Turning Point

by Danielle Steel

  “Or a very neglected one. The guys in trauma work crazy hours. You should find a nice dermatologist, they’re never on call,” the regular nurse teased her. “I worked with him on Christmas two years ago, and New Year’s Eve. And he signs up for Thanksgiving every year.”

  “He probably just hasn’t met the right woman,” the relief nurse said. She was on a mission, which the staff nurse knew wouldn’t get her far with Bill.

  “Yeah. Whatever.” They cleaned up the room and moved on to the next cubicle just as Bill was paged for another gunshot wound. It was an eighteen-year-old boy who died while Bill was examining him. The police had brought him in, and there was nothing Bill could do. He had almost bled to death by the time he arrived, shot in the stomach and chest. Bill looked grim as he walked to the nurses’ station and filled out the paperwork. It was his second gunshot fatality of the day. The boy’s family had been called but hadn’t come in yet. It was going to be a hell of a Christmas for them. He glanced up and saw the police paramedic he had seen before. The medic knew what the paperwork meant, and shook his head.

  “He was just a kid,” he said. They’d arrived on the scene after the shooter had left.

  “Most of them are,” Bill said with a somber expression, as they paged him to go to another exam room. He walked away a minute later, and the police EMT called out to him, “Merry Christmas, Doc.”

  Bill waved, already halfway down the hall. “Yeah, you too.” It reminded Bill to take a look at his watch. His girls were in Switzerland, at a chalet Rupert had rented for the holidays, in Gstaad. It was four o’clock in the afternoon in San Francisco, one in the morning in Switzerland. Pip and Alex would be asleep by then, after a busy Christmas Day with their mother and stepfather and half brothers. He had called them at midnight on Christmas Eve, nine A.M. on Christmas Day for them. In another eight hours he could call them again. It gave him something to cheer himself as he grabbed a chart, and walked into the next exam room. He could already tell it was going to be a long night. Talking to his daughters would be his reward at the end of it. He hadn’t seen them since September, but he hoped he would soon. He lived from visit to visit, and for his work. It was the path he was on for now, and he had no regrets. As long as he had Pip and Alex and the trauma unit at SF General, it was enough.

  * * *

  —

  Stephanie Lawrence had been up since six A.M. on Christmas morning when her two little boys, Ryan and Aden, four and six years old respectively, had charged into her bedroom and pounced on her and her husband in bed. Clearly the miniature cars and candy canes they’d put in the Christmas stockings in the boys’ room hadn’t distracted them for more than a few minutes. Ryan had the sticky candy all over his hands and face as he climbed into their bed, and Andy groaned, still half asleep.

  They’d been up until three A.M., putting toys and the boys’ new bicycles with training wheels together, most of which they’d bought online since Stephanie never had time to shop. The boys were desperate to go downstairs and see what Santa had left for them, as Andy opened one eye and looked at his wife.

  “What time is it?” It was still dark and felt like the middle of the night.

  “Ten after six,” she said as she leaned over and kissed him. He put an arm around her, and then rolled over on his back, while the boys squealed with anticipation.

  They lived in an old but comfortable house in the Upper Haight. They’d bought it before UCSF Hospital moved to Mission Bay. In its previous location, she’d only been a few blocks from work. Getting to the hospital’s new facility took longer, but they loved the house, so they stayed despite the longer drive to work for her.

  Stephanie worked at UCSF as a trauma doctor. It was one of the most important teaching hospitals in the city, on a par with Stanford Hospital, where she had gone to medical school. Andy was a freelance journalist and writer. He’d had a job at the Chronicle, the local newspaper, when they were first married, until she got pregnant with Aden during her residency at UCSF, and Andy had volunteered to become a stay-at-home dad, which was a huge sacrifice for him. His hope was to win a Pulitzer one day for his stories about urban crisis. His dreams had gotten somewhat obscured by his responsibilities as a father. But he wanted to support Stephanie’s work. So his career was taking a back seat to hers. They had hired a part-time housekeeper so he could write a few hours a day. The arrangement had worked out well for the past six years, although as Stephanie’s career advanced, she had less free time instead of more and he was always picking up the slack with the boys. He loved them, but had less time to write. She was working harder than ever, and her secret ambition, which only Andy knew, was to become head of the trauma department one day. She had done residencies in neurology and trauma, and was thirty-five years old. Andy was the same age.

  He published articles in local and California newspapers and magazines. His career hadn’t taken off as he had hoped it would. He talked about writing a novel one day, but hadn’t yet, and Stephanie wasn’t sure he would. He was a talented journalist but he wasn’t as ambitious as she was. His time with their boys took away from his writing, and Stephanie felt guilty about it. They were both busy, and it was hard to find time for everything. She was frequently involved in hospital politics, which ate up her time. She was on call that day from noon on, and hoped she wouldn’t have to go in. She wanted to spend the day with Andy and her boys.

  They were both native San Franciscans, although they’d never met when they were kids. She’d grown up in Marin, with a doctor father, and gone to private schools. Marin Country Day, followed by Branson for high school, college at UC Berkeley, where she graduated early, medical school at Stanford, and her residency at UCSF. Andy had gone to public school and graduated as a journalism major from UCLA. They had met when he moved back to San Francisco and was working at the Chronicle, while she did her first residency. They’d been together for ten years, three before they married, and seven years since. Their marriage was solid, although he nagged her constantly to spend more time with the boys. As a busy physician in trauma, there was only so much she could do. The boys seemed to understand it better than their father, who constantly made comments about the important events she missed. She’d had to leave for an emergency in the middle of their recent Christmas school performance. A school bus got hit by a truck on the Golden Gate Bridge, and ten of the injured students were brought to UCSF. At least she’d seen Aden sing “Jingle Bells” onstage before she left. She was always being torn between her work, her husband, and her kids. Andy had never realized before just how busy she would be when her career took off. And she found all her roles harder to juggle than she’d expected.

  She was respected, well liked, hardworking, a born leader, and had a golden reputation at work. She was diligent about being well versed in all the newest medical techniques, and worked longer hours than any of her colleagues in the department, despite the fact that she had young kids. She’d taken three weeks off when she had Aden, and two when she had Ryan. It was no secret that her career was her priority, but she loved Andy and the boys too, and did the best she could to spend time with them. There were never enough hours in the day, and more often than not, she came home after the boys were asleep. Andy never failed to tell her if they cried for her when he put them to bed. It was the only subject they fought over, the fact that in the last few years, he tried to make her feel guilty about how hard she worked. Her work was the bone of contention between them. Andy had begun to resent it. And they both knew it wasn’t going to get better as her career grew.

  Andy rolled out of bed first and put Ryan on his shoulders, Aden ran alongside, and Stephanie pulled on her bathrobe as she followed him downstairs. The boys let out a whoop the minute they saw the bicycles, and rode them around the living room until they nearly knocked over the tree.

  “Slow down, guys!” Andy said, as they got off the bikes and opened their other gifts, while Stephanie took
pictures and a video of them with her phone, and then went to make breakfast. The agreement she and Andy had made was that she cooked breakfast when she was home, and he did dinner every night. She made French toast, and set the plates down on the kitchen table just as they opened the last gifts. Then she called them in for breakfast.

  The boys took their places at the table as Stephanie made coffee and handed a cup to Andy. Aden looked at her in surprise.

  “No bacon, Mom?”

  “Oops…sorry, I forgot.” She made no move to correct her mistake, knowing that by the time she cooked it, they’d have left the table and would be back on their new bikes. She was well aware that Andy never forgot the bacon. The domestic arts were not her strong suit, but she had never pretended that they were. She was an outstanding doctor, but a very ordinary cook.

  After breakfast, they went back to the living room, and Andy plugged in the lights on the tree. He had decorated it with Aden and Ryan. Stephanie had promised to be home for it, but had to stay late at work that night for a serious head injury. Andy had made gingerbread houses with them too, and she had come home for the tail end of that. She was constantly explaining to the boys that she had to work, and apologizing to them for the events she missed.

  They’d had dinner at her parents’ house in Marin the night before on Christmas Eve, with her sister and her children, and they were going to Andy’s mother in Orinda, in the East Bay, that night. The boys were in high gear as they got on their bicycles again and rode around the living room, dangerously close to the tree. Stephanie put on some Christmas music from her computer. She and Andy were still exhausted after assembling everything the night before, and he had written letters to the boys from Santa, while she put out milk and cookies, and carrots for the reindeer, and took a bite of each of them. Between the two of them, they managed to get it all done.

  Stephanie let them play with their new toys until lunchtime, and then helped them take all their gifts to their room. Andy showered and dressed while she watched the boys, and she smiled when she saw him in a black sweater and jeans with his sandy blond hair and blue eyes. He was a great-looking guy, and she had been the envy of her friends when she married him. He’d played football for a year at UCLA, but dropped off the team with a knee injury. He still had the same broad shoulders and slim waist, and tried to get to the gym every day when Aden and Ryan were in school. He kissed her and they went to their own room for a few minutes. So far the day had been a success, and the boys were thrilled with their gifts.

  “My mom can’t wait to see us tonight. I hope you don’t get called in,” Andy said, with a warning in his eyes.

  “So do I.” She had no choice. She’d had to sign up, they all had to be on call for some holidays every year. But with luck, the ER and trauma unit would be able to handle whatever came up without pulling her in. If they did call, though, there was nothing she could do about it. She had to go. She was planning to dress Aden and Ryan in the matching velvet suits her mother-in-law had bought them, with little red bow ties. She had promised Andy they would wear the Christmas suits from his mom.

  Andy made sandwiches for lunch, and afterward, while the boys played in their room, Stephanie and Andy lay down on the bed together for half an hour, relaxing and talking, until the boys came in to see what they were doing. Andy offered to put a movie on for them, and was back a few minutes later, as Stephanie lay in her robe and dozed. It was nice not having to be anywhere or do anything for a few hours. She was going to wear a new black velvet dress that night too, but it was too early to dress. They were planning to leave the house at five, and get to his mother’s home at six, leaving time for traffic on the bridge. Andy was an only child, and his widowed mother enjoyed seeing him and her grandchildren. Stephanie hadn’t seen her in two months, since she’d been working on Thanksgiving, and Andy and the boys had gone to his mother’s without her. Stephanie knew her mother-in-law never understood why she couldn’t take off on major holidays. But she couldn’t, especially since her dream was to be head of the department. There were sacrifices you had to make, and the competition for important jobs was fierce. There were lots of competent doctors at UCSF. She was one of them. But she was determined to rise to the top.

  Stephanie dressed Ryan and Aden first, and left them with Andy when she went to shower and dress herself. She combed her long blond hair into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and put on makeup, which she rarely had time to do. She put on heels and gold earrings, and smiled when she saw her husband in slacks and a blazer, and her sons in their black velvet suits.

  She could feel her phone vibrating in her purse under her arm as she walked into the room, and prayed it wasn’t the hospital. She took it out and looked, and saw the familiar 911 code, and the phone number of the trauma unit. She answered it immediately, as Andy watched her face intently and listened to her side of the conversation. She gave rapid instructions to call the neurosurgeon on duty, and said she’d be there in fifteen minutes. Andy’s face fell. It was Murphy’s Law, the minute they tried to go somewhere when she was on call, the hospital pulled her in. He went to more than half their social engagements alone. He was used to it, but he didn’t like it. And he knew his mother would be upset if Stephanie didn’t show up on Christmas night. That was sacred to her, and to Andy too. He hated her working on the holidays.

  “What am I supposed to tell my mother?” he asked, looking irritated, as though it was the first time it had happened and not the hundredth. Stephanie felt that he should be used to it by now, not take it personally, and be able to explain it to his mother without it being a drama.

  “The truth always works, that I’m on call, and I had to go in. And please tell her I’m really sorry not to be there tonight.” She meant it sincerely but was annoyed that Andy was making an issue of it in front of the boys, and that Aden and Ryan were picking up on the tension between their parents.

  “She never understands why you sign up to be on call on days like this,” he said, but he didn’t add that he didn’t either. “Why can’t the people who don’t have kids do it?”

  “We all do it. It’s expected in every department. And trauma and the ER are especially busy on nights like this.” Her father was an obstetrician and her mother had never made a fuss about it. It seemed unfair to her that Andy did. She had understood it growing up. There were things her father inevitably missed when he was working, and no one complained. Why was it different for her?

  She walked them to the car and strapped Ryan into his car seat, while Andy put Aden in his booster seat, for the drive to Orinda. Andy looked at her unhappily and didn’t say a word, as she stood in front of the house while he pulled out of the driveway. She waved and then walked back into the house, took off the new black velvet dress and hung it up, put on jeans, a sweater, slipped her feet into clogs, and put on her white coat with her name embroidered on it. She put the nylon rope with her badge on it over her head, grabbed her purse, walked out to her car, and drove to the hospital in Mission Bay downtown. “Merry Christmas,” she said out loud to herself. Her mind was already on her work, there was always something reassuring about it, knowing that this was what she did best. She loved her husband and children, but the hospital was where she belonged and felt most like herself.

  * * *

  —

  Thomas Wylie stood with a cluster of women around him at the nurses’ station desk of the emergency room at Alta Bates Summit Medical Center in Oakland, and a burst of laughter escaped from the women like balloons rising into the air. There were at least six of them standing there as he told one of his stories about when he had trained in Chicago, lived in Ireland for a year, or volunteered in Zimbabwe. He had a million stories to tell. He’d had a colorful life and a varied career, and the stories to go with it, half of which probably weren’t true. But Tom Wylie knew how to make the nurses laugh. The rumor was that he had slept with half the female medical personnel in the hosp
ital, which probably wasn’t true either, but easy to believe. He had movie-star good looks, and at forty-three looked ten years younger than he was. There was a boyish quality about him. He’d gone to Yale as an undergraduate, medical school at the University of Chicago, done his residency at UCLA. He’d done some modeling, in order to meet female models, and had wound up in Oakland randomly, when they needed more doctors for the trauma unit at Alta Bates and he applied and got the job. Alta Bates was the largest private medical center in the East Bay. He worked at the Summit campus in Oakland.

  He liked to say that he was a nomad at heart, with no roots anywhere, and never talked about his childhood. He was an artful seducer, and admitted that he’d never had a serious long-term relationship, and didn’t want one. If a woman got too serious about him, he was known to disappear immediately. He had no desire to get married. He was charming, supposedly fabulous in bed, and couldn’t resist wooing almost every female who crossed his path. When the brief affair was over, he usually managed to stay friends with the women he’d slept with. He liked to say that they were his hobby—he collected them.

  In spite of themselves, his male colleagues liked him too. He was outrageous and funny, and despite his casual style, he was an excellent doctor, and a good man to have around in a crisis. He took his medical career seriously, but nothing else. When it came to women, he was the class clown and Don Juan. He was a hard man to dislike, although some of the older, more conservative nurses disapproved of him, but most of the time he charmed them too. He was undeniably handsome and a practiced flirt.

  Three of the nurses lingered after the others went back to work, and there was a momentary lull in the ER. Tom didn’t mind working on Christmas Day, he usually did. He had nowhere else to spend it, and no family, so he signed up for all the major holidays and freed up the married doctors to stay home with their kids. It had been quiet in the ER for the last two hours.