by Nella Tyler
“You are not having a heart attack. You’re having a panic attack. I am going to give you some anti-anxiety medication that I want you to take as needed. It seems that the wedding took its toll and you’re finally letting yourself feel the enormity of it.” He grinned widely and clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulders. “Congratulations. You’re going to be fine. Are grandchildren on the way?”
“I hope, someday soon,” the man answered, starting to calm down slightly, thinking less about the wedding and more about his family.
“Well, good. I’m going to order an EKG, to be on the safe side, but I can guarantee your issue is simply with anxiety. I want to prescribe some rest and relaxation and these anti-anxiety pills so that you can start enjoying the extension of your family and have many happy years to come.”
Hearing the calm assurance from the doctor seemed to put the man at ease. After a moment, he nodded and finally grinned. “Thank you, Doc.”
“My pleasure. I’ll tell the nurse to set you up for an EKG, and you can go right upstairs. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so to get you on your way.”
I observed all of this, saying nothing. I simply watched and listened, taking everything in.
By the time the man was back on his feet, confidently walking up to the hospital cardiologist, I decided that regardless of what Dr. Pierce thought of me, I liked him. He was professional, straight to the point, and confident.
Confidence in my diagnosis, especially in a situation like that, was something I knew I needed to work on, but I had a feeling that Dr. Pierce would be a great mentor.
“That was great!” I said as we walked back out onto the floor, not meaning to sound as astounded as I did.
“It was simple.” Dr. Pierce answered, almost as a retort. “Men that age and some even younger will feel anxiety coming on and they think they’re having a heart attack, so that only makes their anxiety worse. In some patients, if left to their own devices, it might actually result in a heart attack, but that was unlikely with that patient. He seemed to be in fair health and had no obvious signs of any real danger.”
“Still, I was impressed,” I answered, trying to be nice, but feeling slightly put off by his brisk arrogance.
“Give it time and if you're going to be half as good a doctor as the staff already thinks you are, you’ll be better than I am at that kind of thing,” he answered in the same strange tone. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to compliment me or not, but didn’t have much time to deliberate before Dr. Pierce yanked back the curtain to another emergency room stall, halting all conversation.
This man was elderly and had a cough that was obvious from the rattle of his breathing. Without saying a word, I could tell that he was a heavy smoker from the scent emitting from his clothing and the permanent yellowing of his fingertips.
“How are you feeling today?” Dr. Pierce asked the man, prompting him to wheeze and cough before giving an answer.
“Horrible, but I’ll be fine. Damn smokes. I’ve been like this for twenty years. My son’s an overprotective prick,” the elder gentleman responded.
To my surprise, Dr. Pierce turned toward me. My heart sank with sudden, overwhelming fear as I realized he was going to address me. “Dr. Barnes, what do you make of this?”
I had to refrain from voicing my shock. Instead, I swallowed my array of comments and moved closer to the patient.
“Hello, Mr. Flanagan. My name is Dr. Jenna Barnes.”
“I know who you are, Jenna.” I chuckled at his smirk, knowing that this was going to be interesting.
I hadn’t seen Mr. Flanagan in years and thought that he wouldn’t recognize me, partially because it had taken me a minute to recognize him. He looked older and seemed worse than ever. He was known for being stubborn and the fact that he was sitting in this hospital bed was a testament that his son had inherited that trait. “I’m sure there’s nothing wrong. But, if you want to practice on me, that’s fine.” He tried to laugh, but was overcome by a coughing fit.
“Please, try to relax, Mr. Flanagan,” I said calmly and checked his lungs. As I suspected, he was suffering from bronchitis. “How long have you felt like this?”
“Twenty years.”
I grinned. “All right, how long has Billy been telling you to go to the doctor?”
“About a week.”
Sometimes you only needed to know how to ask. “How is Billy doing?” I asked, checking the elder man’s glands.
“He’s a pain in my ass. Wish he’d a stayed in the city. He didn’t bother me when he was there.” I chuckled. “But he came back.” Mr. Flanagan grumbled. “They always come back. ’Cept you. From what I hear, you never left.”
“No, Sir. I want to stay right here and help the people that I grew up with,” I answered honestly.
“Who’s the Yankee?” Mr. Flanagan demanded, his eyes passing over me toward Dr. Pierce, whose spine rippled at the name. I guessed that poor Raymond had heard quite a bit of that since he arrived.
“He’s a very nice man…and a great doctor.”
Mr. Flanagan grumbled, but didn’t comment. “So, Jenna, what’s the verdict? Am I gonna die?”
“No, Mr. Flanagan. You are going to be absolutely fine, but Billy was right to get you to come here. You have bronchitis and if you let it get any worse, you might not have had a choice any longer.”
“What are you talking about? I’m as fit as a…” His words were consumed in another intense round of coughing and hacking.
“I’m sure, Mr. Flanagan, but in any case, I’m going to write you a prescription for some antibiotics and cough medicine.” I stared at him seriously. “As a physician and as a friend who is looking out for your wellbeing, I would also advise you to quit smoking. The bronchitis is likely due to irritation from the insult that smoking gives your body.”
“Jenna, please. I have lived this long and if the good Lord wants to take me, He’ll take me, whether it’s from smoking, or gettin’ hit by a bus. When it’s my time, I ain’t gonna be any deader, no matter how I go.”
Understanding that there was no changing his mind, I grinned and nodded. “Well, can you at least promise me that you will take this?” I asked, handing him a prescription.
“Yes, ma’am, so long as I can go home.”
“Yes. Did someone drive you?”
“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes, and I was satisfied that his son had not only badgered him until he went, he had taken him to the hospital himself. In a strange way, that made me feel better.
I turned to Raymond. “Dr. Pierce, do you have anything that you would like to add?”
“No. I believe that about covers it,” he answered flatly, turning to walk out of the room. I followed him. When we were out of Mr. Flanagan’s earshot, Raymond turned around and from the way, I read his expression, I was sure he was displeased with something I had done.
Therefore, I was shocked when I heard what he said.
“You did a good job. You seemed to know how to handle him and yourself in there; that’s important.”
“Thank you!”
Raymond looked at me as though he intended to say something else, but stopped and turned to walk away. I felt a strange sensation of dread spill heavy into my feet. My heart dropped deep into my chest and the thought that I might get sick once again returned to threaten my gag reflex. My stomach churned nervously and I swallowed hard, hoping that whatever he was withholding wasn’t serious; after all, I was here to learn.
However, as he walked away and I fell into step behind him, I decided that there was no sense in second-guessing everything that had happened. He’d said I had done a great job. He had praised me, and I was acting as though he had told me I had done something terrible.
Come on, Jenny! I told myself. Take the compliment and move on! What do you want, a Rose Parade?
So, that’s exactly what I did.
I forced myself to put aside the idea that Raymond was treating me like his first patient, simply placating me,
and resolved to the idea that I had accomplished something. Whether Raymond thought so or not didn’t matter. I had helped my first patient and that was something to celebrate.
I was completely confident in what I had told Mr. Flanagan. Thus, I was excited!
Chapter 3
Tim
It was turning into another long and aggravatingly grueling day.
I hated to be on a deadline and because of that, I generally excelled so that time restraints were not a problem, but with this particular software, problems seemed to creep in from every angle. Sure, it was complicated, but nothing I shouldn’t be able to decrypt.
Plus, I had Donavan working on the program with me, and therefore the whole project should have been simple. Yet, somehow, we found ourselves completely overworked and overbooked.
Still, of all the people I’d worked with when a problem such as this arose, the only person I would want by my side was Donavan. He was a co-worker and friend, or at least as close as I had to a friend out here, and was easily filling the role of my protégé.
Donavan was intelligent, in a manner that was a little unsettling – so much so that I was happy he had come to work for me and not my competition. Between the two of us, there was nothing we couldn’t decipher, but if we were pitted against one another, it would be a battle of wits that would surely become as distracting as it would be intriguing.
Thankfully, for both of us, that wasn’t an issue.
“There!” Donavan exclaimed, pressing the final key to what he believed would fix the problems we were having. I watched as the program finally reacted appropriately and clapped a congratulatory hand on his shoulder.
“Excellent!” I exclaimed before taking over the keyboard. “Now that it is stable, I want you to show you how to ensure that the program sets up fully without crashing.”
I stroked a few of the keys and made sure to put up the correct firewalls. I didn’t have to explain any of this to him. I simply had to show him the next step. It was magnificent. Donovan was the perfect student.
Once I was finished, I turned to see him immersed in the process, retaining everything. “Do you understand? Could you repeat that the next time we need to work with something delicate like this?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good!” I exclaimed, glancing at my wristwatch as my stomach growled at exactly the right moment. “Well, before we get into anything else, what do you say we have some lunch?”
I didn’t wait for Donavan to answer, and he didn’t expect me to. Although he was far younger and more modern than I would ever even want to be, he still seemed to understand me. That, too, was nice.
So often my attitude was off-putting, but Donavan accepted it and went with it. He was a good kid. He had a head on his shoulders, but he was caring and good-hearted. As much as I hated to say it, that was his biggest downfall.
When we settled into lunch at my favorite café, only a few blocks from the office, I decided to air my only concern with Donavan, in hopes of helping him succeed.
“You did well today,” I started, telling him the truth that I couldn’t ignore. “You pick up intensely complex directions and information quickly, but more than that, you retain it and are able to apply it throughout a range of different software development techniques. You’re good. Really good.”
“Thank you,” Donavan replied. “That means a lot.”
“Yeah, well, I think you could run your own company one day.”
Perhaps he was overwhelmed by the enormity of the compliment, or perhaps he sensed there was more to what I was about to say, but he tried to stop it by shaking his head. “No. Seriously, I’m not all that good. I’ve still got a lot to learn.”
“True,” I replied earnestly. “But when you do create your own company – and I say when because I’m confident in your ability – I sure as hell hope I’m not still in business.”
Letting down his defenses, he grinned. “Oh, come on, Tim. You know I’d never do anything to hurt your company. I would be honored to work alongside you.”
“I know, which is exactly my point,” I answered, stabbing my fork down into my T-bone steak for effect, causing Donavan’s eyes to flash up into my gaze with confusion. “I would have to destroy you, and I wouldn’t want to do that. Not after I worked so hard to build you up.”
When Donavan realized that I had actually said what he thought he heard, his jaw hinged and his eyes narrowed. “Tim…”
“No. This is exactly my point. Where you see a friendship and a loyalty, I see an opportunity to dominate.” The poor kid looked confused and almost betrayed, but as bad as I wanted to feel, I couldn’t bring myself to soften my resolve.
“You’re too soft hearted. This is a business, above all, Donavan. If you start having alliances with people who have more experience than you, refusing to take the upper hand if you can get it because you think you owe them something, your career is over before it even begins.”
“Okay, to hell with you, too, then.” he retorted, but I couldn’t help wishing he meant it more than his voice portrayed.
“Seriously, Don. Right now, I’m here to help you, but if you ever become my competition, I can’t guarantee that I won’t do whatever I can to stay on top.”
“Okay. Thanks for the warning…I guess.”
By now, I could tell that he was getting a little put-off. I didn’t enjoy being an asshole to him, but I felt that it was in his best interest, so that I might stress my point before it’s too late. “That’s more than most people get,” I assured him with cruel, cold intent looming in my voice.
“Thanks,” he answered condescendingly before he took the reins of his pride and remembered that I had yet to steer him wrong. “Fine. I’m a pushover. I get it, but how can I be more…worthy?”
I didn’t like his smart-ass word choice, but I understood what he was saying, so I decided to let it go. “You could start with our clients. I want you to start negotiating deals and proposing more software ideas.”
“You want me to be more cutthroat with your clients?” he asked with genuine confusion.
“Yes. I do. I need you to sharpen your edge, focus on being cunning, and get what you want, at all costs. You know what you’re talking about, so convince the clients that’s what they need.”
“My sales aren’t bad.”
“But they’re nothing commendable, either,” I hissed. I had to admit, it felt good to tell him this. I had meant to for a while, so it was a relief to finally have it all out in the open.
Gazing into his eyes, unwavering from his glare, I could tell he hated that he didn’t have a response to what I was saying. I knew I was right, which was why I said it. So, I decided to rub it in a little.
“Do you want to work for me for the rest of your life? Do you want to be second best?”
“No…” he replied, narrowing his eyes at me. “I would love to own a company someday.”
“Well, do you want to keep that company, or do you want it to be commandeered in an underhanded merger?”
“I want to keep it,” he hissed.
“You need to learn how to fight for it. Right now, you don’t have a reason, a drive that burns inside your soul to do what you want. Having your own company is a pipe dream, but I’m telling you, if you can find that fight inside yourself and learn a little dirty dealing, you will be perfectly fine.”
At this, Donavan stopped to contemplate what I was telling him. He huffed and narrowed his eyes. “Fine. What’s your motivation? That…burning inside your soul? You didn’t start off like me, did you?”
“Hell, no! You have way more resources at your disposal than I ever did.” I almost laughed aloud. “For me, this was a pipe dream and the people back home continually wondered what the hell I was smoking.”
At the end of my comment, I bit my tongue, hoping to God that damn accent I’d practiced so hard to hide didn’t show back up in my speech. Sometimes, when I lose myself in thoughts or speak direct quotes, I hear myself f
all back into my old, terrible linguistic habits.
I shook myself back into the right frame of mind as Donavan continued, without noticing my slip. “What do you mean? You didn’t grow up around here?”
“Uh…no. You’ve heard of bum-fuck-Egypt? To get to the small town I grew up in, you go all the way there, take a left, and go about a country mile down the road. You’ll find The Deliverance, and after that, you might find my chew spit-stain of a town.”
Donavan laughed. “It can’t be that bad.”
I only laughed, not wanting to give out any more personal information about the geographical location of where I was forced to grow up. It was bad enough I had to spend eighteen years there. Now, the less I had to talk about it, the better.
“Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of money. My family never starved, by any means, but we also lived well within our humble means, if you know what I’m saying. No one I grew up with had any idea what I was capable of and never understood me. I got out of there as fast as I could and ran to a place where I had a prayer of making something out of myself.
“Always remember: nobody sets the bar for what you can do – only you do. I work so hard now because I don’t ever want to live that life again. I’ve worked too damn hard and still have too damn much to contribute. I want to die staring at a computer.”
The last part was a joke, but apparently, Donavan didn’t find the humor in the statement. He was too deep in thought.
“Oh…” he answered, sounding as though he had more to say, but I was thankful when he decided to change the subject instead. “So, say I do become a cutthroat, cunning son-of-a-bitch and I get my own company before you decide to retire. Then, what?”
“If that ever comes to fruition,” I thought for a moment as I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back easily in my chair. “I suppose you would be a worthy opponent.”
As my chair hit the cement, placing all feet back squarely on the ground, Donavan sneered as though he had accepted my challenge. However, before he could reply, my phone rang loudly, disrupting our conversation.
