by Shea Lynn
“Are you trying to tell me something?” I asked God.
“My troubles aren’t more than theirs, right? I have nothing to complain about.”
The scripture had said, “Lazy people want much but get little.” Maybe I was just being too lazy. I needed to work hard. Keep my pretend going and just maybe the make-believe would spawn reality.
Cameron called my desk phone nearly thirty minutes later. Just as I was heading to lunch with a few of my co-workers.
“Hey Dayna,” he said.
“Hey Cam,” I replied.
“Did you get my email?” he asked, his deep voice filled with nervousness.
“I did. Thank you. I know you’re trying. And I…I have faith in you,” I said, not quite believing my own words.
I knew my husband was smiling. I’d become adept at both gauging and predicting his reactions. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”
I was quiet then and he continued on. “Listen, I didn’t want to keep you. But I wanted to take you out for dinner tomorrow night. Just the two of us. I know you love that little Ethiopian place off of Noyes. I thought it might be a good idea. What do you think?”
“I’d love that. What about Nina?”
“I’m gonna call the sitter now. Just wanted to get your thoughts first,” he replied.
Cameron was setting up dinner and calling our babysitter?
He had never before called our babysitter. His efforts spoke volumes about his commitment to “us” and the new Cameron. I stumbled over my words, surprised by this latest change in my husband’s behavior.
“Do you….do you have her number?” I asked.
“I do. Remember, I always kept it in my phone for emergencies.”
“Oh, okay. Well, it all sounds good to me.”
My husband’s voice was coated in warmth. “Great. I’ll give her a call. Love you, Babe. See you later.”
“Love you, too,” I said.
Chapter Forty-Eight: Cameron
Nina’s babysitter, a graying, fiftyish woman with a faint of Jamaican accent, called me early Wednesday morning to let me know she wouldn’t be able to sit for Nina. Her husband had taken ill and been admitted to the hospital with abdominal pains. She didn’t know when he would be better or when she’d be able to babysit. She did express how much she missed Nina. I wished her the best and had a small arrangement sent to her husband. At this point I was on a first name basis with the local florist.
I didn’t want to put off getting some alone time with Dayna. I was nervous and my own anxiety about losing her wouldn’t let me wait until the sitter’s husband was feeling better.
After phoning my favorite florist, I called Dayna at work.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hey Babe, Lucia’s husband is in the hospital. She won’t be able to sit tonight.”
“Oh no. Is everything okay? Is he at St. Paul’s?” she asked.
I shook my head and ran a smoothing hand down the front of my tie. “No, no. He’s at North Central. But the doctors still don’t know anything. I sent them a plant from us.”
“Thank you. Good thinking.”
I smiled then. “No problem. Hey listen, I still wanted to get together with you.”
She halted then, doubt creeping into her voice. “Oh, okay. But what about Nina? Did you want her to join us?”
“Not really. I was planning on it just being the two of us. Do you think we could do lunch instead? You have plans today?”
“Uh…no, I’m not. I’m available. What did you have in mind?”
I smiled. “I’ve got it all planned out. I’ll pick you up around noon. Is that cool?”
“Yeah. That’s fine. I’ll see you then.”
When we hung up, I was still smiling. I took a sip of coffee from my black mug, adjusted my tie, and grabbed my black, leather-bound notebook from my desk. I had a standing, 8:30 am, weekly meeting with my department heads and it was show time. I had no doubt that the head of oncology, Dr. Wayland Lee, would be griping at me again about how they needed more funding for experimental treatments.
Week after week, we sat around a long, rectangular table in the Swift Conference room. The entire Swift wing of the hospital had been donated by the family of the late Dr. Richard Swift. The Swifts had a history in medicine and the wealthy Dr. Swift had been as talented as he’d been rich. His portrait even hung on the wall in the conference room.
A year ago, the weekly meetings had been harder for me than they were now. I was the only person in the room without a medical degree and I think they all resented that. Viewed me as less intelligent because I wasn’t an MD. And even though I’d been handed my job, I had been determined to prove my worth in my new role.
In one year, nearly every department had seen its attrition rates slow and the quality of patient care improve. We were neck and neck with Chicago Cedar Sinai for top honors in patient quality. Final rankings for top honors were due in the next few weeks. As our hospital’s stats increased, so did my reputation with the department heads. These physicians, highly acclaimed masters in their respective medical specialties, respected me and the results I’d delivered.
As I headed out of my office, I was glad things had changed. Though the doctors would still bitch and moan, their eyes no longer dismissed me upon my arrival into the Swift conference room. I was now viewed as the man who came to handle business and tidy up messy details for them. Details that busy doctors didn’t have time to consider.
Two steps out of my door, Dr. Lee stopped me.
“Mr. Wilkins!” he called.
I whipped my head around, turning toward the tall, white man with the booming voice and head full of white hair. I smiled automatically and said, “Dr. Lee?”
The older man was rushing towards me, his face flushed, his blue eyes trimmed in worry. “I’m being sued.”
My shoulders deflated. “Oh no.”
“I can’t believe it. I did everything I could to save this patient. But her family is insisting that I gave them false hope. That I told them she’d be fine. She died of heart failure in a stage 3 osteosarcoma. There was nothing I could do. Even you know that.”
I nodded, ignoring the “even you” comment he’d dropped on me.
“Were you served?” I asked him.
He nodded, his eyes wide behind his trendy glasses with the thick lenses. “On my way in this morning. Just as I got out of my car. I called Doug. He’s convening the board and told me to grab you.”
Doug Jennings was a silver-spooned billionaire and the head of the hospital’s board of directors. “We get a lawsuit dropped on us at least once a week. Why’s he calling all the troops? Sounds like he’s worried.”
Dr. Lee ran a hand through his thinning mane of white hair. “He is. And so am I. This patient…she was Lorne Swift.”
I swallowed thickly and closed my eyes. “Swift’s daughter?”
He nodded.
“Shit. Hold on a second.”
Dr. Lee nodded again and stood in his place while I ran to my secretary.
My secretary, or admin as he preferred to be called, looked up from his desk, his dark eyes curious as to my sudden appearance at his station. Shortly after Dayna had kicked me out of the house, I’d dismissed my beautiful Bianca. She was the breathtaking admin I’d had when I first started at the hospital. She had been too tempting.
Heterosexual Paul Winters, with his balding, short brown hair, ever-present 5 o’clock shadow and pudgy mid-section was just what I needed.
“Paul, cancel the weekly all-department meeting.”
“You sure?” he asked, eyeing me curiously.
“I’m sure. Please get the word out to the department heads. Send my apologies. I’ve got an emergency with the board.”
Paul nodded. “Will do. Anything else, boss?”
“No. Thanks.”
I turned back to Dr. Lee. “Is Jennings on his way?”
“He is,” Dr. Lee replied.
I was thinking fast, my
braining churning, my roles as diplomat, mini-CEO, and kiss-ass all colliding. “Paul?” I called.
“Yes?” he answered, his eager brows raised in attention.
“Can you have a breakfast spread delivered to the conference room? The Swift room. And make it the good stuff, not from food service. Doug Jennings loves Osetra caviar. They’ve got some at the Persian place a few blocks down. Make sure there’s some on ice for him.”
Paul was scribbling notes down on a piece of paper. Though I couldn’t quite discern if it was real or just my imagination, it looked like I could see his heart beating though his tight, brown, knit polo. Paul was a great admin. Organized and easy to talk to. But he suffered from a few social deficiencies that had him still living at home with his elderly parents. Paul was used to working rapidly through the tasks I gave him, but the weight of this latest emergency seemed ready to break him.
“Okay, okay. Breakfast spread. Osetra caviar. Got it,” said Paul, his hand beginning to tremble as he balanced taking notes and meeting my intense gaze.
“You got it?” I asked.
“Sure thing. Let me know if you need anything else,” he said, sitting down and preparing to phone the caterer.
“Thanks again,” I called to Paul before Dr. Wayland Lee and I headed over to the Swift conference room.
Chapter Forty-Nine: Dayna
Cameron phoned me at around nine in the morning. He had an emergency but insisted that we meet for lunch. He was running into a meeting but promised he would break out in time to meet me. I’d given him confirmation that our lunch date was still on and I worked until he sent me a text message at around 11:30. He was running behind but would pick me up as soon as possible.
The words my father spoke as he united Cameron and I in marriage, found their way out of my memory and into the forefront of my thoughts.
A marriage is only as good as the two hearts wed by God. If one heart isn’t strong enough, the union will fall away, crumble to dust and live only in memory. But if both hearts are strong and committed, the union cannot be conquered. It cannot fail.
My heart wasn’t strong and committed.
Maybe it needed it to be.
My day was going really well and I didn’t have any meetings that afternoon.
“Those who work hard will prosper,” I said to myself as I texted Cameron.
Twenty-five minutes later, I was riding in the elevator on the 10th and final floor of St. Paul’s Hospital. In my text message to Cameron, I’d told him not to worry and that I wasn’t in any rush. I’d come and meet him for lunch and if he was still wrapped up when I arrived, I would just wait in his office until he was ready. I took the rest of the afternoon off, telling my staff to contact me by cell if any hot spots popped up while I was out.
The elevator had been nearly packed when I’d first stepped hopped on. As patients, family, and friends got off as needed, I found myself alone, heading to the 10th floor’s suite of administrative offices. I felt good. I looked good. Watching my reflection in the silver, metal elevator doors, I pulled down the tails of my ¾ length red buttoned blouse. Where the tails ended, a pair of black, boot-cut, gabardine dress pants began. They hung nicely off my legs and my pointed-toe red leather pumps were a dead-match to my blouse.
I played with my hair, still staring at myself in the elevator door.
The bell dinged and I put my nervous hands down at my sides, waiting for the silver doors to open.
And that’s when it happened.
Déjà vu.
I’d been here before.
I’d lived this before.
It was happening all over again.
I stepped off the elevator and turned to the right.
I saw him then. Cameron was leaning against the doorway of his opened office door, smiling coyly at the pretty nurse I’d seen nearly a year ago. And a year ago, she’d been standing in that same spot, with that same sexy grin, fingering my husband’s tie with her flirting fingers.
The nurse was definitely something to look at. I couldn’t see every inch of her from where I stood, but I could see enough booty and breasts to know Cameron must have been enjoying her attention. She let his tie loose and it fell from her grasp and pressed her palm flat against his starched, white dress shirt.
I don’t know how long I stood there; shaking my head and watching them flirt.
Had there even been an emergency?
Or was that an excuse for a quickie in the office before lunch?
Had he been sleeping with her for the duration of our separation?
Why was I such a fool? Why did I think I could change him? Why did I think changing him was the solution?
Tears filled my eyes and a thick cord of distress wound itself around my abdomen. It made my stomach hurt. As it tightened it made my lungs struggle for breath as the first tears slipped from my eyes. I gasped; my compressed lungs desperate for oxygen.
That’s when they heard me.
The would-be-lovers separated quickly and even though her expression was a mask of anxious apology, her eyes were smirking. I could see that smirk through the wave of tears blurring my vision. She was glad I had seen them. Glad I finally knew what she was doing with my husband.
I knew that kind of woman. I’d met plenty of them.
Cameron called my name but it sounded funny. Like one of those slow-motion playbacks they do in the movies. Deep and mechanical, as though the voice wasn’t really tied to his vocal chords.
Déjà vu.
It felt like déjà vu.
But it wasn’t.
This wasn’t that uncanny feeling of being in the same place and reliving a scene you’d seen in your mind.
This was a repeat.
I had been in this same place and I had seen the same scene. And the images weren’t figments of my mind or experiences communicated to me via some other-worldly psychic power. This scene had been played out before. Nearly a year ago, when I stepped off the elevator and onto the 10th floor for lunch and found my husband playing with the pretty nurse with the smirking eyes.
Though this was a repeat of a similar occurrence, there were aspects of this moment that were different. Cameron came racing after me, his steps landing on the shiny tile floor, my heels clicking as I stomped away.
“Dayna! Dayna! It’s not what you think!”
I was embarrassed and hurt. I didn’t even turn his way. No sooner than I pressed the down button on the wall, his warm hand landed on my shoulder. A bubbling fury was slowly simmering in my belly, the powerful elixir of anger now seeping through my veins as I stood there in my sexy gabardine dress pants and red pointed toe heels.
“Baby, please, it’s not what you think.”
I shook his hand away and turned to him, not bothering to wipe the wetness on my cheeks. My eyes narrowed, a bitter venom of hate snaked around me and clung to my tongue. “Fuck you,” I spat.
“Dayna, baby. I can explain,” he pleaded.
The elevator dinged. “Save it.”
“It’s not what you think. She just came by - - -,” he started, as the silver doors parted behind me.
Remember, this was a similar circumstance, but the details were changing.
I turned and got into the elevator. Unlike the incident twelve months ago, Cameron jumped right onto that elevator with me. I refused to look at him, tears still streaming from my eyes. I pressed the “L” as he continued to try and touch me, bargaining for time with his words. I ignored him, his words turning into gibberish.
All I could see was her. All I could think about was her.
I needed her then. The searing pain made me want to run to her arms. Seek comfort in her embrace. Lose my worries in her smile.
An elderly couple joined our party of two when the doors opened on the eighth floor. I expected Cameron to give it a rest. To hold on to our private business until we were alone again.
But he didn’t give it a rest.
He continued. His shaky voice a thick mix of conviction and d
esperation. My husband was standing in front of me, pleading like a death row inmate before the warden. He was standing right in front of me, babbling on and on, but I didn’t see him.
He followed me.
All the way to my car.
He stood outside my driver side window, pleading and explaining and pleading. It didn’t matter to me.
I was done pretending with him. Done settling and fed up waiting on a miracle to happen with him.
Chapter Fifty: Cameron
It wasn’t what it looked like.
After spending nearly three hours in a room with ten anxious board members and three eager attorneys, I was damned near ecstatic when our meeting ended at twenty minutes to twelve.
Paul had set up everything just as I’d asked and the beautiful breakfast spread had arrived shortly after everyone had taken their seats around the Swift conference room table. Doug Jennings, a well-connected and easily angered man with an air of superiority and a plump belly, was pleased with the Osetra caviar. He spread a knife-full of the little black dots across half of a cream-cheese smeared, onion bagel.
Two minutes later, his breath grew legs and started walking around the room.
Though he didn’t like the Swifts, Jennings was a man who well-understood their importance to the hospital and the fabric of politically connected, wealthy blue-bloods in the Chicago area. He wanted to squash any potentially negative fallout from the Lorne Swift incident and pushed the team of directors, Dr. Lee, the attorneys, and myself to brainstorm on lawsuit-averting power plays.
We arrived at one.
The hospital would agree to no wrong-doing, but Dr. Lee would send a letter of sympathetic understanding to the Swifts. The letter of course would be drafted by one of the three attorneys in the room and it would also have no indication of any wrong-doing.