still drowsy from her nap, she slowly opened the patio door and poked her head inside, startling the maid.
“Oh, miss. I didn’t see you. Would you like me to come back later?”
Jordan smiled. “No need. Go ahead and finish.”
As the maid gathered and replaced the towels in the room, Jordan picked up her BlackBerry, which was rattling on the nightstand. She didn’t recognize the number flashing on the screen and let the call go to voicemail, joining ten other missed calls on the device. She pondered her options, trying to decide whether she was ready to start picking up her messages and easing herself back into everyday life again. Maybe not. She called the front desk.
“Dr. Wagner, what a coincidence, I was about to ring your room.”
Momentarily confused at the greeting, Jordan said, “I want to stay for a few extra days, is this room available?”
“I would be happy to check for you, Dr. Wagner. In the meantime, your service called and asked me to get a message
to you right away.”
“What’s the message?”
“They want you to call the emergency room at Presbyterian Hospital immediately. Ask for Dr. Tyler.”
“Thanks.” Jordan kept her annoyance to herself. She’d expected Grace to field her calls and make the necessary arrangements. “And there’s no problem with you keeping the room you’re in. Thank you for choosing the Four Seasons.”
Jordan ended the call and immediately dialed her paging service. As she waited for the operator to pick up the line, she examined the list of missed calls on her BlackBerry. Her paging service, the office, Aimee, Megan, Marty, Grace’s cell phone.
A sense of dread enveloped her and she hung up, immediately redialing Presbyterian Hospital. She shouted her request to the operator. The line rang a thousand times, her grip on the handset tightening with each passing moment.
“Emergency room,” a harried voice announced.
“Dr. Jordan Wagner. Dr. Tyler paged me.”
“Ah, Dr. Wagner. You’re listed as an emergency contact for one of our patients. Dr. Tyler’s with her right now, but I’ll let her know you called and she’ll call you right back. What’s the best number for you?”
Jordan knew of only one person who listed her as an emergency contact, the same person she listed whenever she was required to provide such information. Her stomach clenched and she felt the handset shake as the realization swept through her. Mac was in trouble and she was two hundred miles away. Jordan grasped at the tiniest strand of hope. “Tell me the name of the patient.”
Until she heard the name out loud, she didn’t have to feel the full force of pain in knowing her best friend needed her and she was in no position to help.
“I’m not able to give out personal information. Dr. Tyler will call you in a couple of minutes.”
“Need I remind you, you called me? This is ridiculous.
Tell me the name.” A command this time, delivered in the demanding tone of a surgeon. Jordan waited for compliance.
The hospital worker on the other end responded to her confident demand the way most people did. He resolved to spare himself a problem. “The patient’s name is Mackenzie Lewis.”
Jordan sighed, any last hope deflated at the news. She quickly rattled off her cell phone number for the call back and disconnected the line. She grabbed her purse and ran to the elevator, willing everything to move faster to accommodate her frantic mood. A couple of guests were hovering indecisively at the concierge’s desk, perusing day trip brochures.
Jordan crowded them until they stepped back. “I need a charter plane to get me to Dallas immediately.”
Mac stirred. The tiny movement sent waves of pain through her body, blocking her ability to figure out where she was. Through the slits of her barely opened eyes, she saw a shadowy curtain surrounding her. She realized she was in a bed, but not her own. She peered around, careful to let her eyes move without assistance from her head, which was a pounding source of pain. Her left arm was in a sling and the slightest movement was pure anguish. The core of her body was encased in a bandage and she sensed she shouldn’t try to move.
Her eyes failed to find the source of the voice she’d heard mere seconds ago. Her memory of the words was vague, but the tone was comforting and she longed to see the speaker. But no one was in the room. Weary from the effort of her visual search, Mac closed her eyes and let herself slide into the fog of her thoughts.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Excuse me, ma’am. You can’t go in there.”
Jordan didn’t miss a step in her stride, but she did glance back at the nurse trailing after her. “Oh yeah, well, stop me.”
She burst through the double doors leading to the hospital’s recovery room. She didn’t have any current information about Mac’s status, knowing only no news at this point was good news. The flight had seemed interminably long as she waited out the minutes for a call from one of the doctors attending to Mac. Not hearing from them meant no life-or-death decisions were necessary, which was certainly a relief, but the communications void had made her crazy with worry.
As the plane landed, she received a call from a nurse stating only that Mac was stable and in recovery. Jordan paid an outrageous amount to get a cab driver to race the several miles from Love Field to Presbyterian Hospital. She ignored the nurse who continued to follow her, warning that she was going to notify security. As she entered the recovery room, Jordan stalked past beds separated only by filmy curtains suspended from the ceiling. Glancing at the charts hanging at the end of the occupied beds, she quickly ascertained where her best friend lay.
Pulling back the curtain, she gasped. Mac was lying on her back, her eyes closed. She was pale and drawn. Small splotches of blood were crusted on her face and she looked like a battle victim. Her left arm was in a sling. Jordan sank into the chair beside her bed and wept. “Oh Mac, I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. I love you.”
Her confession was met with a slight stir from the bed’s occupant, but Mac’s eyes didn’t open. Jordan slipped one of her hands over Mac’s and rested her head against the mattress, overwhelmed by the events of the day. As she shook off the fatigue, she felt a touch from behind and glanced over her shoulder into the eyes of her father.
Too tired to maintain her usual irritation at this man she had grown so far apart from, she asked, “What are you doing here?” Her words reflected a genuine surprise to see him in this place, at this time.
“I’ve been here for hours. I came as soon as I heard.”
“You heard?” Jordan could hear her own dull confusion.
“Grace called me when she couldn’t reach you. We were worried sick about Mackenzie. Despite the fact I haven’t seen her in years, there was a time I thought of her like a daughter.
And I know how important she is to you. I know Dr. Tyler.
She’s a fine doctor and, as a family courtesy, she let me assist so I could be close by.”
Jordan ignored all the other questions rising to her mind at the moment and posed one. “How is she?”
“She’s going to be fine. She took a pretty good hit from an SUV, but from what I hear her bike took the brunt of the impact. She has a dislocated left collarbone and a couple of broken ribs. The scrapes on her face are slight. She didn’t need my services at all.”
Jordan pointed at the chest tube. “Pneumothorax?”
Her father nodded. “One of the fractured ribs punctured her left lung, causing collapse. The tube should be able to come out in a few days.”
“Thank you for being here.”
“You should thank me for being here. One of the nurses was racing down the hall with security in tow. I think they were preparing to forcibly remove you from the hospital. I explained to them that the wild-looking woman they were pursuing is actually one of Dallas’s finest surgeons and persuaded them to back off.”
Jordan glanced down, seeing for the first time what the hospital personnel had observed when she arrived. She was wrinkled and scruffy from the hasty flight, and she bet her hair looked like a bird nest. Actually, her father didn’t look much better. He wore blue scrubs, and tufts of usually well-coiffed dark brown hair jutted out in a variety of directions.
Despite the lapse in grooming, Jordan observed that neither age nor personal misfortune had slowed him down. He was the pinnacle of deluxe plastic surgery success in Dallas. Since Dallas had no shortage of plastic surgeons vying for the ever-growing market, being on top was quite an achievement. Her father operated a thriving practice in the heart of the Park Cities, with a six-month waiting list of wealthy patients and countless associates willing to work like first-year residents, their eyes gleaming with expectations of their own future fortunes.
Her goal was to top her father’s success with her own achievement. Her plans included expansion of her facility to rival the accommodations of a five-star spa resort. No medicinal clinic atmosphere for her wealthy, accustomed-to-being-pampered clientele. Taking a page from the many l
uxury spas that dotted the city, Jordan planned discreet, deluxe accommodations to provide the perfect setting for her clients to hide away from the pressures of the outside world while enjoying the rejuvenating experience of a surgical makeover.
Four years into private practice, she was well on her way to taking her place among Dallas’s elite. She’d spent the time working her ass off, using every means at her disposal to make sure her name was synonymous with success in her field.
Though fortunate enough to have a solid source of financial resources when she graduated her fellowship, she didn’t rely on her inherited wealth. Instead she approached business development with the same razor-sharp precision she brought to the surgical suite. Jordan sought privileges at all the local hospitals, taking the associated requirement of nights on call in stride. Every busy night on call generated more patients filling her office for follow-ups in the weeks after. When she wasn’t on call, she was marketing her business, using her best public relations tool: herself. Magnetic and personable, when she appeared at networking functions people were drawn to the charming surgeon. She made it a point to be active in several local business organizations, including the local GLBT Chamber of Commerce. All of these efforts focused on a singular objective: to be the most successful plastic surgeon in Dallas, bar none. To exceed her father’s accomplishments and expectations.
Now, standing in front of him, looking into chocolate brown eyes surrounded by red streaks and framed by dark circles and puffy skin, she realized he was only human. His normally clean-shaven face was eclipsed in shadow. Despite his disheveled appearance, he was smiling at her, though tentatively. Relieved to hear Mac was going to be okay, she couldn’t help but return his cautious smile.