Then again, she’d have felt a bit guilty if she hadn’t taken the job her mentor had put her up for.
“Kiri, this is an opportunity of a lifetime. At your age, you won’t get a position like this in Manhattan. Buena Vista is a world-class hospital. Take the job I trained you for. Snyder is a friend of mine and I know he runs a good hospital and you’ll be treated right.”
She snorted at the memory, because it had been too good to be true.
“Of course. If you want to follow me, you can meet with my patient,” Alejandro said.
She nodded and followed him down the hall. It was awkward walking beside him, both of them pretending that they didn’t know each other. Of course, they really didn’t know each other, other than intimately.
Kiri could remember clearly what he looked like naked. How he tasted and how he felt buried deep inside her. Yet he acted like they were strangers.
He should have some recollection of her.
He’s forgotten you.
She had after all probably just been a forgettable experience for him.
Kiri knew that she wasn’t particularly memorable to many men. Which was probably why she didn’t really believe in love in the traditional sense. Even though her parents loved each other, but that was rare.
All Kiri believe in was science and medicine.
Her work.
Although science and medicine had failed her that night five years ago when she’d lost her baby. That pregnancy was the closest she’d ever gotten to love and it had been snatched from her in a cruel twist of fate.
Don’t think about that.
Alejandro grabbed the patient’s chart from the nurses’ station, smiling at the women behind the counter. She could see the effect he had on them—there were a few dreamy expressions—but as he walked past a male nurse he received a fist bump from the man.
He was charming and had everyone fooled. Just like she’d been.
“The patient we’re seeing is one of the pro bono cases sent over from Little Heliconia. The patient is an eight-year-old boy with cystic fibrosis. The family only speaks Spanish. Do you speak Spanish?”
“No, well, only a bit, not enough to keep up.”
Alejandro frowned. “Well, before we go in I’ll fill you in on his condition and what I’ll be explaining to the parents. That way I don’t have to keep stopping to interpret for you.” The way he said it made it sound like her presence was an inconvenience but she didn’t care. He wasn’t scaring her away and she knew that was his current tactic.
Kiri nodded. “Okay.”
“José Agadore has end-stage liver failure. Intrahepatic bile obstruction led to the deterioration of the liver tissue. By the time County sent him to Buena Vista there was nothing to be done to help the liver and I placed him on UNOS. Today I’m going to be updating the family on his condition.”
“There’s no liver match yet, then?” Kiri asked, making notes. Snyder wanted notes on all current pro bono cases in her department. Each head of each department of the hospital was doing the same.
Alejandro shook his head. “And the boy is not doing well. His last panel of blood showed ascites and a bilirubin count of three point one.”
Kiri flipped open the chart to see the labs and sighed. It didn’t look very promising. The more a body took a pounding while waiting for a liver, the less chance the patient had to pull through the surgery. “Has he passed cardiovascular and respiratory tests?”
Alejandro nodded. “He’s just waiting. Like so many are.”
Kiri nodded and followed Alejandro into the patient’s room. The little boy was jaundiced and was sleeping, a nasal cannula helping the poor mite to breathe. Kiri’s heart went out to the family. A mother and father huddled on the room’s couch, dark circles under their eyes. They immediately stood when Alejandro stepped up to the bedside, hope in their eyes, but they didn’t even glance in her direction.
“Buenos días, Señor y Señora Agadore, cómo está haciendo José esta mañana?” Alejandro asked.
“Tan bueno como se puede esperar,” Mr. Agadore said, then his glance fell on Kiri. She gave them a friendly smile, but it was clear they didn’t trust her. Not that she blamed them. They were scared, tired and there was a language barrier separating them.
“As good as could be expected,” the father had said. Kiri had understood that. She’d heard that same phrase in several languages from countless parents whose children had been fighting for their lives, the same haunted expression in their eyes.
Alejandro turned and nodded at her. “Permitame presente Dr. Bhardwaj. Ella es el jefe de cirugía pediátrica.”
The Agadores smiled politely and nodded. “Hola.”
Kiri half listened, catching a few words here and there as Alejandro spoke to the frightened parents about what was happening with their son and how they had to continue to wait until a match for their son was found.
When Alejandro reached across and shook the Agadores’ hands, they turned to her and she shook their hands as well. Alejandro opened the door and they walked out into the hall. She followed him as he returned José’s chart to the nurses’ station.
The charming, easygoing smile was gone, replaced by a man who was subdued because, like her, he knew that José didn’t have much longer to live.
“How much time does he have left?” Kiri asked.
“Days,” Alejandro said. “I keep my phone on, just waiting for the call from UNOS.”
“Well, I hope the call comes soon. Thank you for letting me in on your consult. We’ll speak again soon.” She tried to leave but Alejandro stopped her.
“You can’t cut my program.”
“Pardon?” She asked stunned.
“I know that you’ve made cuts. I’ve heard the rumors,” Alejandro whispered. “You can’t cut the transplant program, any part of the transplant program.”
She crossed her arms. “This is not the time or place to speak about this, Dr. Valentino.”
He grabbed her by the arm and led her outside, into an alleyway. Thunder rolled in the distance and she glanced up at the sky to see dark clouds, but the heat was still oppressive. It was a bit eerie.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.
“You can’t make cuts,” he repeated.
“I’m the head of the department. If cuts need to be made, I’ll decide,” she snapped.
“If you make cuts there will be hell to pay,” he said through clenched teeth. His eyes were as dark and wild as the storm rolling in.
“Are you threatening me?” she asked.
“No, I’m just telling you that you can’t make cuts to this program.”
“I have no intention of making cuts to the program, Dr. Valentino.” Then she sighed. “I’m making cuts to the pro bono program. That young boy, he’s the last pro bono case that you can take.”
“What?” Alejandro was stunned. “You can’t.”
“The board is cutting pro bono funding. They still want a world-class hospital, they’ll fund research programs and equipment. They’ll even fund staff, but pro bono cases must be referred to County.”
“Cases